by Wesley Chu
Like he said, things are not so black and white.
“Your friends killed my dog, you jerk!”
I am sure that is an unfortunate–
“Don’t you even say it,” Ella snapped. Fists clenched, she unrolled her stash of weapons and decided to vent her fury toward arming up for her outing. She took the first knife and jammed it into its sheath.
Fifteen minutes and sixteen knives later, Ella led Cameron down the dark streets of Crate Town. The slum at night was an entirely different beast than it was during the day. It was at the same time quiet and active. The tension from the recent riots and the increased police presence had quelled the usual nightlife.
It was replaced by something else. Now, drums of loud footsteps, marching almost, filled the air. It had to be now-regular patrols. No criminal worth her salt would make so much noise walking at night. Luckily, these plodding half-wits were fairly easy to avoid.
Unless they are carrying a Penetra scanner.
Ella avoided the few pockets of life and led Cameron down narrow alleys that seemed to meander around poorly laid out container clusters, sometimes forcing him to squeeze between misaligned containers or go underground through sewers. To her surprise, Cameron didn’t bat an eye as they crept through ankle-high sewage.
They reached the southwestern end of the construction site by midnight and slowly made their way north around the perimeter. Along the way, she pointed out specific buildings and locations she thought important, like the main administration building, the power station, the desalination facility, and the weird domed building with the needle top in the center. She never figured out what that was for.
“Do you know by chance, Io?”
That I will not tell you.
They continued to the part of the site that used to be the Dumas neighborhood. By now, most of the buildings and clusters had been demolished or torn down. There were still stacks of containers and piles of rubble being cleared, but it little resembled the thriving community that had once been here.
Through Cameron’s night-vision binoculars, she showed him the storage warehouse for the raw supplies, where the foundation for another large structure was being dug, and the pipeline that was being laid out across its entire length.
“I have no idea what they’re building,” Cameron said. “Tao thinks the design layout of that cluster over there looks like Quasing housing facilities, but that would mean they plan on housing hundreds of thousands of them in there. Why?”
“I thought these aliens couldn’t survive outside of living creatures,” she said.
“It’s a recent development,” he replied. “Twenty-five years ago, the Genjix figured out how to replicate the environment on their home planet, their Eternal Sea – basically this gooey liquid that they could survive in without a host.
“That has allowed them to start reproducing. Until then, they were slowly going extinct. Unfortunately for them, the newborn Quasing are barely sentient, because they learn either by millions of years of experience or by osmosis. Back on their home planet, their Eternal Sea housed trillions of them, so the newborns were able to learn and develop quickly.” He frowned. “Could this be what they’re doing? Trying to educate newborn Quasing through large osmosis tanks?”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Ella said.
“It doesn’t matter.” Cameron shook his head. “Tao said doing something like that would still require hundreds of years, and several thousand older Quasing to help distribute that information. So what is it for?”
“Does it matter? I thought we were just trying to stick a sharp object into the minister and bleed him out.”
“So vicious,” Cameron murmured. He looked at the docks to their right. “That area is lit up like a Christmas tree. It’s too risky. Let’s call it a night. Thanks for the tour.”
“Anytime,” Ella said.
“Know a place around here we can get a drink at this hour?”
Ella checked the streets. “Yeah, I know a place that never closes, although I’m not sure how happy they’ll be to see me.”
“Caused some trouble at that establishment?”
“Something like that.”
Ten minutes later, they reached the Cage. The bar was packed even at this hour, although the clientele reflected the types of people who would still be up at this time of night. A low rumble of voices and unintelligible conversations underlined the Indian hard rock filtering through the pipes. It was surprisingly quiet in here considering the crowd.
Wary eyes glanced at them as they walked in. No police or suspicious-looking foreigners, mostly locals. There was a group of union guys sitting in the corner. They’d been on everyone’s shit list since they started doing the minister’s dirty work clearing out some of the residences, but they had been quiet lately.
“Rough-looking bunch,” said Cameron.
“The Cage is popular. This is where a lot of folks in Crate Town conduct business. It’s a good place to get a job and catch the latest gossip.”
Congee, the bartender and owner, scowled when he saw her. He folded his arms and puffed up his chest, as if daring her to order a drink. She didn’t blame him for being pissed. The last time she had stepped foot in his bar, she had lobbed half a dozen smoke grenades and nearly caused a riot. Ella threw on her widest, most plastic smile, worked up her courage, and strolled up to the counter.
“Hey Congee, two apongs please,” she said, in her politest, sweetest voice. She dug out the rupees to pay for it and laid the bills neatly on the counter.
Congee gave her the stinkeye and placed the drinks on the counter. He didn’t remove his hands from the cups. She took out two thousand extra rupees and slid them forward. Still, he didn’t move his hand. Another thousand didn’t do the trick.
“Oh, come on,” she said. “You knew things were going down. I paid you well in advance and gave you a bonus afterward.”
“You didn’t say you were going to set my establishment on fire. It took two weeks to get rid of the smoke.”
Grumbling, she reached into her pocket to grab more money. Even then, it did not seem to satisfy Congee. Finally though, he let go of the cups. Ella handed one to Cameron and took a loud gulp of her apong before Congee could change his mind and take it back, then she beat a hasty retreat.
They found a table in the far back. Cameron had them change seats so she could have a better view of the floor in case she noticed someone suspicious. It also hid most of his face from the crowd, although she had assured him that it didn’t matter. Chances were, the majority of the people in this room also had warrants out for their arrest.
“Do you?” he asked.
“Nah,” she said. “Too smart to get caught.”
Except for Manu.
“He doesn’t count. That was a private transaction gone bad.”
Cameron raised the cup. “To the mission, and to your best friend.”
Ella’s eyes almost watered. Almost. She raised her cup. “To Burglar Alarm.”
Cameron made a face as he sipped the drink and blew out. He smacked his lips. “Interesting. It’s sweet and spicy at the same time, and has quite a kick.”
“I tried your American food once. Let me tell you something. It was the most–”
A dark blob approached from the corner of her eye. Ella pulled away, her hand reaching for her knife. She twisted and stabbed with it until the blade poked into a large soft belly, just short of cutting into skin. Little Fab’s eyes widened and he dropped his mug of beer. He slowly raised his hand.
“Don’t sneak up on me!” she snapped at the fence.
Little Fab looked down at his wet shoes. “You owe me a wash on these shoes, Ella. You almost owed me a wash on these pants, too. Why are you so jumpy?”
The knife went back into its sheath. “Look around. Shouldn’t everyone be?”
“Probably right.” He looked at Cameron and nodded. Cameron nodded back. Little Fab jabbed a thumb at a corner at the other end of th
e room. “I have an associate who wishes to speak business.”
Ella looked at the figure behind the draped booth. She couldn’t make out the silhouette. “Who is it and what does he want with us?”
“Not you, Ella. I told her your friend is the one with the money. You’re just a little errand girl.”
Ella ground her teeth.
Cameron held up a hand and spoke in Hindi. “Sorry, Little Fab, Ella’s a partner. If your associate wants to speak with me, she needs to clear it with Ella first.”
It was a very small gesture on Cameron’s part, but it meant the world to her. She stuck out her chin at Little Fab and waited.
The fence shrugged. “Suit yourself.” He gestured toward the booth. “Go see her. I’ll keep your friend company for now.”
Ella stood up and Little Fab took her seat. She glanced back once and then headed toward the back booth. It was dark in there save a small candle off to the side. She passed through the beaded curtain and slid into a seat. It took her a few seconds to recognize the person sitting across from her.
Mogg, the union boss, raised an eyebrow. “Black Cat.”
“Big boss,” Ella replied.
“I thought I was supposed to speak to that man over there, not his pet.”
“Well, you speak to me first, and then I decide if you speak to him.”
Mogg smirked. “Little Ella, always making deals. Word on the street is you have some strangers interested in the site.”
“How do you know?” Ella asked, stunned. “Did the Fabs sell me out?”
“Of course not, girl,” Mogg said. “It’s not hard to figure out. You prowled the site for weeks. My boys saw you. I told them to lay off. Told them you weren’t causing any trouble. So you prowl, and later on you appear with these foreigners buying all sorts of gear. Now the police move in all heavy and make everyone’s life uncomfortable. It’s not hard to figure out, girl.”
“Aren’t you working for the minister?” Ella asked.
“Was,” Mogg groused. “We had a deal. Sold them the docks for stupid money and a good labor agreement. They paid us well for a couple of months, but now they’ve brought in the military. Told all my boys this morning we’re out of a job.”
Ella shrugged. “What did you expect? You saw what they did to Faiz. Besides, you’re not going to get a lot of sympathy from me. The minister used you to bully everyone in Crate Town.”
“Poor Faiz,” Mogg said. “Fool cleared out of town the second he could pack his bags. Cried about how that foreigner maimed his cousin. I told him, that’s why you don’t hire your relatives to be your bodyguards. That’s the whole point of having a bodyguard.” She shook her head. “Amateur.”
“What are you going to do next?”
The union boss shrugged. “Probably nothing. The government has the docks all for their own use now. Most of commercial shipping moving north to Hazira. Already another union there. Maybe we go to Mumbai.” Her face darkened. “My boys are pissed. I’m pissed. Thinking about setting up a good old-fashioned strike and shutting the place down.”
“What do you want from us?”
Mogg took a sip. “Isn’t it obvious? Half my guys helped unload and move tons of their supplies and the other half helped put up the buildings. They kicked us out and brought in specialists once the walls went up. The union looks out for its own any way we can. My people still have family to support, mouths to feed. Way I see it, you didn’t prowl in the shit all those days for nothing. You’re aiming to hit it somehow. I got the information you want.”
“How much you asking?”
Mogg looked over to the side. “If your friend is the money guy, why don’t I negotiate with him directly. Did I pass your screening, Black Cat?”
Ella nodded and stood up. She jabbed a finger in the woman’s face. “Don’t rip him off, or you’ll hear from me, Mogg.” She paused. “I also want five points for the hookup.”
“Three, and it’s coming from your man.”
“Two, and it’s coming from you.”
Mogg laughed. “Go fetch him.”
Ella walked back to the table where Cameron and Little Fabs seemed to be debating cricket. There were six empty cups on the table. The parts of Cameron’s face not hidden by the headscarf were glowing red. He saw the look of concern on her face and held up his hand. “I’m fine. Asian genes. Is the meeting legit?”
“No,” she replied, “but you should hear her out anyway.”
Cameron drained the cup in his hand and stood up. “I’ll be back soon. Keep my seat warm.”
“How did it go?” Little Fab asked when she sat down. “Your boy going to buy her information?”
“What do you care?”
“Mogg is giving me five points on the sale.”
Ella cursed. Ripped off again.
He always seems to get the better deal. Maybe the problem is you, not me.
“Can’t trust anyone anymore these days, can you?” Ella said aloud.
He shrugged. “Can’t blame them. From what I hear, the union was getting paid double rates or something.”
“Serves them right,” she grumbled. “Turning on Crate Town like that.”
“I have some business to discuss with you as well.” Little Fab took out a piece of folded paper and slid it across the table.
“Wow, you are a busy little broker tonight, Little Fab.”
Ella unfolded it. On the left side was a black and white picture of Cameron that looked a few years old. On the right was a hand-drawn picture that was approximately what he looked like now. On the bottom, though, was the real attention-getter. It was the prize money for information leading to his capture.
“Dangerous fugitive for a hundred million rupees.” She whistled. “That’s hefty. I thought the Fabs prided themselves on keeping their mouths shut.”
“Every man has a price. For a hundred million, we’ll leak,” Little Fab said. “How do you feel about making some money? I’ll go in half with you.”
Ella frowned. “Even if I wanted to do this, why do I need you? Why can’t I just report them myself and keep all of it?”
Are you seriously entertaining this? Why is it he can make you sell out, but I cannot?
“Of course I am not serious, Io. At least I don’t think I am…”
“Because…” Little Fab said, taking out another piece of folded paper and sliding it forward. On it was a picture of Ella that she honestly didn’t think looked anything like her.
“Twenty thousand rupees?” she exclaimed. “That’s insulting.”
“Yeah, I’ve seen lost dogs get bigger rewards than that.” He looked back toward the booth. “Keep the posters as a souvenir. Let me know if you’re in. We’ll work something out. I can make all the arrangements and keep you out of it. We split it halves and be done with all this. Besides, it’ll take all this heat off Crate Town’s back. Consider it a public service.”
Ella stared after Little Fab as he left the Cage. She sipped her apong and stared out into nothing. She had never been on a wanted poster before. It sort of made her feel special, important, and all of a sudden, very vulnerable. She was known by enough people that it could be a problem, and twenty thousand rupees was honestly nothing to sneeze at. It was just enough that several people in the slum could turn her in. She didn’t even think the government knew she existed until now. But still, only twenty thousand when Cameron was worth a hundred million? It made her angry and spiteful that they thought she was so cheap.
Cameron returned a few minutes later. “That was an interesting conversation. What do you have there?”
Ella folded the poster and tucked it into her shirt. “Nothing. You guys work something out?”
He nodded. “Mogg wants you to pick up some prints first thing tomorrow. If I like what I see, we’ll buy the rest.”
“Great. Where to next?”
“Back to the bath house. We have a ton of work to do.”
Thirty-Seven
Siege
G
eorge Armstrong Custer was my first and only taste of success, and even he was at best a moderate one. His end came poorly and with controversy, but he was my first host to avoid being forgotten by history. I now knew what other Quasing felt when they had a hand in guiding humanity. It was exhilarating. It had taken me more than eight hundred years to make my first mark, and now I wanted more.
I returned to Europe at the turn of the twentieth century, reinvigorated and eager not only to help the Prophus unwind the trap of political knots the Genjix had woven among the nations, but to seek glory and find success in another host.
The complicated alliances that the Genjix had woven leading up to the Great War were a cascade of disasters waiting to unfold. The first domino piece to fall started with the assassination of Franz Ferdinand, the Archduke of Prussia, incidentally also the host of Baji, the current Keeper of the Prophus.
* * *
To Surrett’s credit, he delivered. The 13 PARA Special Forces battalion had rolled into Surat the day after the failed ambush. The morning after that, Lieutenant Colonel Kloos, the battalion commander, had met with Rurik. Fifteen minutes later, he was sent to Shura’s office to deal with the details.
Of course he was.
Shura studied Kloos as he walked into the room and bowed. “Praise to the Holy Ones.”
“Praise to the Holy Ones. Have a seat, colonel.”
Kloos sat down. “If I may, Adonis, it is an honor working alongside the Scalpel. Your achievements in the Middle East and Sweden are celebrated among the unblessed. If you ever do form your own cadre, you would have many volunteers. I would be the first.” He paused. “If you would have–”
Shura cut him off. “Spare me the pandering rhetoric.”
Easy there.
Tabs was right. She was laying the dismissive tone on a bit too strong. She softened, just slightly. “I find private teams wasteful. I prefer subject matter expertise with every assignment as opposed to trying to force resources to adapt to different elements. The only benefit is individual loyalty to a commander, and loyalty is overrated when it comes to a vessel. It only pertains to the Holy Ones and to our standings.”