by Wesley Chu
A little higher.
Ella adjusted her arm until the blade pressed against the guy’s neck. That was one good thing about having an annoying alien in her head; it often made her look like a total badass, at least more so than she was normally. She buried the smirk growing on her face; that would have ruined the effect.
Please. Get over yourself.
The rest of the table froze, except for the boy with the bloody nose. He moaned, swaying left and right as he cupped his face.
The entire time Ella never took her eyes off the girl. “As I was saying, get–”
“–another round of drinks.” Asao looped a beefy tattooed arm around her neck and dragged her backward so sharply she nearly lost her balance, and in the process almost accidentally slit that guy’s throat.
Ella’s gut instinct was to stomp on Asao’s toes and then jam the pointy end of her dagger into his forearm. Then she remembered that Asshole was her business partner and gutting him would likely end that arrangement. She still needed the bar until she got her own operation up and running.
Ella, enough!
Ella saw the crimson handprint on the girl’s cheek and tears rolling down her face, and agreed with her alien. She relented, allowing Asao to manhandle her back behind the bar. When he finally let go, she spun on him and jabbed him in the chest with a finger. “Don’t touch me like that again.”
“I will if you go on beating up my customers,” he replied just as hotly. He seemed strangely unnerved. “Do you know who you were messing with?”
“Some jerk face beating up his girlfriend. Who cares?”
Asao looked over her shoulder and turned sheet white. The group had gotten up and appeared to be leaving. “Please sit, sit,” he waved furiously. “Let me get you a bottle of sake. On the house.”
The group passed them as they headed toward the exit. The girl who got slapped was helping her jerk boyfriend. The boy looked unsteady on his feet as he leaned against her for support. His nose was definitely broken, and was fountaining blood. He looked like a butcher after a hard day’s work. The other boys in the group shot her murderous looks as they passed.
“I hope he bleeds to death,” Ella shouted.
You should be quiet… Asao is overreacting to this situation. Something is wrong.
Asao kept staring at the exit long after the group was gone. He shook his head, muttered furiously under his breath, and then whirled on her. “You idiot! What have you done?”
“What do you mean?” said Ella defiantly. Her fingers itched for her blade. “That punk was beating up that girl. What did you expect me to do?”
“I expect you to shut up and not cause trouble,” growled Asao.
What part of keeping a low profile do you not understand?
The bartender and the alien were both laying it on her pretty thick, and Ella had just about had enough. “You two are a bunch of idiot cowards,” she screamed. “And both of you stop telling me to shut up.”
“You two?” frowned Asao. “What are you talking about?”
“I mean you,” she replied lamely.
Keep your head on straight. You are going to blow our cover.
“Shut it, Alien!”
Asao pointed toward the doorway. “Do you know what you’ve done? You just smashed the face of the local yakuza boss’s son.”
“Huh?” The full gravity of her actions dawned on her. “Oh? Oh! I see. Now you tell me. I wouldn’t have done that if I had known he was someone important.”
That was a lie. She totally would have.
Yes you would. We may need to find a new partner.
Asao buried his head in his hands. “It may not be that bad. I’ll make some calls. The boy may not wish to bear the shame of being beaten by a serving girl. He may be too embarrassed to report this to his elders. As for you, go home and do not show your face until I clean this mess up. You’ve caused enough problems for one day.”
Ella, scowling, was about to shoot off another volley of retorts, and then thought better of it. She took off her apron and spiked it on the ground. She turned to leave and then stopped. “Uh, can I stay for dinner at least?”
“Go!”
Chapter Nine
Directive
Ella and I were given several choices to relocate. Prophus Command wanted to bring Ella to a safe haven, either their headquarters in Greenland or another Prophus-heavy country like Canada or South Africa. Ella did not want to travel to the opposite ends of the world. In truth, she did not even want to leave India.
I also did not relish living under the overbearing hand of the Prophus. Much to my dismay, Cameron had taken the girl under his wing, and stymied my influence over her. Tao, Cameron’s Quasing, was already suspicious of my intentions.
The compromise for our new home was Australia, close enough to India but far enough away from the Prophus’s central strongholds.
Shura strolled past the long line of passengers at Hong Kong International waiting to board the commercial liner to Sochi. The Black Sea beaches were breathtaking this time of year, and she was looking forward to working on her slalom. She had half-serious aspirations of making the national team. It was a bit outlandish, but making the Olympics had always been a childhood dream.
In any case, she wasn’t young any more and had too many responsibilities pulling her in too many directions. Her duties governing India, hunting the Prophus and trying to crush her rivals for the last Genjix council seat left little time for a hobby. Still, it was a nice goal to work toward, especially when she needed to take a break from waging her multiple battles.
Sochi was technically under Rurik’s sphere of influence. However, because of the Hard Peace, Shura could now walk freely in her rivals’ territory without fear of violence. Until its implementation, she would have had to worry about her safety if she were discovered. It had gotten so bad over the past few years in the battle for standing among the vessels, that for many, their fellow Genjix were almost as dangerous as the Prophus.
Conflict breeds innovation.
After Weston was elevated to Zoras’s vessel, he had instituted the Hard Peace. The Hard Peace reminded them that the true enemy was the Prophus and the humans, and that the contest for standing among the vessels was meant to hone their abilities, to keep them sharp and innovative. It could go on, but only to the degree before true violence, whatever that meant.
Different vessels interpreted “true violence” differently. Shura tended to push the boundary as far as possible. She personally thought Zoras was being hypocritical, seeing as how he had climbed to the top of the Genjix hierarchy by essentially waging a civil war. Shura had technically been forbidden from even stepping foot on Russian soil until just two years ago because her family had backed the wrong side when Zoras’s previous Adonis vessel, Enzo, bested Councilman Vinnick for control of the Genjix.
Do not be sacrilegious.
“My sincerest apologies, Tabs.”
You are not being sincere.
She sighed. There was no hiding from her Holy One, but that had been the case since she was a little girl. Tabs knew Shura better than she knew herself, which was often frustrating. However, Shura liked to think she knew Tabs almost as well, including how her Holy One did not put much stock into ceremony, so she was oftentimes just as sacrilegious as Shura. Gods were not infallible.
You are being sacrilegious again.
“Must be my poor upbringing.”
Shura entered the first class cabin. The large commercial liner was just beginning to load its passengers. She smiled and waited patiently in the row as a little girl ran down the aisle. She helped an elderly couple store their carry-on, and then, once the aisle cleared, continued past the cabin and proceeded upstairs to a private lounge reserved for Genjix operatives.
She was fortunate the plane was delayed, since she had run late wrapping up her business in Hong Kong. Ordering another plane to take her to Sochi would have delayed her at mini
mum another hour, and she had a vacation schedule to keep. The plane could have been ordered grounded, but the process was frowned upon and considered an abuse of power by their allied governments, not that the Genjix cared.
Shura held a high enough standing to maintain a private plane, but she preferred piggybacking on commercial liners for one very simple reason: the Prophus did not shoot down civilian planes. This year alone, their enemy had located and shot down three Genjix planes carrying high-ranking Adonis vessels, and currently there was very little defense against such an attack.
The technology for low-orbital surveillance and warfare had improved by leaps and bounds, and there was a burgeoning war in the exosphere. It would only be a matter of a few years before they took their conflict into space. The Chinese government was already in the late stages of designing a permanent moon base to house another Bio Comm Array that would free them of atmospheric interference.
Shura felt it the moment she entered the darkened quarters reserved for her. It was a sixth sense, an awareness of a presence. One behind her and the other off to the side. Her instinct was to change levels, drop to a knee and become a difficult target. Her pistol was at the small of her back, and she had a blade cached in her sleeve. A glimmer of metal reflected the light outside.
Behind you and to your left.
This could be an ambush, in which case she was likely dead. However, the odds of this being a Prophus attack were low, if non-existent. Any enemy assassin who managed to sneak in here deserved the chance to try to kill her. Hong Kong was the heart of Genjix power. If an Adonis vessel wasn’t safe here, she wasn’t safe anywhere. That could only mean one thing.
Humming, she closed the door behind her and reached for the light. Then, as calmly as if she were taking a stroll along the beach, she turned and smiled at the three intruders in the room. Only the one lounging on a sofa in the far corner required her acknowledgment.
“High Father Weston.”
The leader of the Genjix tilted his head and eyed her with a steely gaze. He brought a cup of tea to his lips and sipped. There was no steam; he had been here a while. Weston placed the cup on the console table with a loud clink. He leaned back in his chair looking relaxed but alert, like a snake ready to strike. “I’m very cross with you, Shura.”
Shura didn’t blink. Elder Mother would have been proud.
“Give me a situation breakdown, Tabs.”
The two men at your flank are Hamil and Stephenson, both elite bodyguards. Both are wearing body armor underneath their suits, and Stephenson has a blade tucked near his ribs. Hamil’s finger is on his trigger. You have little chance of defeating both together. Weston is at least as skilled as you, and definitely stronger, so you have no chance if this conversation results in conflict. My recommendation is to accept your fate if Weston orders your death, so just kill yourself gracefully. I prefer Hamil as my next vessel, so try not to kill him.
“Thanks. I’ll try to keep that in mind.”
“Your words distress me, High Father,” she replied aloud. “How have I displeased you?”
Can you sound any less sincere?
“Of course I can, Tabs.”
A small chuckle escaped Weston’s lips. He knew the game as well as anyone. She correctly assessed that he appreciated her skirting protocol so brazenly. “Rurik informed me of what happened at the hotel. You broke the Hard Peace.”
Shura considered her next words very carefully, making sure to run them by Tabs before voicing them. “I assure you I have done no such thing.”
“You ambushed his meeting with the Iranian dealer, shot his guards, and then hijacked his transaction.” Weston appeared amused. “Did I miss anything?”
Shura delicately dabbed a finger in the air. “Actually, High Father, I took special precautions to avoid lethal violence. The only injuries were to the guards who attacked me, so if anything I have a stronger case to argue that Rurik’s people were the ones who broke the Hard Peace. I could make an issue of it, but I’m not a snitch who feels the need to whine to you every time he is unable to manage his own affairs. It is hardly becoming for an Adonis vessel vying for a seat on the Council.”
Shura took her time crossing the room to the chair opposite Weston. She paused for dramatic effect. “My bargain with Shah was not made under duress and, if I may add, is on far better terms for the Genjix than what Rurik had arranged.”
“Hardly no violence, however,” murmured Weston.
“I said no lethal violence,” she responded softly.
“You may not have technically broken the Hard Peace as written,” he said, “but you certainly bent the rules quite badly. You are too clever for your own good, daughter. You violated the spirit of the order. Your actions for personal gain have been a detriment to the Genjix. It also sets a poor precedent for other vessels contending for standing. After the internal strife that the Council has endured the past few years, we need stability. Conflict breeds innovation, but uncontrolled conflict is a waste of our resources.”
When exactly did your Holy One decide that? she thought. She wisely kept that to herself.
Wise indeed.
Shura had a glib retort on the tip of her tongue, but she held back. What was the point? Why bother defending her position when they both knew he was right? Weston was as intelligent and cunning as any vessel, one of the top students at the Hatchery. That was why he had been chosen to be Enzo’s heir, to be Zoras’s vessel.
The leader of the Genjix wasn’t here for her to plead her case. He was her judge and executioner. This conversation was a formality. Her fate had likely been sealed before she even walked into the room. The only thing left to do then was to go on the offensive. Either defend her aggressive tactics or show that she was too valuable to the Genjix to be put to death. That, or she could try to kill all three in the room.
She leaned forward and poured herself a cup of tea. “When one’s enemy holds three times one’s territory and wealth, and five times one’s forces, one has to think outside the box. Because of the Hard Peace, Rurik has enjoyed every tactical advantage in our conflict. But then, you want him to win, don’t you, High Father?”
“And yet you still stand.” Weston spoke without emotion, but it was a great compliment.
His respect is irrelevant. He fears you.
Shura knew where she personally stood with Weston, and where Rurik stood. She and Weston had a relationship spanning back to their days at the Hatchery, though he was a few years her junior. Still, personal affection and childhood relationships only went so far when it came to the Genjix hierarchy. She knew he thought little of Rurik, but the Russian’s family had its own advantages, while Shura’s name bought nothing.
Weston stood up and moved out of her peripheral vision. She forced herself to keep looking forward. His hand squeezed her shoulder as he leaned in close. “You’re talented and dangerous, and far too ambitious.”
Stay in control. His gesture is relaxed.
Shura felt her hand drift closer to one of her knives. That movement was not lost on Weston’s guards. She reversed course and, instead, put her hand over his. She lightly caressed and stroked the back of his arm. It was comforting and sensual, and brought back memories to them both.
“Overwhelming odds nurture strength,” she replied. Another of Elder Mother’s sayings.
The two had history, physically as well as mentally. Sex was just another tool at the Hatchery. The children often experimented with each other, sometimes using it for pleasure, other times learning how to wield it as a weapon.
“I should make an example of you,” said Weston, his lips lingering close to her ear. The tips of his fingers brushed her cheek as he pulled away. Shura continued looking forward, but she tracked his voice in the room. “However, that would not serve the Holy Ones.” He returned to her line of sight and sat back on the sofa. “Tell me, Shura. Are you up-to-date on the current progress of the Bio Comm Array project?”
The politically expedient answer would be some degree of affirmation. It was one of the Genjix’s most important projects. Unfortunately, she had a full plate and Tabs was not fond of reading dry status reports when Shura was asleep either.
“Not a clue,” she admitted. “The outcome of the project is your responsibility. I am tasked with making sure that the facility wants for nothing, and that nothing interrupts its operation.” She paused. “Which is why I did what I had to do to obtain those catalyst reaction rods. My facility has need of those.”
“As do all the Bio Comm facilities,” replied Weston. “But in commandeering and hoarding a source of catalyst reaction rods for one facility, you have deprived Rurik’s three arrays of the necessary materials to maintain operations. You have forced them offline.”
“Do you believe the Holy Ones would like for me to take over responsibility for those arrays as well?” Shura said that with a completely straight face.
A tight smile broke the plane of Weston’s mouth. “Perhaps you should. Rurik has already been informed that the arrays being offline are unacceptable. However, that is not why I am here today.”
“How may I serve the Holy Ones?” said Shura automatically, bowing her head.
“The Bio Comm Array initiative has succeeded far better than the Holy Ones could have possibly hoped. We are already entering the next phase of the project. We now require the talents of a Receiver,” explained Weston. “Unfortunately, there are no Genjix alive who possess that ability.”
“And the Prophus?”
“We are uncertain,” he said. “As far as we are aware, there is only one Quasing alive on record who has this ability, who was a Receiver, but no one knows where she is, and it appears you are to blame.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about, High Father.”
Weston approached Shura and looked down at her. “A Holy One named Io. She was the Prophus double agent who tried to defect to the Genjix two years ago, the one you let slip from your grasp.”
It took a moment for those words to sink in and for Tabs to get her caught up to speed. Shura stiffened and her face turned ashen. The room felt warm, but Shura was not going to break her composure in front of him. She sank into the chair, relaxed. “I see.”