by Wesley Chu
Ella, remember Asao’s warning.
A memory of her smacking the girlfriend-beater flashed into her head. She stopped after three steps and stomped back to Kaoru. “They get twenty-four hours to return an item, but we charge a twenty percent restocking fee. And nothing if they’ve already tried to take it apart, got it?”
“Yes Bosu.”
Kaoru marched back to the negotiating table. Ella chewed her lips and continued pretending to polish the bar counter, wiping so hard with the rag that it looked as if she was trying to drill a hole.
Calm down.
“Those kids are pissing me off. I worked hard to steal that stuff.”
You need to not take everything so personally. Remember, it is just business.
Io was right. One of the few times Ella grudgingly admitted it. She ran through a few of her knife-throwing exercises, taking deep breaths to drain away her irritation. It took a little while to calm down, but after a frustrating morning where it seemed everyone was out to piss her off, she needed to clear her headspace.
Later that afternoon, Lee walked into the bar. He was the only American in the crew, Hawaiian or something, and the only one with a steady job, something to do with processing tofu. Hinata had brought him on board. Lee was quiet and laid back. That’s what Ella liked best about him. He didn’t argue with her like all the other Burglar Alarms. Most importantly, he seemed like a genuinely good guy. To be honest, Ella at first wasn’t sure why he wanted to run with the Burglar Alarms. It wasn’t until she saw him with Kaoru that everything made sense.
“Any of those boys giving her problems?” he asked as he took a seat at the bar.
“None she can’t handle, and none I can’t if she couldn’t,” she replied. “Any leads for the rest of the stuff?”
“I hit up all our local contacts, talked with a bunch of people and organizations.” He spoke with a drawl that made every word twice as long as it needed to be. For some reason, it was very soothing. Lee was the only one Ella let get away with not calling her boss. He had a good head on his shoulders, so she never felt the need to exert her authority over him. Lee hesitated before speaking again. “Listen, Ella… I think you should just give away all the medical supplies.”
The boiling blood rushed back into Ella’s head. It really was one of those days. She took back all the nice things she said about him and thinking that he had a good head on his shoulders. “I’m going to kill–”
He held up his hands. “Hear me out. I went everywhere: hospitals, pharmacies, clinics, underground clinics, even the Shinto Church. Nobody wants to buy the stuff.”
I will not say anything.
“You better not, Alien.”
“All that stuff we got,” continued Lee, pointing at the back room, “is for stuff like bullet wounds and cuts and injuries from someone trying to kill you. There’s no crime in Tokyo. The only people who even have guns is us, and we’re the ones selling them. Even if someone does accidentally cut himself gutting fish or something, there’s literally a clinic on every other block.” He pointed in both directions. “Ōkubo Hospital is two blocks away. And if that’s too far, I can go to Kashi’s on the corner. And everything is free.”
Ella slapped her cheek with both hands. “I have nine cartons of this junk. What are we going to do with it?”
I told you so.
“You said you wouldn’t say anything.”
I cannot help it.
More angry words leaped to Ella’s lips, but died before they left her mouth. Io did warn her. She didn’t listen, and as much as she wanted to blame someone else – anyone else really – this one was on her. Something about admitting fault raised her spirits somewhat. She sighed. “Who do you want to give these goodies to? Can we get anything in return?”
Lee ticked one finger. “I recommend we give half of the goods to Dr Shinpei.”
“The creepy yakuza doctor?”
“He’ll have a use for it. He will also owe us a favor.”
Ella nodded. “Sounds like a fair trade. What about the other half?”
“To the Shinto free clinic in Taitō.”
“What’s our angle with them?”
He shrugged. “Nothing. They’re just nice people who take care of the old and the poor.”
Ella swallowed her gag reflex. All of her hard work for nothing. Well, not for nothing. It was for a good cause, which was just about as useful to her as nothing. It still stung. If she had just skipped the nine cartons they could have taken more guns, or even that bazooka thing Daiki wanted to swipe.
Surface-to-air missile launcher.
“I’m not talking to you right now.”
“Fine, I guess,” she said aloud, crossing her arms. “But they have to come pick it up. I’m not lugging that stuff all the way across town through traffic.”
“Fine,” shrugged Lee good-naturedly. “I can do it myself. I’ll pull up my truck in the rear and load them up. I’ll be back in a few hours.”
Lee disappeared into the back room. Ella’s scowl deepened. Something was off. She felt a nauseous sensation in the pit of her stomach. Shouldn’t she feel better after doing a good deed? She watched through the doorway as Lee struggled with the topmost carton.
Ugh. Guilt. What an awful emotion.
“Fine,” she yelled after him. “I’ll help you bring those stupid things over. Not like I have anything better to do.”
My little Ella may finally be growing up.
“Shut it, Alien.”
Ella checked on Kaoru before leaving. The girl’s excessive eye-rolling said all that needed to be said. They were still negotiating on only the eleventh of nineteen items the engineering club was interested in. Ella gave Kaoru a sympathetic pat on the shoulder before heading to the back room to help Lee load the truck.
An hour later, Ella and Lee were in bumper-to-bumper traffic to the Shinto clinic. The drive to the impoverished Sanya neighborhood in the Taitō District on the eastern end of Tokyo was typical of rush hour, slow and uneventful. Ella stewed for most of the trip, replaying all the bad decisions she had made on the job that led her to this very moment. Daiki almost got caught. She almost killed a dying woman. She could have taken more weapons to sell for money. Instead she took these stupid cartons.
Do not forget you stupidly exposed yourself.
By the time they got to the clinic, her mood, if possible, had worsened. She met the Shinto nuns with a hard grimace even as Lee embraced a few of them. Ella hated to admit it but as she and Lee unloaded the crates and saw the appreciative look in those nice old ladies’ faces, she found herself feeling better.
The nuns doted on him – he obviously was a familiar face there – and treated Ella with a motherly care that she hadn’t felt in a long time. In a way, the clinic reminded her of her early days when Wiry Madras helped get her off the streets. Being here made her homesick. The little black ball of fury in her gut began to dissipate. The nuns even fed her hot soup. By the time they were finished with their business, Ella wished they could have stayed a little longer. She promised the nuns she would come back.
Ella left the clinic feeling like she had done some good. Not quite as good as if she were able to sell the stuff, but she definitely got something warm and fuzzy out of it. Even if she couldn’t spend it.
Unfortunately, their next stop was the oily and very creepy Dr Shinpei, the chop shop patch-up doctor in the Roppongi District, and all the warm fuzzy feelings dried up like a wilted flower in a drought. Not only did he totally ignore her and insist on talking only to Lee – that sexist ass – he made sure to pointedly inform them that he owed them nothing. The jerk even gave them a hard time for accepting the supplies, as if he were doing them a favor instead of the other way around.
Technically he is.
“You are supposed to be on my side.”
Do you want me to always agree with you?
It sounded like a trick question. Ella went for the honest ans
wer. “Yes.”
If I did, we both would likely be dead by now.
She barked a sarcastic laugh.
Lee, who was driving the truck next to her in the front seat, gave her a puzzled look. “Something funny?”
“No,” she replied lamely. “Just an inside joke.”
Lee didn’t press. He was decent like that. He had offered to drop her off at her apartment after Dr Shinpei’s. “You talk to yourself a lot. Sometimes Kaoru and I can’t decide if you’re a little crazy or if you have one of those Quasing alien things in your head.”
The grin on Ella’s face froze. So much for being a good undercover agent. She couldn’t even hide being a host from a bunch of teenagers. What else does Lee know? Should she own up?
What? No. Are you insane? Laugh! Ridicule that idea right now!
Fortunately, they were saved by a phone call. Ella checked the phone: Nice Hair. She answered. “Hey Kaoru.”
“They’re here.”
The girl was panicked and speaking so fast Ella’s modest Japanese failed her. Io filled in the rest but it still took some translating. “Slow down. What’s here?”
“There’s a bunch of gangsters at the bar. They’re yelling for you.”
“Hah. It’s a good thing I’m not there then,” said Ella.
That was not the response I was expecting, but I approve. You are finally learning.
Kaoru’s voice raised an octave. “They’re trashing the bar. One of them hit Asao.”
“Is he hurt?”
“No, it was more like a slap.”
That didn’t sound so bad. At least not bad enough to get involved. “They’ll get bored. Just get him to a safe place. Tell him we’ll help clean up afterward.”
I see I am finally rubbing off on you.
“They’re going to steal the rest of our stuff!”
I still think it is not worth–
Ella’s hand involuntarily shot out and grabbed a fistful of Lee’s sleeve. “Turn around. Get us back to the World-Famous. Step on it!”
Chapter Twelve
The Search
Ella Patel’s time at the Prophus Academy started out well enough. She was assigned to the first-year class and seemed to blend in. Ella was shy and reserved at first, and her English was poor. The Academy was a far cry from life in Crate Town. Her new life was practically an alien world. Because of that, she managed to stay on her best behavior and out of trouble for the first few weeks.
That civility did not last for long, however.
“I’m sorry, Shura, but I cannot help you. Your position is delicate, and I have my own standing to consider.”
Shura glared at the floating three-dimensional projection of Anton Yoong, who was locked in a tight struggle with two other Adonis vessels for control of South Korea. “I’m not asking for you to take sides, brother. I’m just asking for access to your intelligence.”
Anton gave her a meaningful look. “Doing so is taking sides, and I frankly do not wish to incur Rurik Melnichenko’s wrath.”
“We have a long history together.”
“One that I cherish,” he replied. “My answer is still no.”
“How many times have I saved your life?”
“And I yours, or do you not remember Budapest?” replied Anton coolly. “Do not try to dredge up our past. It is long buried. What can you do for me now?”
“I would consider this a personal favor,” said Shura. “One that you will find useful to call in in the future.”
“You may control a larger territory,” conceded Anton, “but it is a tired one, and you are going head-to-head with one of the strongest. Regardless of your many recent successes, the betting odds are that you will eventually make a misstep or that Rurik will wear you down. Russia also wields considerable influence in South Korea. I risk everything for that favor. I wish you luck, sister, but I will not go against my own interest.”
Shura ended the communication and stared out the window overlooking the Yamuna River. It had been the same with every call. She had contacted dozens of Adonis vessels from all over the world, many with whom she had shared a long history, and had come up empty-handed.
You are at a disadvantage. Rurik has been searching for the girl for several months now, and likely has a formidable head start. The Russian spy network is arguably one of the best in the world, second to the Chinese and possibly the Americans.
“I have been at a disadvantage my entire life, Tabs. What makes this time different?”
Since her meeting with Weston, she had attacked her search for the Receiver with fevered vigor. This was the opportunity she was waiting for, and she intended to seize it. If she succeeded in capturing the Receiver, she could finally reclaim her birthright and restore her family’s shame. More importantly, she would finally achieve her place on the Genjix Council.
It is different because this will be the last time, one way or another.
That was likely true. Weston’s intentions were clear. The High Father wanted peace in his regions, and the only way there would ever be any between her and Rurik would be if the other was no longer there to fight. To the victors the spoils. To the loser, a forced transfer of their Holy One, of which there was only one way to carry that out.
He also still has vastly more wealth and resources.
“That has been true for two years since I tore India from his grasp, and I have still beaten him at every turn.”
This mission is not the same. Intelligence gathering wages a different sort of war. You cannot build or purchase a spy network on the fly. It has to be carefully grown and nurtured.
Shura didn’t realize exactly how different this world was until she began her search. She soon discovered that she was far out of her element. The Genjix spy network was incredibly complicated and insular. Information was power, and the vessels who controlled these information-gathering apparatuses guarded their territories zealously. Strong relationships were key in the spy world, and Shura had made little effort to establish them in her short stint on the world stage. There may have been an opportunity to reach an agreement if Tabs had a close relationship with another vessel’s Holy One, but she did not play well with others.
The only other way to obtain access to these foreign spy networks was to purchase it, either through funds, resources or favors, all of which Shura possessed in limited supply. This, too, quickly became a moot point. When she contacted several vessels to inquire about buying access, she was informed that the Russians had already paid them handsomely specifically to deny her use of their intelligence.
Rurik had thoroughly choked off every spy agency available to her, therefore killing any chance she had of locating the Receiver. Shura hated to admit it, but she was impressed. The Russian had moved quickly the moment he learned she was joining the hunt and had effectively neutralized her before she even began. Russia’s spy network had its hands in everything. They were tightly connected in one way or another to every major government in the world. And with that integration came influence.
The odds were so stacked against her that at first Shura thought that Weston was actively working against her, possibly tipping Rurik off or even actively ordering the other vessels to not deal with her. She eventually came to the conclusion that the odds of Weston working against her were low. It just wasn’t his style. If he had wanted her to fail, he would have just ordered her death. No, the Holy Ones were testing her mettle. Conflict bred innovation.
I did tell you to expend some budget on diplomacy the past two years.
“With what budget? I had more pressing issues to deal with at the time.”
In many ways, she realized how much she had underestimated her rival. She may have beaten and outmaneuvered him in areas of operation and direct conflict, but he had expended his time and formidable resources cultivating allies and growing his financial empire, which he was now wielding freely against her. In focusing on winning every small battle, Shura may ha
ve lost the war.
By the end of the first week, she had gone from calling Adonis vessel-led countries to those who administered smaller territories, and even some non-Adonis vessels. She had come up empty in every case, and now was at a dead end.
The next call Shura made, the tenth of the day and the hundredth in a week, was to Abbi, a competent spymaster who managed a rapidly growing spy network in the Philippines. While Abbi was only a raised vessel, someone who had earned her Holy One in the field rather than being blessed through the Hatchery, she was a respected operative who had cultivated an extensive network throughout much of the South China Sea, and was making an outside claim for control of all the surrounding islands. That was unheard-of for someone of her relatively modest standing.
Shura knew ten seconds into the communication that the call would likely end in failure.
“Rurik told me you would call,” said Abbi.
She kept her tone neutral. “Whatever he has offered you, I’m sure we can come to an understanding.”
“Rurik has paid me quite handsomely to tell you no.”
“How much?”
A number flashed across Shura’s desk. Expensive, but not inordinately so, at least not considering the reach of Abbi’s network. “I can match that,” she said finally.
Abbi stared at Shura for several moments. She finally spoke, “I don’t think you understand. I don’t care if you can.”
“He is weak, Abbi, vulnerable. You know I am not.”
“That is why I support him,” said Abbi. “Here’s the difference between you two. Rurik is mindful that his power, the control he has over his territories, is built upon sand. This game he plays is easy to exploit, influence, control even. That was how you were able to carve India away from him. He was too busy minding other matters and dropped the ball.”
“Your point?” said Shura, coolly.
“You, however, Shura, used to be one of us, regardless of the fact you are Hatchery-raised. You were of lower standing and assumed your lofty perch. Your foundation is a rock, self-made. There is much to admire.” Abbi leaned back in her chair. “I do you this one favor, that is all you will pay. You do not need me. You never did, even when I offered my support in the past. That is your strength and your vulnerability. You are an island.” She pointed to the side. “Rurik controls a vast kingdom he can barely hold together with tape, glue, and a pile of money ready for siphoning. I do what he asks, he pays me in perpetuity.” She smiled. “Instability breeds opportunity.”