The Deaths of Tao (23 page)

Take your own advice and stay low. Your brain is not much, but I cannot accomplish anything without it.
 

“I can’t believe how fast he was.”

Better hope you do not meet again.
 

“I am never that lucky.”

Roen sprinted through the kitchen, past the terrified cooks, and out the exit where Faust and Wuehler were pinned down behind a dumpster in a narrow alleyway.

“What took you so long?” Wuehler yelled.

“We have bogies coming out here shortly,” Roen said, reloading his pistol.

Faust nodded and motioned for them to retreat. “You hosts get out of here. I’ll cover.”

“Like hell,” Roen growled, taking his turn on the firing line just as Faust ducked down to reload. A symphony of sirens began ringing in the distance.

Assume local authorities are on their side.
 

“Why can’t we ever assume they’re on ours?”

Because they rarely are.
 

“Where does the back of this alley lead to?”

Splits fifty meters back. Take the left until it curves and then another left.
 

Roen grabbed Faust by the collar and forcibly pulled him back as they retreated. He signaled to Wuehler to go left at the end of the alley as they sidestepped the clutter, hurdling debris and carts as if they were on an obstacle course. Taking up the rear, Roen toppled refuse and pushed dumpsters to block the path. For a second, he thought they might have escaped and thrown off their pursuers.

“Did you get word to the team?” Wuehler asked.

“Hutch’s stowing the gear now. Ray’s mobilizing the rest for an intercept.”

It is too dangerous. Send them to the second safe house.
 

“Too hot,” Roen yelled. “Eight more guys aren’t going to make a dent here. Send them to the second site. We’ll meet up with them.”

“We have two hosts here!” Faust snapped. “You two are the priority.”

“It’s a direct order from Tao,” Roen replied.

“Ramez concurs,” Wuehler added.

Faust gave them a disgusted look before getting back on the comm.

They reached the end of the alley, which opened to a busy street. The sound of the sirens was getting louder. With the docks to the north and their pursuers to the south, they had little choice.

“Push away from the team,” Wuehler was saying. “Second site is to the east. We’ll circle around; give the guys a chance to sneak out with the gear.”

Roen nodded. Wuehler might be a dick, but he always thought of his men. They scampered across the intersection and entered an even tighter alley, forcing them to move single file. Twenty meters in, Roen heard a shout. He turned and opened fire, taking out two uniformed police officers. He hoped they were actually corrupt and not innocent men just doing their jobs.

Unfortunately, with the Genjix having much deeper pockets, more often than not, they had already bought the local government. The Prophus just couldn’t afford to buy influence anymore. The United States and Great Britain were the only two countries they still had significant pull in, and even there they were losing ground. Before long, they would become an entirely underground group.

“Up top!” Faust said, pointing to a ladder attached to the side of a three-story building. The ladder was barred by a small gate locked by a rusty padlock. Roen shot the lock and gestured for Faust to get a move on. Faust shook his head. “Hosts first.”

“You’re a goddamn broken record!” Roen pushed him to the ladder. “Just get up there and cover us!”

Wuehler and Roen stayed at the base of the ladder as Faust reached the top in a matter of seconds just as Genjix agents appeared. He began to lay down suppressing fire.

“Age before beauty,” Roen said to Wuehler, pointing up.

“Yeah so what are you waiting for? Get going then!” Wuehler shoved him to the ladder. “That’s an order.”

“What is up with everyone not wanting to go?” Roen snapped and began to climb. All around him sparks exploded as bullets banged against the metal grate covering of the ladder.

He was about a third way up when Wuehler called out from below. “You’re right, Roen.”

Roen looked down. “What?”

“Beauty does go last” Wuehler smirked and emptied another clip. At the far end, a Genjix agent went down. He holstered his pistol and climbed after them.

And who says he does not have a sense of humor.
 

“Strange time to show it.”

Roen reached the top and took position opposite of Faust. “I’m down to two clips,” he yelled.

“Last one,” Faust replied. “There’s rocks up here we can throw down.”

Wuehler was halfway up the ladder. Roen had eyes on five enemies, though there were bound to be more incoming. It was a good thing the alley was so narrow or they would have been easily overwhelmed. Wuehler was about two thirds up the ladder when he suddenly flinched. He wavered and then plummeting back down to the ground.

“No!” Faust jumped back on the ladder.

“Don’t do it.” Roen grabbed Faust by the shoulder and neck and pulled him back onto the roof.

Faust struggled in his arms. “We can’t leave him!”

“There’ll be twenty guys down there in fifteen seconds. This building will be surrounded in two minutes. If we’re not out of here now, it’s over. Let’s move!” Faust’s face twisted with frustration before he finally nodded.

Continue west deeper into the slum two roofs over and into the building. It is residential with many empty units. Hide until aerial surveillance is gone.
 

“I think staying is a mistake. We should continue west and get as far away as possible.”

I study for every contingency while you sleep. How do you think you have stayed alive for so long?
 

“Fine. Thank God one of us does.”

Ten minutes later, Roen and Faust watched from a fifth story window of a half abandoned apartment building as dozens of uniformed police officers milled around the streets. He counted twelve Genjix. The young psychopath was obviously the one in charge of the entire operation. He was furious they had escaped, shouting orders at both his men and the police sergeant in charge. One interesting thing he noted was that the boy didn’t speak Mandarin or Taiwanese but American English, with a faint New England accent by the sound of it. The kid was a ringer from the States.

They stayed hidden and surveyed the activity. The Genjix had turned the street into their base of operations. Roen recognized two hosts among the Genjix while Faust identified three of their commandos. It was another shock unit, one that he had dealt with in the past.

Roen and Faust tensed when two police officers dragged a hooded figure toward a van. The hooded figure, arms handcuffed behind his back, walked with a bad limp. As he got near the van, half a dozen of the Genjix closed in around him.

Faust immediately got on the comm, recalling men to the area. Roen had only to glance out of the window to know that Faust’s plan was a terrible idea. Improvising a rescue operation against these odds was suicidal. They had better odds stealing from a Vegas casino. The local police being involved just made this entire island a death trap. The only thing that would come out of the rescue attempt was ten more body bags.

You have no choice.
 

For the second time in an hour, Roen was whisked back to that night at the helipad when he had had to shoot Sonya. He remembered her final words as she told him to kill her. He had tried to bury those memories, but now they came rushing back. Roen felt a chill wash over him as he leaned against the window.

“I can’t do it again.”

You must. I am sorry.
 

“We can rescue him! Just like we did with Jill and...”

Roen couldn’t finish the thought. Actually no, they didn’t rescue Sonya. Her life was taken from this world by his own blood-washed hands. He killed one of his best friends, and she thanked him for it. All this a sacrifice for the Quasing, because their lives were more precious than a human’s. He had vowed afterward that he wouldn’t do it again.

The painful truth was, this was the right call. The situation was different last time. He had the entire strength of the Prophus at his back when he had tried to rescue Sonya and Jill. And still he had failed. Now, with only a ragtag group of exhausted men, they had no chance. Wuehler was as good as dead. And with him, Ramez. Unless he did something right now.

Roen looked over at Faust. “Abort. Call the dogs off.”

Faust paused mid-sentence. He scowled, turned his back to Roen, and continued giving orders. Roen swiped the comm from Faust’s hand and turned it off. Faust drew his pistol and aimed it between Roen’s eyes.

“I’m the second. I’m in charge,” he snarled.

“You know it’s a lose-lose situation. You’re not sending our guys to their death.” Roen paused. “We have one option.”

For a second, Faust looked like he was about to pull the trigger, then he slammed his pistol into the drywall. “Damn!” he screamed.

Roen put his hand on Faust’s shoulders. “We don’t have much time. You were his guy. I think you should do it.”

Faust shook his head. “That’s a long shot for a pistol. I’m not comfortable at that range.”

Roen gritted his teeth and glanced out the window. It was a very long shot. He wasn’t sure he could do it either. Wuehler was almost to the van. If they didn’t get a shot off in the next few seconds, Ramez was lost. Roen didn’t want to be the one to do it, but it seemed they had no choice.

Roen pulled out his flashlight and handed it to Faust. “When I get the shot off, I want you to flash it on and off at the street for five seconds.”

“Why?” Faust asked. “Won’t it just call attention to us?”

Roen took aim at Wuehler’s head. “Yeah, but Ramez will see it too. I hope you can recover fast from a transfer because we’re going to have to make a break for it while you puke your guts out.”

 

 

TWENTY

OUT OF SUBJECTS

Control of mankind is a simple theory, yet complicated in practice. Like most primitive but sentient beings, they seek to understand what is beyond their grasp. That is the void that the Genjix fill. That is why it is fitting that, for over a thousand years, we assumed control of humanity through the Papal States. The rule of Rome is shrouded in irony and truth.
 

Zoras

 

“Time of death: 21.17.”

Enzo stared at the corpse floating in the vat. They were close. It had been five days since they sacrificed the annoying old man. When Myyk’s life signs had hit the six hour mark, Chow had declared the test a success and popped the champagne bottles. Enzo had reported his accomplishment to the Council, telling them that they were moving on to the final phase.

Word had spread like wildfire that Enzo’s project had successfully created a functioning habitat. The next logical step was procreation, something that had been impossible on this planet until now. Initially, there was a surge of Quasing volunteers for the next step. Every Genjix not vested in their vessel wanted to partake in the experiment. It was a historic event after all.

However, during the second test, Myyk’s life signs faded, and Chow had the unfortunate job of notifying Enzo during breakfast. The failure leaked, and within hours, the volunteers had disappeared. It made Enzo look foolish. Receiving the smug looks of disappointment on the Council’s faces was one of most humiliating experiences he’d ever had to endure. He passed his anger and wrath onto Chow and his team.

Since then, Enzo had not left the research lab. For three days now, he worked Chow’s team around the clock, and short of actually carrying a whip, pushed them as hard as he could for results. There were now seven vats being experimented on at all times as the scientists tweaked and synthesized the formula. Seven formulas. Seven vats. Seven Prophus test subjects being sacrificed continually. Each formula was varied only slightly. Just like the mix of air for humans must be perfect, so too must the synthesized environment for the Quasing. They burned through subjects at a faster rate than could be transferred from the internment camp. Enzo didn’t care though. He wanted results and his pride would not be satisfied until he got them.

“Life signs in four are fluctuating,” one of the techs called out.

Enzo’s eyes darted to four, just glimpsing the Quasing inside spasm, his membrane expanding and contracting in a desperate jerky way. This scene was common now. An hour earlier, vat two’s subject had had the same reaction. Six hours before that, vat one actually exploded.

“That’s it,” Chow yelled. “I want that entire strain shut down.”

Enzo waited until the beeping sound of the subject’s life signs became a steady tone.

That subject’s name was Hume. I have never interacted with him, and he was never a Quasing of importance, though in his confession, he said one of his vessels invented the Hittite method of wool dyeing.
 

“I don’t know what that means, and I really don’t care.”

Nor do I. He was a worthless Quasing. Forty-nine subjects in three days. You have now killed more Quasing than any other human. A dubious distinction.
 

“Chow,” Enzo called. “Drain vat four. Pull the hybrid strain from one.”

The head researcher fell to one knee. “Father, that was our last subject.”

“I ordered a shipment from the camp days ago,” Enzo snapped. “Why aren’t they here yet? I can Fedex a yak to Greenland in two days. Why can’t I get my prisoners here in my own country?”

Chow lowered his head. “Forgive me, Father. I do not know. The internment camp lost contact with another supply van two hours after they departed. There is an ongoing search now.”

“Have you sent for more?”

“No, Father.”