The Deaths of Tao (9 page)

A Council meeting needs to be held as soon as possible to solidify your standing. While Genjix seniority is measured by the Quasing, you will still need to put the Council at ease. Devin’s accumulated holdings were vast and the others will move on any perceived weakness.
 

“I have no weaknesses, Holy One. I do not fail.”

We shall see. Assign the rest of the daily operations to Amanda. Lean on her while you grow into your role. Call a meeting of your senior ministers and commanders in two hours. There is something more pressing that requires your attention. The rest can wait. Test lab six is waiting for you to proceed with the test. I wish to personally witness the results.
 

Enzo nodded and left his office, flanked by twenty aides coming and going as he dictated orders. He left the building and proceeded toward the ProGenesis lab.

By now, word of his ascension had spread and the curious lined his path to pay tribute. Several of the devoted reached out to touch him, a new god walking amongst them. Zoras watched with curiosity at how Enzo dealt with the attention.

The results were mixed. On the one hand, Enzo recognized that he was a blessed being more valuable than a thousand humans and carried himself as such. That was an important trait for an Adonis Vessel to possess. Their sense of self-worth enforced their Quasing’s ability to rule. On the other hand, Zoras watched with disdain as Enzo played the crowd like a politician walking the rope line. Keeping his face stoic, he touched the outstretched hands and made eye contact with the worshiping masses. It was a far cry from how Devin, who played the role of an isolated Egyptian Pharaoh, treated his people.

You are a god. Remember that.
 

“A god who leads, Guardian.”

To lead is a human trait. A god demands obedience.
 

It took Enzo over half an hour to make the five-minute walk across the Genjix campus to the research building. He was met by Chow, the head researcher, at the entrance to the ProGenesis lab.

“Father,” the rotund man dressed in blue research robes bowed.

Jikl’s vessel.
 

Enzo noted Chow’s figure with disdain. It was a vessel’s responsibility to keep his body healthy for his Quasing, something Chow had heretically neglected.

Not all Genjix serve your purpose. Jikl’s vessel fills his role well.
 

“The sacrilege is unacceptable, Holy One.”

“We await your order,” Chow said.

Enzo nodded and signaled for the test to begin. A large crane hummed to life and lifted a cage into the air. Inside, a prisoner shook at the bars.

“You can’t do this,” the man screamed at the dozen people below watching him with scientific interest. “I’m not a lab experiment. This is murder!”

“Penetra scanner readings,” Chow called out. A few scientists below on the ground level confirmed it. “Signatures,” he directed to another group. A large screen appeared, showing the human and Quasing’s life signs.

Then on his order, Chow ordered the experiment to continue. The crane moved the cage over a massive cylindrical glass vat filled with a slow swirling, sludge-like red liquid. A metal cover, split down the middle, opened outward.

The prisoner screamed, hammering the bars with his fists. “We’re all humans! Think about what you’re doing!” He began to slam his body into the bars in a crazed fashion until blood poured down his forehead.

With a signal from Chow, the crane dropped the cage into the vat and the cover closed over it, vacuum-sealing the container. Immediately, the cage sunk to the bottom and within seconds, the human was dead, a frozen look of terror on his face. Enzo paid attention to the steady beep of his life signs flatlining. The Quasing’s life signs, though, jumped as it moved out of the corpse. Several scientists took to typing into their tablets. A sparkling light swam around the body of the cylinder, zigzagging back and forth, trying to escape. After a minute, it settled near the base of the vat.

“Elevated signs, but stable,” Chow reported. “Clocking at ninety seconds.”

“How long do these subjects survive in there?” Enzo asked.

“The most recent test, using chemical batch 5-8S, lasted nine minutes, Father,” Chow said.

Longer than a human could stay alive underwater. Better than one could in many parts of the world.
 

The life signs of the Quasing remained stable, but slowly eroding. He was dying a lingering death. Enzo waited patiently, watching one of the gods perish. He wondered where gods went after they died. The humans on this planet believed their gods to be immortal. Some believed in only one omnipotent god who had lived since before the creation of this planet. It seemed they were only half right. Gods could live forever but could also be killed like any other. Enzo was now a witness to this truth. After nearly fifteen minutes, the life signs of the Prophus leveled out, turning from a soft blip to a steady tone.

To the Eternal Sea.
 

Enzo repeated the words under his breath.

“Sixteen minutes, forty three seconds at time of death,” a scientist below called out.

Several of the blue robes congratulated Chow. They were on the right path, a step closer to the formula for the Quasing primordial soup. It was only a matter of time.

“Find the cause of death,” Chow ordered. “I want an autopsy report of the human and the Quasing within the hour.” He turned to Enzo with a large smile. “An advancement, Father.”

Enzo nodded. Sixteen minutes was encouraging. “When will you be ready to test again?”

“Immediately after the autopsy and analysis from the Penetra scanner,” Chow said. “We’ll need to make adjustments to the chemical mixture and synthesize the formula. Possibly a few days?”

“How many Prophus prisoners are on hand?”

“Three, Father. A shipment is being delivered from Tibet as we speak, and I am told the recent captured enemy vessel has plenty more. It should be enough to keep our tests running for the rest of the year.

“Continue on then,” he said briskly, turning to leave. A small army of aides trailed close behind.

Enzo looked at them, irritated. “Holy One, must they follow me every step like lap dogs?”

These aides are simply a means to do my bidding. Do you pay attention to your hands when you perform a task?
 

“I long for a little routine at the gym. My body requires its nourishment to stay strong for your use.”

Your dedication is noted. Who was that betrayer sacrificed for the greater good?
 

Enzo stopped just before he reached the exit and turned around. The group behind him immediately parted ways. “What was the name of that Prophus?” he asked.

Chow looked down at his notes before speaking. “I believe he was named Krys, Father. He was captured when the Prophus Command fell three years back.”

Satisfied, Enzo nodded and made his way toward the gym.

 

EIGHT

CROSS COUNTRY

Consciousness is a human concept. My thoughts were present when our ship crashed. I lost them during those millions of years I struggled to stay Quasing, and eventually became nothing more than a ghost. I regained myself during one momentous encounter.
 

At the time, my vessel was the alpha in a large troop of ancient primates deep in Asia. The memory of times before I became present were vague. After living for eons in instinctive creatures, my consciousness had dulled.
 

One day, a gigantic cousin of my species wandered into our territory. He was twice again larger than any of my troop, and carried a dangerous scent of cunning. I could not describe that scent any longer, for all now possess it. Some of the troop tried to drive him off, but he swatted them with ease. Then, it became my duty as alpha to handle this new menace.
 

Tao

 

Roen’s plane trip across the United States was very uncomfortable and terribly awkward. Sitting in coach sandwiched between the window and Wuehler was a far cry from the good ol’ days when he jet set all over the world in G4s and military transports. To squeeze two full grown men into seats the size of bread boxes was inhumane. The budget crunch and the recent losses affected every part of Prophus operations.

“I wish I had showered last night.”

I am sure Wuehler wishes you had as well.
 

“How can we go on missions like this? Do they FedEx our gear?”

You will have to source the weapons locally from the criminal underground. It could be worse.
 

“What, ship us by cargo plane?”

Consider yourself lucky. It has been done before.
 

Sadly, that was the good part of the flight. The bad was dealing with Wuehler for seven hours straight. A couple of lifetimes had passed since they had first met. Roen had joined Wuehler’s team on his first mission raiding a Genjix warehouse. Back then, the older commander paid Roen the respect due to a host. Since then, because of Roen’s growing list of dirty laundry, Wuehler barely tolerated him. Wuehler had the lead for this operation, though as hosts, they were technically equal in rank.

They spent the first hour without exchanging a word. When the older commander had learned Roen was being attached to his team, he threw a tantrum that only a stiff like him could. He told Stephen he objected strenuously. And when Stephen shot him down, Wuehler went to the Keeper and told her he objected very strenuously. When that didn’t work, he came and told Roen to be ready at 0900 hours. Roen was in for some very dull few weeks.

At least you have me.
 

“Yes monkey, dance for me. Tell me a fun story.”

Remember the first time you met Lin?
 

“That’s not a fun story. Why does every fun story you tell have to do with me getting my ass kicked?”

Because you have a higher frequency of getting asskicked than most of my hosts.
 

“Come on, you’re telling me Genghis didn’t get the sharp end of the spear once in a while?”

Temujin killed his brother when he was ten. Do you really think he lost that many fights? Even Brother Renoir, a devout Catholic priest and pacifist, poisoned forty Nazis and mowed down twelve SS with a machine gun before he died.
 

“Your definition of pacifism is a little different from most others.”

I tend to beat that quality out of them early on in our relationship.
 

“Roen,” Wuehler handed him a notebook. “Here are the men’s bios. I’m placing you third after Faust.”

Roen’s outstretched hands stopped just short of taking the notebook. “Third?” he said incredulously. “I’m a host and the intelligence officer on this mission. It’s my work that got this data.”

“You’re an unreliable rogue,” Wuehler snapped. “Faust has been my second for years. I can depend on him. I’m not risking the boys to an unstable, short-fused cowboy.”

Unstable? No one has called you that in weeks.
 

“Man, how many insults do I have to put up with this morning? It’s not even lunchtime yet.”

“Look, this is against protocol,” Roen snapped out loud. “If you go down, a host needs to be in charge. What does Ramez think of this?”

“He’s the one that gave me the green light to bust you back,” Wuehler at least had the decency to look smug. He pushed the notebook forward again.

Let it go. Faust is solid. You can assume command from him if the situation arises.
 

Roen reluctantly snatched the notebook and put it on the tray. He signaled to the stewardess for a scotch and scanned the bios. It was a pretty standard shock-team roster. Wuehler’s team of ten was a far cry from the thirty he had led when they first met. He had moved from commanding a large general assault group to a smaller, heavier-armed shock unit. Once an agent became a host, his skillset became specialized.

Since then, Wuehler had racked up an impressive list of engagements. His primary theater of operation was the Midwest, mainly in Omaha, Chicago, Madison, and the Dakotas, occasionally venturing out to Kentucky and Pennsylvania where the Genjix had a heavy coal industry presence.

“This sounds like a weird job for Wuehler. His team is as heavy and as non-covert as they come. Wouldn’t an urban reconnaissance squad be more appropriate?”

Maybe he’s branching out, trying new things. Or maybe his team was the only resource available.
 

“I doubt it. You don’t change stripes this far in your career. Shock troops are beasts of a different breed, and are as subtle as daisy cutters. Usually, you hear them coming miles away, and they leave messes that would make a cleaner cry.”

Roen put the notebook down two paragraphs into each person’s bio and sipped his scotch. He had read enough. At the end of the day, it didn’t matter what these guys specialized in. The fact that Wuehler’s team was so ill-equipped for this mission was not too unusual. It wasn’t the first time the Prophus had to work with less than optimal resources.

Urban reconnaissance would be key to finding the Genjix supply line. Even though Taiwan was a subtropical island, it boasted a dense population and was heavily industrialized. It would require extensive surveillance and inquiries into the local underground to achieve their goals. This must be the real reason why Stephen had asked him to come. They would rely heavily on Roen to put the pieces of the Genjix operation together. That team needed his expertise, even though he wasn’t a perfect fit for this assignment, either. Being silent and deadly was his bread and butter, but this mission required more finesse than his usual handiwork.

Roen hoped Dylan was still alive. The fact that there had been no contact with him since the sinking was worrisome. The Aussie must be laying low while doing his own investigation. It would make locating him much more difficult. Still, he must have made contact with some of the local inhabitants. How hard could it be to find a giant Australian with a half-burnt face on a small island in Asia anyway?