The Deaths of Tao (2 page)

Pull back!
 

Jill ignored Baji and continued to focus on the can. She expended another burst, her fifth shot finally finding its mark. The can of pepper spray exploded and a cloud of capsicum burst into the air. Immediately, the Genjix in that area began to cough. She pulled back, but not before a bullet grazed her cheek. Jill clenched her teeth and stifled a cry. That was too close.

The Genjix were distracted right now. Jill had to move before the cloud dissipated. She sprinted out from cover down toward the end of the alley, firing blindly behind her. She suddenly felt a searing pain as one of their bullets grazed her thigh. The impact knocked her off balance and she fell to the ground. Her pistol skidded across the ground.

Jill cursed and reached for it, clawing and dragging her way across the alley. All she could think about were Cameron and Baji. She had failed them both. One of the Genjix agents appeared and kicked the pistol away. Then she felt the air whoosh out of her lungs as another stomped down on her chest.

“Give it up, Prophus,” a voice said. The van lights closed in; she was surrounded. At this point, she had only one choice: get them to kill her to save Baji. She lashed out with her good leg and swept one of the agents. She grabbed for the foot of another. A blow to her head left her woozy. She closed her eyes and waited for the next, which would either end her life or knock her unconscious.

Soft pattering sounds began to rain down around her and all the Genjix agents suddenly fell over. The van screeched and then veered into the wall. The driver got out, falling to the ground as he clutched his shoulder. More pattering sounds came and he stopped moving.

Jill sat up and looked at the dozen still bodies; it looked like a war zone. With a grimace, she stood up and tested her injured leg. The bullet hadn’t hit bone. She took a handkerchief out of her purse and tied off the wound. She then limped to the end of the alley toward the main street. Her phone rang.

Jill dug it out of the purse and answered. “Hello?”

A gruff voice came across the line. “You tell Command to send better security next time or I will jam chopsticks through their eyes!” Then he hung up.

“Asshole,” she muttered, scanning the rooftops.

An asshole that saved your life.
 

“Least he could do was offer me a ride.”

Jill left the area as quickly as her limp would allow. The Genjix would send a cleaning team soon. It would be wise to be as far away from here as possible. Fifteen minutes later, she made it to a major intersection and saw a local bar on the corner. She was about to continue on when she stopped, a small smile appearing on her face.

“Oh hell, I deserve it,” she muttered and walked inside.

You are bleeding. Now is not the time for a drink.
 

“Now is the best time for a drink.”

She walked up to the counter and ordered a margarita.

You are not being wise.
 

“This
is
me being wise. I almost ordered a shot of tequila instead.”

Baji knew better than to press the issue. The bartenders gave the dried blood on her cheek a curious glance but otherwise left her alone. What little wisdom she had must have fled after the second margarita. She moved on up to tequila shots, downing two in rapid succession. That helped dull the pain. All she could think about was the close call; how she almost lost Baji and almost never saw Cameron again. And then she thought of Roen. She clenched her fist, downed the last shot of tequila, and slammed the glass down on the table. With newfound purpose, she hurried out of the bar and hailed a cab.

The sooner we get back to safety the better.
 

“I’m not going to a safe house.”

Where are you going then?
 

“I’m going to go find my husband.”

 

TWO

BUCK'S

The crash. A calamity. With over six million Quasing on board, the ship had accidentally passed through an asteroid field and was crippled. It fought to stay intact longer than we thought possible. Courageously, the ship limped through space, dying and desperate to find a place to land. That was when we entered your galaxy.
 

The Grand Council identified a planet in this solar system that contained atmospheres the Quasing could survive in, though the planet offered them in billions of tiny moving pockets. It was then we realized these pockets of atmosphere were the indigenous life forms on the planet. We had little choice and set a course for the planet we now call Earth.
 

Tao

 

The biggest mistake of the twentieth century. Go.
 

“I’m going to have to say that art school rejecting Hitler’s application, leading him toward the career choice of becoming a mass murderer. That or New Coke. You?”

The Japanese sneak attack on Pearl Harbor in 1941 or the 1948 presidential election when the Democrats failed to elect Henry Wallace as Vice President.
 

“Never got over it, huh? Over half a century later and you’re still bitter.”

Wallace was Roosevelt’s spiritual successor. The world could have been so much different.
 

“You’re just mad because he was the closest you ever got to being president.”

I spent two decades maneuvering him for the presidency!
 

Roen Tan pulled into the gravel lot in his Chevy Impala and studied the cars parked there: Jimmy’s; Amy’s; Chipmunk Voice Weird Guy’s; the owner, Dan’s; and the Raisin’s. He checked the mirror for any blood on his face. Some of the fighting on the roof had gotten very up close and personal.

He noted his sunken cheeks and the four-day fuzz on his chin. His black hair, cropped in a crooked faux hawk, was tangled and uneven. Satisfied, he parked the car, reached into the back seat for his cowboy hat, and stuffed his pistol into his jeans.

He got out and circled around to the front. One thing about rural roadside bars off the highway in the middle of the Appalachians, the patrons were usually the same folks coming in and out, and there wasn’t a bouncer patting you down. That last part was especially important. Roen felt his knife sheath slide down his ankle. He’d have to poke a tighter hole soon. His new weight loss regime of eating only once a day must have reached his calves.

He swung the door open and tipped his hat to Amy, the bartender. She was the hottest young thing within a hundred kilometers, which, truth be told, was probably a sample size of about a thousand and most of them men. He also suspected she was pushing forty.

“Charlie,” she nodded. “A late night? We’re closing in a bit.”

“Just a drink or three, ma’am,” he replied. “I’ll be out of your hair soon enough.”

“No worries, cowboy,” she smirked.

You know she does not believe you for a second…
 

“I’m practicing for a time when I have to really pull it off.”

When that time comes, let us hope your life is not depending on it.
 

Roen wasn’t that oblivious. He knew she didn’t call him cowboy because she actually thought he was one. He tried his best to emulate the southern mountain dialect of the people here, but he sounded silly. Still, it amused the locals, and over the past year, they had grown to tolerate his presence. It was one thing to be a stranger, but it was another entirely to be one who tried to fit in. It’s those who didn’t try who tended to piss them off. Still, he was a novelty here even after a year and they often took turns playing guessing games trying to figure out what crime he was hiding from. The consensus was he was running from tax fraud.

You really should just drop it.
 

“When in Rome, Tao, when in Rome.”

I lived in Rome for centuries. The last thing the Romans wanted was for the non-Romans to emulate them.
 

There was an old sound system playing Buck Owens on cassette. Roen knew it was Buck Owens because the bar rotated the same four tapes every night, and he was berated extensively the first time he asked about this giant of American music. He actually thought Buck sounded a little flat but that could just be the tape after a million playbacks.

Door in the back ajar. Garbage can blocking exit. Shotgun behind the bar. Two men at the far booth. Looks like Howie and his inseparable friend again.
 

Chipmunk Voice was at the far end of the bar, where he usually sat with his eyes glued to the television, a rickety old tube set that still had dials. Roen half expected to find the television broken every time he came in, and marveled at that wonderful piece of American ingenuity. They really didn’t build them like that anymore.

Raisin was sitting by himself at the booth closest to the door. He waved at Roen and beckoned him over. Roen averted his eyes and pretended not to notice the ancient man who smelled like he had been buried and recently dug up. Instead, he took a seat in the middle of the bar where he could keep an eye on both the entrance and the exit.

“What’ll it be, handsome?” Amy said in her sandpaper voice. She called everyone handsome, but Roen secretly harbored the suspicion that she really meant it with him. “The same?”

He nodded. “Wait,” he patted his pockets; it felt light. He had brought one of his fake identifications with him tonight and had forgotten to transfer his money. “Cutty,” he said dejectedly. “Neat. No, better make this one on the rocks.”

Cutty gives you headaches.
 

“So does not eating.”

No, that just makes you grumpy.
 

Amy brought over two glasses of brown liquid and slid one toward him. “Got your usual Glen. I’ll just put it on your tab, and this one too.” She winked. She thought she was doing him a kindness, but frankly, Roen would rather just get the Cutty than buy her a drink.

He suppressed his sigh and raised the glass. “To the finest lady this side of the mountain.” They clinked and emptied their glasses.

She brought the bottle out from the shelf and poured them both another drink. This was about to get expensive on his dime. “So what kept you so late from visiting me tonight, Charlie?” she asked, twirling the bottle in her hand.

“Shooting a dozen guys trying to kill Jill” seemed like the wrong thing to say.

Roen lifted the glass to her eye level and tipped his hat. “Had to check chemical levels at the plant.” The local industry in this region was chemical processing and it was common to carry odd hours. Usually, no one batted an eye at his alibis.

Amy leaned in close, her finger running along the rim of the glass. “So what else you got planned tonight, muscles? This ol’ bottle and I are all by our lonesome.”

Roen hesitated. On the one hand, she revolted him with her ashen face, yellow-stained teeth, and inane prattle. On the other hand, she did come with a free bottle...

The door opened with a loud creak. “He’s already got plans,” a strong, clear voice butted in, the sound traveling all the way through the entire bar. Roen didn’t need to turn to know who it was. Instead, he took the bottle out of Amy’s hand, poured himself a double, and threw it down.

Amy looked over lazily at the new voice and turned her back to it, pretending to be wiping the counter. “Sorry, honey, we’re closed.”

“I’m not here for a drink,” Jill said as she took a seat next to him.

“Get her one anyway. Tequila for the raging tempest,” Roen said.

“I’m here to talk to this son of a bitch.” She swung a closed fist with a thumb extended out toward him.

“Want me to get rid of her, handsome?” Amy asked. “Who is she anyway?”

“She’s just some–” Roen said.

“–wife,” Jill growled.

And all the good will Roen had worked so hard to build here went up in a puff of smoke. Amy shot him a look that could kill a buffalo. “No good bastard swamp snake,” she hissed and poured Jill the shot of tequila. “Here you go, honey, this one’s on his tab.”

Jill smiled sweetly at Amy, and the two shared a drink on Roen’s dime. The next hour went by awkwardly, the ladies lambasting him as if he weren’t there. When he shook his glass for another drink, Amy just shrugged and answered, “Pay your tab first, deadbeat,” and proceeded to pour Jill another shot.

My advice is to run. I see no path to victory here.
 

“Thanks, Genghis. At this rate, I might have to start washing dishes if I’m going to cover this tab.”

Amy even walked Jill out of the bar when she closed shop, going as far as hugging her and telling her to “take care of yourself, sweetheart, and watch out for the snakes that slither back into your life, you pretty little thing.”

And then Jill and Roen were standing alone on the deserted gravel lot of Buck’s Bar. They walked toward her car in silence. “She’s sweet,” Jill smirked. “Now I understand why you left me.”

“I left you?” Roen’s voice shot up two octaves.

Steady. Do the countdown.
 

If Jill had been anyone else in the world, his fist of fury would be dropping bombs right now. Instead, he closed his eyes and counted down from fourteen, enunciating each syllable one by one. He used to count down from ten, but as the years went on and the situation worsened, a higher number became necessary. When he had calmed down, he opened his eyes slowly and studied her face. There were dark rings around her eyes and her usually straight brown hair was mussed up. Roen reached toward her and touched the cut on her cheek. “We need to get something on that, or it’ll scar. How are you?”

She knocked his hand away. “I think what you meant to ask was how is our son?”

“I’m not asking in the order of importance,” he ground his teeth. “How are you?”

“Alive,” she shrugged, “for now.”

“How is Cameron? Does he miss his father?”