The Deaths of Tao (8 page)

For Roen and Baji, it all went back to Sonya. Jill looked at herself in the rearview mirror and wondered if there was any part of Baji’s previous host in her. She had only met Sonya briefly when they were captured by the Genjix at Monaco. They were in adjacent cells and it was Sonya’s steady voice that had kept her sane through the ordeal. She hadn’t known about the Quasing then. She didn’t even know what Sonya looked like until they were brought to the helipad at the Capulet’s Ski Lodge. Sonya Lyte was breathtakingly beautiful. It was just another thing Jill could never live up to.

She heard later on that Roen was forced to kill Sonya in order to save Jill from becoming a Genjix host. He had never forgiven himself. To make matters worse, Roen and Tao fed off each other’s vengeance. Tao had hundreds of years’ worth of revenge to draw upon, while Roen tried to absolve his guilt for Sonya’s death by killing the enemy. In the end, they only hurt themselves and the ones they loved. Even her own damn Quasing couldn’t get past how poor a substitute she was for Sonya.

It is not that way, Jill. I do not hold you responsible for Sonya. You are two different souls with different strengths. I never intended to compare you two.
 

“You never intended to, but you do. You can’t help it. Hell, everyone does.”

Jill got out of the car and took the elevator to the condo that she and Roen had once shared. Coming into her quiet home was a harsh reminder of all that she’d lost over the past few years. There used to be a husband and squealing baby in here once. Being a single parent now, she couldn’t take care of Cameron while working the hours she did for both the Prophus and the senator. Sending him to her parents was even harder than locking Roen out of the house. He had returned home after being gone for a month, and she had changed the locks. He had pleaded outside the door for her to let him in. Huddled in a ball on the other side of the door, she waited him out with tears streaming down her face. It took him six hours to leave. Those were some of the longest hours of her life. She had half feared he would break his way in, but that wasn’t his way with her.

Jill kicked off her heels furiously and watched them bounce off the walls. She wandered to the living room, stripped off her dress, and threw it into the trash. It was pretty much ruined anyway. Jill made one trip around the entire apartment, turning on every light. It was a ritual she did every time she came home; she wasn’t sure why. Maybe it made her feel less alone. Maybe she hoped to find her husband and child waiting for her. With a sigh, Jill went to the shower to wash off the previous night’s madness.

On the plus side, Roen did seem like he was suffering almost as much as she was. In a rather sick way, it made her feel better. She was still furious with him and he would have to work hard to get back into her good graces, but it comforted her to know that at least he was just as miserable without her. Maybe, if she ever saw him again, she’d make him sweat it out for a year or three before forgiving him. It would serve him right. Jill let the warm water from the shower rain down on her face as she pulled her hair back. Then she froze for several moments. The thought of not seeing him again seized her with a sudden terror.

It made her feel better that Wuehler was in charge of the mission. He was a competent commander who wouldn’t take chances like Roen would. She had met the man a few times. He was stuffy and by-the-books, having risen through the ranks of Prophus military and earned an equally stuffy and by-the-books Quasing named Ramez. They were an odd couple to match with Roen and Tao. Jill hoped that the more level-headed man could keep Roen alive long enough for her to torture him for a few more years.

Jill got out of the shower and looked at the time: 8.43am. She had to get moving. The Hart Senate building was on the other side of DuPont Circle and traffic was murder at this hour. She threw on a suit, applied ample makeup to cover the nasty cut on her cheek, and headed to work.

At precisely 10am, Jill knocked on Senator Wilks’ door and walked in. James Wilks was a four-term senator and the chairman of the powerful Senate Committee on Appropriations. The Prophus had long considered him a kindred ally and much of the committee’s pork barrel spending that the senator allocated was steered toward Prophus projects. Jill was assigned to his office by Command soon after she became Baji’s host.

“God, Jill, what happened to your face?” Wilks looked concerned. “It wasn’t that low-down husband of yours, was it? Because I’ll make a call to the Hoover Building and have him put on the Most Wanted list faster than that worthless son of a bitch can take a piss.”

James Wilks was an elderly statesman who looked every bit a career politician. He just never sounded like one. Tall and distinguished-looking, with a full head of graying hair and a jawline to make all the ladies swoon, he looked like one of those older models on hair dye boxes. When he spoke, though, people either immediately identified with him or couldn’t stand him. Rough around the edges, he might seem out of place in Illinois politics, but his constituents loved him just fine.

“Senator, it wasn’t Roen. I haven’t seen him in months,” she replied, reflexively touching the cut on her face. “It’s just a little mishap with heels.”

He gave her a doubtful look. “You’re either lying to me or you should be banned from wearing heels ever again. It seems to happen a lot with you.”

After the small talk revolving around her pitiful alibi was over, she laid out Simon’s proposal in the most lukewarm fashion she could muster, glossing over the offer and stressing prudence. On the surface, Simon’s deal was very attractive. He had effectively offered her boss everything he ever wanted in exchange for the support of an issue he really didn’t care about: the South Seas Trade Sanction. In any other circumstance Wilks would consider this a major coup.

It was Jill’s job as Wilks’ policy director to encourage the deal, but it was also her job as a Prophus political operative to oppose it as well. She needed more time to figure out what angle the Genjix were really after. Wilks wasn’t stupid though. He knew a good deal when he saw one.

“You’re reaching there, counselor.” He wrinkled his brow. “You don’t usually come to me with such half-assed arguments. What’s going on? Why do you care so much about these sanctions?”

“I can give you a full account shortly,” she said defensively. “I just need some time. I’m just asking you to postpone agreeing to the deal until then.”

Wilks shook his head. “I don’t know, Jill. It’s a more than fair offer from the other side of the aisle. I see no downside to the deal.”

“Just give me some time to analyze this and come back with recommendations. Maybe I can leverage this offer for something even better,” Jill stressed.

“Fair enough,” Wilks said. “Hogan offered me a sweet deal. You give me a legitimate reason to turn him down and we’ll talk.”

Jill nodded. “Thank you, Senator.” She left his office and signaled to Tammy, her assistant. “Find me everything you can on the South Seas Trade Sanctions. I need to know who’s for it, who’s against it, and how it affects our trade barriers.” Then she left for the next round of her morning meetings on the Hill. Now the real battle began.

 

SEVEN

ELEVATION

For eons, the Quasing functioned as one mind, following the will of the Grand Council, until the Prophus betrayers splintered from the collective. They claim our way was ill-suited for these humans, that we walked a moral precipice.
 

After millions of years as gods blessing the worthy species of this planet, I find their sudden moral apprehension feeble and hypocritical. After all, we determined the fate of the species of this planet when we first came. Who else but gods can claim such a role?
 

Zoras

 

Saldhana, flanked by the contingent of guards, entered Devin’s penthouse office at the Genjix research facility in Qingdao, China. Zoras had to admit, he was uneasy. Transitioning to a new vessel carried risks. He had chosen well, though. His handpicked Adonis Vessel was one of the highest-rated humans ever at the Hatchery. In fact, Zoras had to contend with three others on the Council for this vessel.

Stand at the door. On my order, leave the room.
 

“As you command, Holy One.”

Enzo stood at the window, looking out at the Genjix Research campus. Half of the honor guard stayed outside Devin’s office while the other half spread out around the room, guns trained on the vessel. Tension filled the air as the ceremony began. Palos and Amanda came in last and took position on opposite corners of the room. On their signal, the guards would shoot Enzo unless Zoras provided the release command.

This was Zoras’ safeguard. Early in the program, several Adonis Vessels, raised to believe themselves gods, were mentally unstable and ignored their Quasing’s orders. Now, in the third iteration of the program, the Hatchery had optimized the perfect blend of education and physical training for these high-valued vessels.

Enzo looked relaxed, albeit a bit curious. “I have been summoned by Father Devin. Where is he?”

Zoras studied his new vessel; Enzo had control of the room without even saying a word. His face was calm, his chest palpitations normal, and he seemed at ease. Adonis Vessels were never informed of the transition, but the Hatchery did not raise fools.

Enzo’s eyes trailed from Palos to Amanda, then he nodded. “I see. Praise to the Holy Ones.” Those in the room echoed the sentiments. “And to Father,” he added softly. He closed his eyes and murmured a blessing to Devin. So far, Enzo was saying all the right things. The room remained dead quiet as they waited on him. Yes, the boy had gravitas.

“I am ready,” he nodded.

Saldhana knelt down in the center of the room and recited a prayer to every Genjix he had ever met, which to his credit, was quite a few. Zoras was satisfied with him receiving the honor of being the transfer vessel. He had been with Palos’ detail for over a decade and had worked under Devin for fifteen more years before that. It was a fitting end to a loyal Genjix agent.

With feverish devotion, he kissed Enzo’s hand. “I bring you the god to infuse your body. May you serve the Holy Ones well.”

Then Saldhana took out a serrated knife and disemboweled himself. His body shook as he dragged the knife across his abdomen with painstaking slowness. Zoras appreciated this final gesture.

The transfer ceremony, created by the Genjix in Japan over eight hundred years ago, was a time-honored tradition. The longer and slower the death, the gentler the transition for the Quasing. Sudden ejections from vessels were painful. The lingering bleed of life pushed them out of the body in much more comfort.

Saldhana’s body shook with pain as his mind screamed with agony. Zoras flashed several images of the first time he took a bullet for Devin during the assassination attempt in Cairo, and of the time he was elevated to his personal detail. Then he flashed several more imageries, a montage of his years of service. Then finally, Zoras flashed Saldhana the rise of the Genjix, overwhelming his brain with the entire history of the Genjix through Zoras’ eyes in a matter of seconds. Such overload often disoriented and dulled the pain.

Your standing is high. Begin your elevation.
 

It took Saldhana forty minutes to die. The last image he saw was Quasar, the closest thing to heaven the vessels believed in. Finally, he spasmed one last time and his body slumped over the large pool of blood in the center of the room. At the same time, Zoras felt a soft pull, as if a gentle ocean wave, move him away from the body.

Everything went black and then Zoras awoke hovering over Saldhana’s body. His sparkling form, a gaseous stratus cloud, expanded and contracted as he floated in the air. It was the second time in so many days he had been exposed to the planet’s atmosphere. Zoras made one loop around the room and then blanketed Enzo, who had waited patiently all this time with hands raised toward the ceiling. Tiny bursts of white light spread all over Enzo’s body, permeating his skin until Zoras once again felt the warm cocoon of a vessel.

Enzo gasped and fell to his knees. His stomach churned and he threw up his last meal. His vision blurred as his eyes watered, and he had to take deep breaths to stop himself from passing out. Quasing integrations had always been painful to the beings on this planet. Over the course of several minutes, Zoras waited until Enzo’s shocked nervous system relaxed and his heart rate slowed.

Rise.
 

Enzo lifted his head in exaltation, basking in the voice of a god. “Your command, Holy One,” he called out.

Speak with your thoughts, vessel. Heed my words. But first, relay to Amanda that death is the solution to all problems.
 

Enzo repeated the phrase verbatim.

Amanda nodded and looked at Palos. “Release command accepted.”

There is much to do. Devin’s place among the United States government is not something you can replace. Your immediate concern is to manage his proxies and oversee the ProGenesis project. The Quasiform program can wait. Everything else is of secondary priority. Amanda will address the succession of his senate seat. For now, you must secure your holdings within the Council.
 

There wasn’t much time for the two to get acquainted, and frankly it wasn’t necessary. Enzo’s sole purpose in life was to serve Zoras. The Quasing relayed dozens of instructions and was pleasantly surprised at how well his new vessel assumed the mantle of control. Enzo began to dictate to the aides around him as if he were an experienced Councilman. He told Amanda to return to Washington immediately to oversee Devin’s burial. He called for a meeting with the head researchers of the programs under his responsibility. He summoned the French Ambassador to China, a Genjix operative, to continue discussions with the Chinese prime minister, and he ordered an audit of Devin’s holdings within the organization. They were over budget, after all.