The Lives of Tao (16 page)

Great, are we back to this again? Talk about two steps forward and ten steps back. Is your sense of self so weak that anyone can convince you of anything? If you were ever captured, you would crack under interrogation before they even ask the questions.
 

“Well, he does make a valid point. What if you’re my subconscious trying to motivate me after everything else has failed?”

What do you want? Proof? Is Sonya not enough proof? What about the Genjix that tried to kill you? Do beautiful strange women come knocking on your door in the morning to go running with you?
 

“Good point,” Roen conceded. “I didn’t think of that.”

And that is the crux of your problem. You do not think. I warned you. No good could have come from telling your friend. Do not bring it up again. It will pass, and if we are lucky, he will forget all about it. We have bigger things to worry about, anyway.
 

“Like what?”

Like converting you to the metric system and figuring out what to do with your infant-like hand-eye coordination.
 

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

TRAINING WHEELS

Temujin was an old man when I finally gave up on him. Our last words together were not pleasant. He accused me of betrayal. And in a way, he was right. I had betrayed us many years ago by being weak. One day, I stopped speaking to him. The next, he died in a skirmish. He was my greatest triumph and my greatest failure. At that moment in time, the potential for a great civilization was within his grasp, and it slipped through his fingers, and I was to blame.
 

Roen’s glorious career as a Prophus agent began rather ingloriously, scouting the harbor before settling down on a spot next to the Adler Planetarium, where for the next several nights, he watched birds splash around a patch of black waters off the coast of Lake Michigan with a pair of night vision goggles he purchased at a sports store. It was like watching television static for the first four days.

Roen realized during those long, dull hours what Tao meant about the drudgery of covert work. By the third night, he wanted to cut himself to stop the numbness. It didn’t help that there was literally nothing there, not a person, a boat, not even stinking fish. Still, he tried to do the job diligently, though he felt free to complain to Tao every step of the way.

“This is a complete waste of time, Tao. I’m observing open water, for God’s sake. Can’t we just put a satellite here instead of me wasting precious sleep twiddling my thumbs? If I wanted to be bored out of my mind, I’d just go to work, which I have to be at in four hours, I might add.”

Satellites are expensive to use. You are much cheaper. I tried to warn you. Agent work is all boredom mixed with a few seconds of excitement that makes you wish you were bored. You will learn to appreciate this peace. Excitement in this line of work usually means someone is trying to put a bullet in you.
 

“I’m so cheap I’m working for free. I even had to pay for my own stuff here.”

The fifth night, a small craft appeared and several dark forms jumped into the water. Roen took a few pictures of the boat and recorded the longitude and latitude using a GPS, before calling the mission a success. He never found out what any of it meant.

Over the course of the next few weeks, he received a dozen more assignments through his new network email. The first few were more reconnaissance missions: a house on South Cicero Avenue near the airport, a diner in Little Italy, a coffee shop in the Lincoln Park area, a public mailbox – yes, a stinking mailbox! – on Diversey and Clark.

Most of those experiences were even worse than the first assignment. And all these were done as he worked around his regular job. Roen ended up taking more vacation and sick days over the next month than he had over the past five years. Once, he had to call in sick two days in a row while sitting in a van for thirty hours. Any excitement of being a bona fide secret agent evaporated along with his dreams of becoming Dirk Pitt or James Bond.

He began dreading the emails that popped up in his inbox. It became so bad that he actually started looking forward to the days at the office. But no matter how mundane and boring those assignments were, he carried them out the best he could.

The only saving grace was the time he spent with Tao. During those long stretches of boredom, Tao would go over the dreams he imprinted into Roen, explaining the reasoning behind many of his decisions. Roen always awoke from those dreams seeking explanations. He remembered fragments, but had difficulties understanding the complete picture. Between the dreams, Tao’s stories, and the images that Tao flashed into his head, he began to grasp the magnitude of the Quasing and how much they influenced human history.

Tao’s lives soon became one of Roen’s favorite pastimes. He learned about all the previous hosts that Tao inhabited, and began to respect the wisdom of his Quasing. Tao told stories of his previous hosts, starting from his time as a Babylonian to the many Romans he inhabited, then to the Gauls and the Egyptians, and then to the Far East as a golden wolf to Genghis Khan; how he invented t’ai chi in China, how he started the White Lotus society, and then how he started the Ming Dynasty. While Roen had always known Tao had survived through thousands of years of humans, listening to the breadth and depth of each host’s experience was overwhelming and humbling.

It was then that he realized a few things. First of all, those previous hosts started out just like himself, initially scared and unsure of the Quasing. Many of them became great and capable men that changed the face of the world, others tried to follow Tao’s guidance, and a few outright rebelled against him. The second thing he realized about Tao’s hosts was that from the African warlord to the Chinese emperor to the Spanish assassin and many others, they all lived dangerous, violent lives. He wondered if he would become like them, and the possibility disturbed him.

“So, if you kept trying to create these civilizations and kept failing, why didn’t you just find a genius pacifist who couldn’t be coaxed to violence?”

It is not like pacifism is in their DNA. You never know what the nature of a host will be. Part of it is nurture, yes, but you have to realize that the world was less civilized back then.
 

“I don’t know, Tao. Seems to me all your hosts were pretty violent. The only common denominator I see is you.”

I will not apologize for my hand in guiding humanity. I do what I believe is right.
 

Slowly, his view on life changed as he settled into his new role. Roen couldn’t quite put his finger on it. His priorities were shifting and all the annoyances that used to drive him into conniptions didn’t seem to matter anymore. The four-dollar coffees, crowded lunch lines, and long red lights all became background noise. When he just missed the bus or forgot his wallet, he just shrugged it off. The changes were apparent that things felt different and it bothered him. He was settling into this new foreign life, and he wasn’t sure he wanted to.

When he was not running asinine missions or working, he trained with Sonya. His usual daily schedule consisted of: getting up in the morning, training with Sonya, going to work, training with Sonya again, doing an asinine mission, and then getting a few hours of rest. The few nights he was not on assignment, Sonya added in extra workouts.

By the time June rolled around, Roen saw real progress in his fitness. He was now in the best shape of his life, though that historically didn’t amount to much, but the hard work was paying off. He even swore he saw a stomach muscle somewhere in his belly region. His stamina had improved by leaps and bounds as well. Sonya and he often went on long ten-kilometer jogs (she always measured in metrics, which was fine by him since it was shorter) that were impossible for him just two months ago.

With Roen becoming more autonomous with his physical conditioning, Sonya shifted the direction of their training from basic conditioning to combat exercises. And while Roen took to fitness training and even grew to enjoy it, hand-to-hand combat became his new arch-nemesis. Though Tao and Sonya spent a fair portion of his training on it, they were having little success.

He was hopelessly uncoordinated. His reflexes were still poor, his fighting instincts were non-existent, and he had a laughably low pain tolerance. Though he outweighed her by nearly double, Sonya was able to hit harder and faster, and manhandled him in every sparring session. And on one beautiful but terrible morning, his training really took a turn for the worse. They started fighting with weapons.

Tao’s groan inside Roen’s head matched his own out loud as the staff struck him across the face. He grunted in pain, dropped his own staff, and turned away. That was a mistake as another blow caught him in the gut, doubling him over, followed by a sweep that took out his legs. Roen crumpled to the floor in a heap. Tao’s groan, however, was not from pain; but one born from frustration. At this point, Roen couldn’t care less how frustrated Tao was as he lay on the floor rubbing his chin. It wasn’t like the Prophus could feel pain anyway.

How many times do I have to tell you not to bite on every feint? Look how far away she was!
Two quick flashes popped inside Roen’s head, both of Sonya executing similar attacks.
Learn to recognize it!
 

“Easy for you to say. You’re not the one getting whacked silly.”

Baji must be mocking me.
 

“Are you all right, Roen?” Sonya picked up the staff and handed it back to him as he scrambled to his knees. “You need to gauge distance better. You’re falling for the same trick every time.”

I rest my case.
 

“That explains why you managed to hit me in the same place four times now.” He grimaced.

“Maybe you shouldn’t leave that opening for me.” She blew a strand of hair from her face and waved him back. “Let’s try this again, and try to hang on to the staff.”

He could tell her patience was wearing thin as well. The two squared off in the ring and began anew. Roen had finally overcome his self-consciousness and was wearing only a pair of shorts. It had taken him a while to feel comfortable enough to go shirtless. Sonya, as usual, wore a dark blue close-fitting shirt and pants, garments that covered most of her body.

They circled and stalked each other, both looking for an opening. Sonya shuffled her feet, feinted high and then slashed low. Roen managed to block her quick swing as the two shafts clacked with a loud thunk. Sensing an opening, Roen stabbed at her face with the butt end. Sonya moved fluidly and parried, guiding his thrust away from her body. Then she pivoted forward and twirled the staff, striking him on the side of the head. He staggered backward.

Turn right! Roll with the blow. Keep the guard up.
An image of a monk blocking a sword flashed in his head.

By this time, Roen was used to following Tao’s running commentary and tried his best to follow the instructions. He felt his back to the rope as he retreated. Sonya gave him no quarter, however, and charged again. He barely dodged another blow as he fell back, hopelessly off balance. She pressed the attack, pouncing on top of him and spearing him in the stomach. She ended the melee just short of a killing blow. Roen groaned and Tao muttered something he couldn’t make out.

Sonya shook her head and offered her hand. “I think that’s enough for the day. You need to get ready for work, anyhow.”

Roen couldn’t agree more. He could see the disappointment in her eyes. The past couple weeks of workouts had been painful. Getting beaten up twice a day was starting to take a physical and mental toll on him. He was becoming discouraged and started dreading these workouts. Sighing, he picked himself up and hopped in the shower. By the time he got out, Sonya had already left. Roen walked up to the mirror and felt his tender ribs. A splotch a nice shade of purple was already appearing. There was a nasty looking welt appearing just above his temple as well. He looked as if he’d just gone five rounds with Mike Tyson.

“No male modeling for me,” he sighed as he got dressed for work.

An hour later, Roen dragged his tired, sore body to work. His coworkers had already gotten over their initial concerns with his bruised and often-cut face. Maybe they thought he had joined a fight club or something. He had become used to it and barely noticed the worried looks on their faces.

Fatigue had become an issue though. Both Tao and Sonya pushed him so hard; he always felt exhausted. Roen desperately wanted to call in sick today after the morning workout, but willed himself to go in. He was determined to finish as much work as possible before the weekend. He sat at his desk and stared at the list of jobs slated for the day: a few script adjustments, some applications to deploy, and several diagrams to update; all in all, a typical monotonous day.

“The world spins despite me, not because of me,” he muttered. Last week, one of his coworkers died after twenty-five years of service. There was an email and eulogy sent by one of the managers – and then a mad scramble by everyone else to loot his office supplies. Roen picked up his stapler and held it over his head, exclaiming loudly. “This is all I’ll amount to. This is my stapler. There are many like it, but this one is mine. My stapler is my best...”