The Deaths of Tao Read online

  The next warehouse at the corner of the Punai grounds was the most disturbing. Inside, Roen found rows upon rows of reactive metals, molded into long tubes and conical ends. They stacked on top of each other by the dozens and were marked with orange triangular danger signs and the Taiwanese flag. The design of these particular types was unmistakable though.

  “Long-range ballistic by the size of them. Proprietary US military grade. What’s equipment slated for the Taiwanese Defense Force doing here? And there’s enough in this warehouse to blow the planet up. What the hell is going on?”

  If this is for Quasiform, now we know their delivery system.

  “I thought Taiwan and China didn’t get along. How do they even get this across the South Sea?”

  The Genjix do not care about human political tensions. And if enough people are bribed, no one sees anything. Their influence over this region is as strong now as it was over Europe at the turn of the twentieth century.

  Roen found his breakthrough in the last building. There, he found several rows of metal crates that were more fortified than the ones in the other warehouses. Roen pulled out a Geiger counter and checked its readings. Even the most secure container would show traces. Fortunately, it all came back negative. His team was ill-equipped for that kind of stuff. The last time Roen had dealt with radioactive material, he ended up bedridden for two months. It was a great way to diet though. Checking his watch, Roen made his way to the first crate, and with a little muscle and a metal rod he found on the floor, pried it open.

  “Think it’s the catalyst?”

  The side of the canister says Catalyst Mark II. Take a sample and get a sit rep from the others. It has been over an hour now. Time to head out and go home. Good job.

  Inside, he found nine silver transport tubes not unlike the ones used to for radioactive materials. Again, feeling the apprehension of dealing with radioactive material, he checked the meter again. Still nothing.

  “I feel like Han Solo approaching the Death Star for the first time.” He reached down and gently lifted a tube out of its protective covering.

  That is not a moon. It is a space station.

  Roen stopped, a grin growing on his face. “I don’t say this enough, but I love you, Tao.”

  You should say that to your wife more.

  “Now I don’t love you anymore. Keep my wife out of it.”

  Undoing the metal latch and unscrewing the lid of the metal cylinder took an excruciating thirty seconds. He half-expected to discover a green glowing rod that would melt his face off and grow another head out of his belly, but instead, found a cool black metal rod sitting in a bath of clear liquid. He reached down to pluck it out.

  I would not do that.

  Roen retracted his hands. That was probably a good idea. He screwed the lid back on the canister and tucked it into his backpack. Whatever this thing was, it needed to go to a lab to be analyzed. Best-case scenario, it was a new material for glass figurines, though they had better be precious collectibles to justify that packaging. Worst-case scenario was a weaponized material for a bomb or something equally bad.

  “God, I hope it’s not biological.”

  Doubtful. The Quasing understand the dangers of biological warfare better than humans.

  “How you guys doing?” Roen asked over the comm as he checked the area outside the door.

  “In and out of the processing facility,” Ray’s voice crackled back. “Heavy water generator and micro assembly plant here. Not sure how this all fits together.”

  “Ghost town here,” Dylan replied. “Grabbed some interesting plans.”

  “And Faust?” Roen asked. No answer. “Faust, you read?” Roen cursed and counted down from fourteen as his spider sense went nuts. The night leading up to now had been so quiet, but it could still go to hell if Faust’s part fell apart.

  “Faust here,” the whisper came hurried and breathy. “Extraction ready. Heavy guard presence though. Eyes on six. Avoiding if possible.”

  It has been almost an hour. Time to not press your luck.

  Roen switched over to the team channel as he made his way to the door. “Grant, get your team’s ass back. We’re bugging out. Faust, where you at?”

  “Drydock Two. Second from the–” Roen heard a grunt and a squeak of a throat constricting, then the sound of automatic fire, a pause, and then more popping. In the distance, an alarm began to howl.

  “Get to extraction. Move, move!” Roen ordered, bursting through the warehouse door and sprinting toward Faust’s last known location. “Jim, you’re closest. Rendezvous on the dock security building. Grant, double time.”

  He continued barking orders as he zigzagged around the floodlights and guards, haphazardly staying in shadows only when it was convenient. It was a wonder he wasn’t discovered. He had just about reached the dock entrance when Jim, hiding behind a row of forklifts, beckoned him over. Roen dove into a dark corner with him just as a beam passed near his position.

  “You’re making more noise than a stampeding rhino,” Jim muttered.

  Roen ignored him. “How’s it look in there?”

  Jim pointed at the door of a large building with a massive “2” painted on the walls across from their hiding spot. “Dark.”

  “Let’s go,” Roen said. The two moved quickly to Drydock Two. Once inside, Roen gestured to Jim and pointed left, then gestured to himself and pointed right. The two split off and continued down the length of the long rectangular building, always keeping in contact with each other. Halfway down the length of the room, they found Stan’s body sprawled against a drum barrel with two taps, one in his neck and one in his head. Faust appeared out of the shadows.

  “Make that seven guards,” he shook his head. We took out five, but the last two got a few shots off. Stan...” He grimaced.

  “Get his body to the boat,” Roen ordered.

  A moment later, the rest of the team straggled in. Four minutes later, they were on a small tugboat heading out of the harbor. They were a klick out to sea when the entire dock lit up like Vegas during AVN Awards week. It was too late, though. Roen and his team had escaped. Exactly fifteen minutes later, they were standing on Imelda’s Song’s aft deck.

  Well done. Could not have gone much smoother.

  Roen stared at the dwindling lights in the horizon. “Hardly smooth. We lost Stan. You know, he could have been a pro golfer, but he felt he had a higher calling. And now he’s gone.”

  Stop.

  “All this death and destruction is starting to mess with my head. With everything that’s happening in the States... I can’t stop thinking about Jill. Damn it, Tao, if I could get on a plane right now...”

  Stop it now.

  “I’m on this goddamn rusty boat in the middle of the goddamn...”

  I mean it. Shut up. Listen.

  “You know, all these years, she’s the love of my life, and I took her for granted...”

  LISTEN! That sound. Do you hear it?

  Roen paused mid-rant and stayed very still. The waves were rolling all around, breaking against the hull of the ship. Below him, he could just make out the low hum and the clicking of the engine. If he listened carefully, he could just make out someone playing Filipino pop music down on the second level of the port deck. Other than that... Then he heard it. It was faint, easily missed, a soft whup whup whup sound. Roen closed his eyes and concentrated. It was coming from behind the ship, somewhere out in the ocean. He turned and scanned the horizon, watching for anything out of the ordinary. On his second pass through the darkness, he saw it, a large black shadow skimming just above the ocean waves, looming larger and larger.

  Large. Transport size. Chinooks or Z-8s. Estimated intercept at rate of incoming is less than two minutes. Carrier capacity anywhere up to fifty. Rally the men. We are about to be boarded!

  FORTY

  DESPERATE MOVE

  To this day, Sonya’s fate fills me with regret. It was a needless death, caused by a series of events that were comp
letely avoidable. I cannot simply let go for not only was she my host, she was also my daughter.

  My anger is misplaced, I understand and apologize, but in this sense, I have reacted as any human. Quasing are not perfect, nor do our millions of years of existence protect us from emotions. I still blame Tao to this day, and will do so until the Eternal Sea.

  Baji

  The silo was a hive of activity when Jill and Marco came running in. Paula, standing on the coffee table, was directing troops and lighting fires under asses. An hour ago, the room looked like a refugee camp. Now it reminded Baji, who in turn reminded Jill, of the makeshift barricades erected by citizens in Paris during the French Revolution.

  Past the barricade, the rest of the room had changed into the furniture version of trench warfare. The agents had moved every piece of furniture and turned the main room into a bizarre maze of lamps, desks, shelves, and couches that the Genjix would have to wade through. Several men pushed by Jill. She watched as they tossed anything from kettles to books to a pinball machine on top of piles comprising the maze, as if growing some monstrous Ikea barrier reef.

  “Stack ’em up, boys,” Paula shouted. “No more than waist level. Make them work for every inch. We need every able body. Anyone who knows how to use a gun is fighting.”

  “How many Genjix are out there?” someone called out.

  She shrugged. “A dozen? A hundred? Does it matter?”

  Two men brought out weapon crates from the ammo locker and handed out rifles. Jill took an old Kalashnikov and examined it. The thing looked older than she was.

  “Stack those weapon crates when they’re empty. Not so straight, idiot!” Paula hollered, jumping off the coffee table. “You want to make it easy for them? There’s only one way in and out of this place, so we need to capitalize on the real estate in here.”

  Something about that statement didn’t ring true. Then it hit her.

  “Baji, there’s a back door to this place!”

  Be discreet. Do not cause a panic.

  Jill pushed her way through the living room to the back hallway. There, in rear of the third silo, she found a rusty metal door hidden behind a shelf. Scanning the room, she saw a sad-looking ant farm. Add ant genocide to Roen’s list of sins. She reminded herself to not let Cameron bring Eva back to their home if they ever reconciled. She found the key under the ant farm and tested it on the door. It clicked open.

  Jill rushed back to the dining room and pulled Paula aside. “We can all sneak out the back with the Genjix being none the wiser,” she told her.

  Paula furrowed her eyebrows. “The enemy’s at our doorstep. If we all leave at once, they’ll find us and catch us out in the open. We need to engage the Genjix, lock them into the fight, and then have our people trickle out in twos and threes to avoid detection.” She put a hand on Jill’s shoulder. “I need to manage the fight at the front. I’ll leave the evacuation to you.”

  “I’m sending Thompson and Wilks first,” Jill said.

  “Wilks isn’t a host. I’d rather Quasing escape.”

  “They’re two sitting senators!”

  Paula sighed. “It doesn’t matter if they’re in Congress anymore. America’s lost. And with her goes any hope of victory. It’s over.”

  Paula’s words stopped Jill dead in her tracks. She knew the situation was grim, and this recent attack on the capital was a serious setback, but she didn’t think it was the Prophus’ death knell. Only now did she realize how critical her role was in the war. Except it was too late. What minor successes she had achieved in the past few weeks were worthless. She had won the battle while the Prophus lost the war. Nothing could prevent the Genjix from assuming control of the United States government.

  Suddenly, a dangerous and radical idea occurred to her. “You’re still getting reports in from the outside? How? Through Roen’s system?”

  Paula nodded.

  “Can we patch through to the Keeper?”

  “I already had a call with her about reinforcements. Unfortunately, the bulk of our forces are in Tibet. The rest here are too occupied with the evacuation of the country.”

  “I need to speak with her. Meet me in the computer room,” Jill said quickly, running out the door.

  “What are you trying to do?”

  “Just get me the damn Keeper now!” Jill roared. “And find Senator Thompson!” She high-stepped it to the infirmary and found Wilks lying in bed.

  “Jill,” he exclaimed. “What’s that racket outside? You mind if I turn into a grumpy old man and tell them to shut the hell up?”

  “No time, Senator. The enemy’s trying to break in.”

  She gave him a moment to let those words sink in. He took it surprisingly well. Actually, he took it so well that it shocked her. He looked thoughtful for a second and then tried to sit up. “Well, get me a gun. A rifle, mind you. Can’t hit a chicken in a hen house with a pistol.”

  “This isn’t your fight, Senator,” she said. “Listen, you need to come with me.”

  “You’re not leaving me on the sidelines, counselor,” he argued. “I’ve fought through more wars than you can count.”

  “I can count to two, James.” Jill wasn’t in the mood for any of this. “Come on, you need to meet someone.”

  She dragged him to his feet and felt a little guilty for how rough she was being when he grimaced in pain. Then she dragged him to the computer room, where Paula and Thompson were already waiting. The Keeper’s face was on the large computer screen.

  “What is he doing here?” the Keeper demanded.

  Wilks squinted. “Meredith Frances?” he said, his surprise clear.

  Paula looked at him curiously. “You two are acquainted?”

  “She’s one of my largest campaign contributors,” he said. “Meredith, don’t tell me you’re involved in all this brouhaha.”

  “I run this brouhaha, James,” the Keeper said dryly. She turned to Paula. “The National Guard has been called. The Navy is blockading Chesapeake Bay, and the Air Force is on high alert. The Genjix claim it’s a terrorist attack. By morning, the entire eastern seaboard will be under martial law. The good news is the Genjix have until dawn to take your fortified position before they need to disperse. The bad news for you is you have to hold out until dawn.”

  “How do we retake control of the government?” Thompson asked.

  The Keeper looked at Thompson with a deadpan expression. “We don’t. The Americas are lost.”

  Thompson gasped. “If the Americas are lost and China is already gone...”

  “The war is over,” the Keeper said. “We cannot sustain our fight with the Genjix with the two superpowers of this planet siding against us.”

  Wilks held up his hand out. “Can someone explain to me how the United States is lost? We’re still here, governed by the people. The President...”

  “You don’t understand the situation. The people you speak of haven’t been in control of your government since 1850.”

  Wilks furrowed his brow and did a little mental president-counting in his head. “Zachary Taylor?”

  “What do you think the Civil War was really about? Now please shut up.”

  “I always knew you were a bitch, Meredith,” he shot back. “I was just nice to you because of your money. No one controls the freest country in the world!”

  “You’re not campaigning right now, James.” The Keeper turned to Paula. “Get him out of here.”

  “Wait!” Jill yelled over Wilks’ protests. “There’s another way.”

  All eyes turned to her.

  This is a dangerous proposition.

  “Does it matter if we’ve lost the war anyway?”

  Agreed. If that is so, might as well slash and burn our defeat.

  “There’s a way,” Jill repeated. She looked the Keeper in the eye. “Tell the world. Tell them everything.” She pointed at Wilks and Thompson. “They’re senators. Give them our data. Roen has a portable Penetra scanner in his ammo locker. Have Wilks expose
us.”

  The room became silent. Even the Keeper’s famously stoic face betrayed her.

  “You mean to end all Quasing,” the Keeper said at last. “I will not partake in our extermination.”

  “Our extermination is already a forgone conclusion if the Genjix control the United States,” Jill said. “At least there’s a sliver of hope if the people fight back.”

  “This could stop the Genjix from taking the country,” Paula said slowly. “Perhaps even loosen their hold on the other countries. The people won’t stand for it.”

  “We’ll be hunted,” Thompson said.

  “So we send the two senators with a Penetra scanner, our historical records, and let the inhabitants of this world decide,” Jill said. “Let them judge us for our actions. If what we have been doing all this time is really for the good of the planet, they will come to our side.”

  “Or exterminate us,” the Keeper added.

  Jill shrugged. “We’re walking dead right now anyway.”

  “So, Wilks and I just walk up to the Hill and lay it all out?” Thompson said.

  “Not you,” the Keeper said. “You’re a host. You will be the first one exposed. They will arrest you immediately.”

  Wilks turned to Jill. “What does she mean by Thompson being a host?”

  “Baji, should I tell him?”

  Might as well.

  Jill took a deep breath. “Senator, there’ve been aliens living on Earth since before humans walked the planet. They survive by living in us and have guided humanity since the dawn of time. These secret societies that I told you about, well, it’s an alien civil war. And our side is losing.”

  Wilks’ face turned sheet white. He stammered for a second, looking from face to face in the room, and then at the Keeper, who only nodded.

  “Get outta here!” he said.

  Thompson stepped up to the screen. “Keeper, Haewon and I insist on going. We are volunteering to be exposed. Wilks will need to prove to naysayers that he is telling the truth, and I doubt that any Genjix will volunteer to be scanned, so might as well make it one of us. I am a senior Prophus. I have the authority and knowledge to negotiate with the humans. Besides, if I volunteer to be exposed, the Prophus might garner sympathy. It might give us a chance to tell our side of the story.”