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?
“Hey, Wheels,” Roen smiled. “Let’s call a truce. I mean, we’ve crossed paths a dozen times and haven’t gotten along, but let’s try and make nice this go around. Pretend it’s our first date again, alright?”
Wuehler, with his eyes closed, shrugged. “Just follow orders, Roen. Don’t get anyone killed.”