You have no choice.
For the second time in an hour, Roen was whisked back to that night at the helipad when he had had to shoot Sonya. He remembered her final words as she told him to kill her. He had tried to bury those memories, but now they came rushing back. Roen felt a chill wash over him as he leaned against the window.
“I can’t do it again.”
You must. I am sorry.
“We can rescue him! Just like we did with Jill and…”
Roen couldn’t finish the thought. Actually no, they didn’t rescue Sonya. Her life was taken from this world by his own blood-washed hands. He killed one of his best friends, and she thanked him for it. All this a sacrifice for the Quasing, because their lives were more precious than a human’s. He had vowed afterward that he wouldn’t do it again.
The painful truth was, this was the right call. The situation was different last time. He had the entire strength of the Prophus at his back when he had tried to rescue Sonya and Jill. And still he had failed. Now, with only a ragtag group of exhausted men, they had no chance. Wuehler was as good as dead. And with him, Ramez. Unless he did something right now.
Roen looked over at Faust. “Abort. Call the dogs off.”
Faust paused mid-sentence. He scowled, turned his back to Roen, and continued giving orders. Roen swiped the comm from Faust’s hand and turned it off. Faust drew his pistol and aimed it between Roen’s eyes.
“I’m the second. I’m in charge,” he snarled.
“You know it’s a lose-lose situation. You’re not sending our guys to their death.” Roen paused. “We have one option.”
For a second, Faust looked like he was about to pull the trigger, then he slammed his pistol into the drywall. “Damn!” he screamed.
Roen put his hand on Faust’s shoulders. “We don’t have much time. You were his guy. I think you should do it.”
Faust shook his head. “That’s a long shot for a pistol. I’m not comfortable at that range.”
Roen gritted his teeth and glanced out the window. It was a very long shot. He wasn’t sure he could do it either. Wuehler was almost to the van. If they didn’t get a shot off in the next few seconds, Ramez was lost. Roen didn’t want to be the one to do it, but it seemed they had no choice.
Roen pulled out his flashlight and handed it to Faust. “When I get the shot off, I want you to flash it on and off at the street for five seconds.”
“Why?” Faust asked. “Won’t it just call attention to us?”
Roen took aim at Wuehler’s head. “Yeah, but Ramez will see it too. I hope you can recover fast from a transfer because we’re going to have to make a break for it while you puke your guts out.”
TWENTY
OUT OF SUBJECTS
Control of mankind is a simple theory, yet complicated in practice. Like most primitive but sentient beings, they seek to understand what is beyond their grasp. That is the void that the Genjix fill. That is why it is fitting that, for over a thousand years, we assumed control of humanity through the Papal States. The rule of Rome is shrouded in irony and truth.
Zoras
“Time of death: 21.17.”
Enzo stared at the corpse floating in the vat. They were close. It had been five days since they sacrificed the annoying old man. When Myyk’s life signs had hit the six hour mark, Chow had declared the test a success and popped the champagne bottles. Enzo had reported his accomplishment to the Council, telling them that they were moving on to the final phase.
Word had spread like wildfire that Enzo’s project had successfully created a functioning habitat. The next logical step was procreation, something that had been impossible on this planet until now. Initially, there was a surge of Quasing volunteers for the next step. Every Genjix not vested in their vessel wanted to partake in the experiment. It was a historic event after all.
However, during the second test, Myyk’s life signs faded, and Chow had the unfortunate job of notifying Enzo during breakfast. The failure leaked, and within hours, the volunteers had disappeared. It made Enzo look foolish. Receiving the smug looks of disappointment on the Council’s faces was one of most humiliating experiences he’d ever had to endure. He passed his anger and wrath onto Chow and his team.
Since then, Enzo had not left the research lab. For three days now, he worked Chow’s team around the clock, and short of actually carrying a whip, pushed them as hard as he could for results. There were now seven vats being experimented on at all times as the scientists tweaked and synthesized the formula. Seven formulas. Seven vats. Seven Prophus test subjects being sacrificed continually. Each formula was varied only slightly. Just like the mix of air for humans must be perfect, so too must the synthesized environment for the Quasing. They burned through subjects at a faster rate than could be transferred from the internment camp. Enzo didn’t care though. He wanted results and his pride would not be satisfied until he got them.
“Life signs in four are fluctuating,” one of the techs called out.
Enzo’s eyes darted to four, just glimpsing the Quasing inside spasm, his membrane expanding and contracting in a desperate jerky way. This scene was common now. An hour earlier, vat two’s subject had had the same reaction. Six hours before that, vat one actually exploded.
“That’s it,” Chow yelled. “I want that entire strain shut down.”
Enzo waited until the beeping sound of the subject’s life signs became a steady tone.
That subject’s name was Hume. I have never interacted with him, and he was never a Quasing of importance, though in his confession, he said one of his vessels invented the Hittite method of wool dyeing.
“I don’t know what that means, and I really don’t care.”
Nor do I. He was a worthless Quasing. Forty-nine subjects in three days. You have now killed more Quasing than any other human. A dubious distinction.
“Chow,” Enzo called. “Drain vat four. Pull the hybrid strain from one.”
The head researcher fell to one knee. “Father, that was our last subject.”
“I ordered a shipment from the camp days ago,” Enzo snapped. “Why aren’t they here yet? I can Fedex a yak to Greenland in two days. Why can’t I get my prisoners here in my own country?”
Chow lowered his head. “Forgive me, Father. I do not know. The internment camp lost contact with another supply van two hours after they departed. There is an ongoing search now.”
“Have you sent for more?”
“No, Father.”
Enzo suppressed the urge to reach out and choke the life out of Chow. “Well, what are you waiting for? Go get me more Prophus!”
This is disturbing news.
“Of course it is! How can our head scientist be such an idiot?”
I am referring to a missing convoy filled with what should be thirty Prophus prisoners.
Enzo shrugged. “That’s Newgard’s concern anyhow.”
That is the fourth shipment out of the last six that have gone missing.
“How many?”
Four of six. The Prophus must have engaged us in Tibet.
Enzo sprinted out of the research lab toward his office, quickly outpacing his staff. By the time they caught up, he was already pulling up the reports of the missing shipments and calling the commandant of the internment camp.
“Father,” Newgard was saying on the comm. “My scouts report a large contingent of Prophus operating in this area. They have been intercepting prisoners. At dawn this morning, a team of Prophus breached our western walls and another sixty escaped. I am shoring up the defenses and asking for reinforcements to address these incursions.”
Sixty Prophus. Escaped. Enzo stared open-mouthed at the screen, and then put his fist through it. That idiot! Enzo looked up at his terrified staff.