Stephen came over and sat next to him. “If I polished my gun as much as you are right now, my wife would get jealous. Something on your mind, son?”
Roen shook his head. “No, sir. Well, to be honest, I have some doubts. It’s one thing to fight an enemy trying to kill me. It’s another to take out an innocent person, an ally no less, just to free his Quasing. Before I never had to question myself if what I’m doing is right. But now…”
“You can’t take deeds at face value, son,” Stephen said. “Sometimes, what seems evil may prove to do good down the road. It’s a brutal world we live in. It’s never black and white. You have to learn to see how pushing over one domino affects the rest of the puzzle.”
“I think no matter how you try to justify the good of this mission, it just feels wrong,” Roen said.
Stephen scratched his chin. “I don’t know about that, Roen. One of the agents we lost because of these safe house lockouts was a buddy of mine. Jack and I went back thirty years. Good man. I wouldn’t be standing here if it wasn’t for him on more than one occasion. I wasn’t there for him when he was caught out in the open in Austria; I’d like to think that I’m doing everything in my power to make up for it. Gregory and I go back a ways; he was my friend. I know he’d think the same thing.”
He paused. “I checked your files. This is your first high-level field mission?” Roen nodded. “And you have credit for a past kill?”
Roen shook his head. “Guy had two left feet and tripped off a building. I never actually shot anyone.”
“Not a bad thing,” Stephen said. “Just remember to respect the gun. Remember what it can do.”
Roen nodded. “I really don’t want to kill people.”
Stephen shook his head. “Sane men never do. That makes you human. Folks who have no regard for life are the ones you have to worry about. The day you find yourself not caring if someone lives or dies is the day you should hang up your spurs and quit this line of work. It means you’re losing your humanity, and that humanity is what the Prophus are fighting for.” Stephen stood up and patted him on the back. “Just remember, son, always look for a reason not to shoot. You remember that and you’ll be fine.”
Roen watched Stephen rejoin Dylan and continue their card game. Why would Stephen tell him to not shoot? Wasn’t that the reason they were here? To shoot and kill the enemy? The thought of killing someone made Roen nauseous. He just didn’t want taking someone’s life on his conscience. He didn’t know if he could live with himself.
“Tao, I don’t think I’m in the right line of work.”
Roen, what you are thinking is perfectly natural. In fact, I am glad you feel this way. A natural killer who shows no remorse is not the kind of host I want to have, and not one that the Prophus needs when life and death is on the line. Duty and responsibility are heavy things, and not something you should treat lightly. If it is not a burden to you, then you are in the wrong line of work.
Sonya came by later. She sat down next to him and grabbed his gun, putting it aside. “Hey you, how’s it going?” She put her hand in his and he felt the small calluses on her trigger finger.
“I was kind of hoping our first trip together would be to the Bahamas or Vegas. This wasn’t high on my list of vacation destinations.”
This is the part where I interrupt. You have other things to worry about than flirting with your commander.
She chuckled. “Baji warned me about Tao and his hosts. You need to focus on the mission.”
“Warned you?” he mused. “I’m hardly a danger to anyone.”
“You underestimate yourself, Roen Tan,” she murmured. “It’s late. You should get some sleep.”
“Aye, aye, ma’am.” He saluted.
She waved him off. “Military protocol sounds silly coming from you for some reason. Just remember; we’re not in the gym anymore.” She put her hands on his shoulder and leaned over. “You leave in four hours.”
Sleep did not come easily that night. Restless with anticipation, Roen spent the quiet hours tossing around in bed. He envied the two older men sharing a room with him as they slept, seemingly oblivious to their surroundings. It figured that the only time he actually needed to sleep, he couldn’t.
Relax. You are as jumpy as a kid on prom night.
“I never went to prom.”
You know what I mean. Settle down a bit. Take a deep breath.
“How do they sleep so well?”
Experience, many years of it. One day, you will be like them too.
“If I live that long.”
Hush, sunshine.
Roen sat up in his cot and started counting seconds of the clock. His lack of sleep just exacerbated his mood. Not a good way to start his budding career as a real spy.
He lay back down and stared at the ceiling, his mind wandering randomly. Would his parents understand? Would his dad be proud? Would they get some kind of severance if he died? Kathy seemed to be getting something. Should he give some to Jill? If something happened to him, would she think he just blew her off?
What about Antonio? After all, he does pay half the rent. What about his cat? Roen had heard about people who put their pets in their will. Maybe he should have a will drawn up. Maybe he should become an organ donor, but who would want organs riddled with bullet holes?
Roen.
“Yes, Tao?”
Go to sleep.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT: GREGORY
There, in a quiet cove on an icy winter day – with a ship anchored just off the shore – Francisco Cisneros betrayed us and slew Rianno, declaring himself a Genjix. Just as I had committed the ultimate betrayal of my hosts, my friend and brother Chiyva had done the same to me. Grieving for a lost host and friend, I fled into the forest and was fortunate to find a deer. For the next few decades, I plotted my revenge.
Roen struggled against fatigue the next morning. What passed for coffee at the safe house didn’t help, and the food stored there was the kind that belonged in nuclear bomb shelters. How this place passed for a bed and breakfast was beyond him.
The one thing that was well stocked here was their selection of teas. He had always thought the British obsession with tea was a stereotype in campy movies. Not so. The sheer combination of tea blends and mixtures and condiments required a series of alchemical decisions that would have befuddled his chemistry professor. When he finally settled on drinking his tea plain, Paula shook her head in amusement, muttering something about primitive Americans under her breath.
Roen and Paula left for the hospital right after breakfast. The car ride was quiet; hardly a word was spoken between them. He spent the time looking out the window and studying his guide. Paula was a somber looking woman in her early thirties with a slender but muscular build. She had a handsome face with sharp Asian features, and the look of someone who was always in control. Roen didn’t want to admit it, but he was totally intimidated by her. She approached her assignment chaperoning him as seriously as if she was about to assassinate the pope.
The car rumbled down the cobbled street with a low growl as the engine struggled to navigate the hilly incline near the outskirts of town. Blackmoore War Hospital was a long-term care facility that treated all sorts of illnesses ranging from cancer to leprosy.
The Prophus as well as the Genjix had long used facilities like these all over the world to house their people. Schizophrenia and other mental illnesses were common among their hosts. According to their research, two per cent of documented schizophrenic patients were hosts overburdened by the strain of their Quasing.