One of the men in the center called to the new guard that just walked in. “Hey, Brent, see any of the Prophus while you were taking a piss?”
“Naw, I whipped it out and scared them away,” he replied.
The rest of the guys laughed. “This is the sweetest gig,” someone said. “Ain’t no Prophus making it all the way down here.”
“It’s pointless,” another said. “How else you ever going to earn yourself a Holy One pulling guard duty?”
“Not going to earn a Holy One dying in combat,” Brent added.
“I agree with Emi. Vessels and higher ups have priority with the havens,” the first one said. “What do you think’ll happen to us scrubs if we haven’t earned a Holy One by the time Quasiform starts?”
“I can’t wait for it to begin,” Emi continued. “A world rebuilt. Paradise on Earth, with us in control. I don’t know why the rest of the world fights it. They should be helping us.”
“Do you really believe everything the Holy Ones say about that paradise?” Brent asked.
The other guard nodded. “I didn’t believe in aliens before either.”
“Tell the truth,” Brent said. “I signed on for the riches. Being a lord in Heaven is just an added perk.”
“Watch your mouth,” Emi snapped. “The Holy Ones will cut you from ear to ear for blasphemy.”
Roen and Cameron exchanged glances, and he gave his son a series of hand signals. He didn’t think Cam understood all the orders; it had taken Roen almost five years before he was able to communicate fluently with them, but he knew Tao would understand. Then he counted down from five.
On zero, Cameron leaned over the side and shot a grouping at the left guard in the center of the room, while Roen, feeling overly confident, sprinted and strafed his assigned target on the right on his way to the guard at the far end. He missed all his shots, but Cameron took the remaining guy in the center out for him. Roen dove and slid along the floor, making several shots at the surprised guard near the door at the north end. It took him three shots to knock the guy out. By the time he had picked himself up and gotten back to the center between all the stacks, Cameron had already handled both guys there and the guard at the door where they had come in.
“You’re definitely my son, aren’t you?” he grinned.
“Maybe not,” Cameron answered. “I nailed both my targets, and cleaned up yours.”
“Ooh, that cut deep.”
“Tao told me to say it,” Cameron admitted.
Roen pulled one of the containers off the pallets and opened it. He held it up for Cameron to see. “Catalyst reaction rod. A crap ton of them.”
“I wonder why they’re here,” Cameron said. “You’d think they would keep these things in a Fort Knox sort of place, not relatively lightly guarded in the middle of enemy territory.”
“I wonder that too.” He put his arms around Cameron’s shoulder. “Come on, let’s go find your mother. We can lead the rest back here when this is all over.”
As they made their way toward the exit, three figures emerged from the shadows and blocked their way. Roen pulled Cameron by the collar and ran toward the north door. Three more figures appeared. They were trapped. Roen and Cameron retreated back between the cover of the pallets.
“I spent the entire battle looking for you, Roen Tan,” a familiar voice said. “Even in the middle of our base, you are difficult to track.” The center figure walked under a light shining from the ceiling, and Roen’s heart skipped a beat. The stuff of his nightmares was here.
Jacob Diamont had finally caught up with him.
44 At All Costs
Our relationship with the humans is no longer tenable. The Prophus saw to that. They had hoped to avert total defeat by revealing us to them, or perhaps they had hoped to find a new ally in humanity. It makes little difference. All the Prophus have done is ensure humanity’s destruction. Their blood will be on the Prophus’s hands.
Gods do not treat their children as equals.
Zoras
Enzo watched the console as his forces deteriorated before his eyes. The trap had at first been a resounding success. However, bit by bit, encounter by encounter, his units were beaten back. As much as he wanted to blame the weakness on the haven’s security forces, that couldn’t be the case. Those forces had long shattered. The Prophus were now pitted against Enzo’s elite guard, and they were winning.
He couldn’t lay the blame on his men – they were better-trained and better-armed. In fact, in every single small unit encounter, his squads came out victorious. Yet, as the battle across the haven raged on, he found fewer units at his disposal, with his options diminishing by the hour. One by one, his units were destroyed. Even his Adonis siblings. Matthew and Azumi were dead. Akelatis was captured. In his own damn chosen field of battle, no less. How was this possible?
Enzo was Hatchery-trained and had been learning from the best military minds since he was old enough to walk. His only purpose in life was to lead and to win wars. He would have been confident to match his war prowess against any military mind, be it George Patton, Napoleon Bonaparte, Tran Hung Dao, or even Sun Tzu. It physically pained him to be losing. It was inconceivable that the enemy had a leader who was capable of defeating Enzo in battle with an inferior force on terms of his choosing. Just who was the Prophus commander?
I would dearly love to know as well. However, that is irrelevant. You have failed gravely, Enzo, and your standing has lowered. Initiate an orderly retreat.
“Retreat? Impossible. The catalyst reaction stockpiles will be lost.”
They can be replaced or reclaimed. I cannot. The odds of victory no longer offer acceptable risks.
“Zoras, I have never lost a battle before in my life. I will not lose one now.”
Perhaps you have finally met your equal. Seems more than your equal actually. You only have one option. Act on it.
“Damn it, Zoras. I am the leader of the Genjix. I will not tolerate having the rest of the Council believe I have been routed.”
As you often do, you forget yourself vessel.
A dozen scenarios ran through Enzo’s head. He was playing a game of chess with roughly the same amount of pieces as his opponent, but he was cornered, boxed in from two sides, and his enemy was chipping away at his pawns. He thought five steps ahead, trying to move his pieces to claim any sort of advantage, but in most cases, he would lose his king, which was the catalyst reaction rods.
Unless he was bold. In this game of chess, he was the queen.
“Palos, pull back to my position,” he barked over the comm. “Cover the escape pods. I’m taking two-thirds of the remaining forces and marking a new defensive perimeter.”
“Your command, Father,” Palos responded. “How long is the new line?”
“All the way down to lower level storage. We will hold until all the pallets with the catalyst reaction rods can be retrieved.”
Amanda looked worried. “Father, escape pods one through three are in Prophus-held territory now,” she stammered. “There isn’t enough room in the pods for all the catalyst pallets, vessels, and high-valued Genjix.”
“Then re-evaluate. The catalyst reaction rods have the highest priority.”
“Father,” Palos buzzed in urgently. “The enemy is pressing.”
You are on the Council. In this situation, your place should be on the first pod to escape, not leading a last desperate attack.
“Jacob is still down there holding the room. If I do not cut a path for him, he will be trapped.”
Chiyva is a hard sacrifice, but one we have lived with before. He will find his way back in time.