The Rise of Io (21 page)

T
he next morning
, nearly five months since the day Io first joined with her, Ella ran her first solo job as an operative. She worked herself up to the point of hyperventilation as she readied her gear the prior evening, and ended up tossing and turning the entire night. In the morning, she threw up her breakfast five minutes after finishing it.

She left the house before dawn and made her way west across Crate Town toward the gulf. Ten minutes into her trek, she considered turning back. Not because she was too nervous or scared or had changed her mind, but because she had stashed so many knives on her person that they weighed her down. A few of the handles clanged together, making her sound like a busted wind chime whenever she took a step. It was also uncomfortable.

“I really need to go see Ando today to get some sheaths made,” she grumbled. “I don't know if it's safe for me to sit down with all this crap on.”

Who told you to pack every single knife you own? I told you to only bring three.

“I was worried I'd miss and run out.”

They are knives. You can reuse them.

Ella looked back the way she had come. She could just see the tip of her cluster at the end of the block. Maybe she should…

“Oh, forget it,” she sighed. “I've already gone too far.”

What? You are four blocks away.

“I know.”

Ella continued west, making good time while the streets were still mostly empty. She wouldn't be so lucky on the way back. Crate Town was already waking up: children carried pots on their heads to fetch water, women hung wet clothing over lines, men stoked fires in metal drums and fire pits, and vendors pulled wagonloads of vegetables and scraps toward the market.

Ella stayed alert, treating every sight and sound as a potential threat. Behind her, a rolling metal door clicked open. A woman yelled at her husband. A dog howled. A blue piece of tarp hanging loosely off a roof slapped the side of a container as it blew in the wind.

You are taking this a little too seriously. You are going to get tired out working yourself up like this.

“I'm a secret agent now. Isn't this what I'm supposed to do?”

Just relax. You being this jumpy is making me jumpy.

That only made Ella feel even more anxious. She reached the edge of the construction site within the hour and followed the outer fence southwest to the end near the water's edge. There, Io had her lie down near the tip of a mound of garbage and walked her through how to use the secret agent photo and video recorder. Twenty minutes later, she was done.

“Wait, what? That's it?” she exclaimed, feeling a little short-changed.

That is it. We can go home now.

“I got dressed for this? Gods, it took me longer to sheathe all my knives.”

It is your fault for working yourself up into a tizzy. I do not know what you thought you were going to do your first time out.

“I strapped twenty knives on me!”

No one told you to prepare to invade Pakistan.

“I feel like this job is incomplete if I don't get to at least throw a knife at someone, or something.”

Arm a girl and suddenly she thinks she is ready to take on the world. Come on, go home before a patrol catches you loitering and asks questions. You will get your chance to stab someone tomorrow.

“We're doing this again?”

Every day until further notice.

The next day, Io brought Ella to the same place and had her take the same photos, taking special notice of a truck bed that held several large curved dome-shaped panels. She did the same thing the day after that, and the next. For an entire week, Ella would come to this exact same spot near the top of a pile of refuse and record the types of machinery and materials parked under a wall-less building with a triangular A-frame roof.

By the end of the fourth day, any excitement and thrill she held for the job of being an operative was crushed by the sheer drudgery of the tasks. Io added a few more bits of information to acquire: snapshots of ships off the coast, the names of the supply companies on the sides of trucks and vans, and anyone going in and out of the buildings who didn't look like a nobody.

The construction crews started early each day. Ella even saw Deputy Minister Kapoor walking the grounds several times, and entering and exiting buildings, particularly a busier finished one in the back corner next to the really giant building that was still being built. Io was really big on getting shots of the minister, which felt weird to her because the man's mug was hanging off a giant poster on one of the construction billboards. Still, she did as instructed and clicked away at the minister as if he were a Bollywood star and she a paparazzo.

A couple of times, she caught a few shots of that strange-looking blonde woman touring the site with an entourage trailing close by. She grabbed a few shots before Io told her to move on and focus more on the minister. Something about the woman piqued her curiosity though. She seemed completely out of place. Who was she? What was she doing here?

For one thing, her hair was so blonde and shiny it glowed like a light bulb. Ella wished she had hair like that. She had never had long hair. It wasn't a good idea in her line of work with people always grabbing at her, not to mention it probably wouldn't be very hygienic in Crate Town. Who knew what bugs made their nests–

Can you focus on the task at hand and worry about hair later?

“Sorry.”

Ella moved on, climbing down a mound of shattered appliances and furniture and up a hill spiced with rotten food. She moved onto the impressive pile of moldy clothing stacked two stories high and then was forced to wade through a lake of… she didn't even want to know what it was filled with.

Io's confidence in her grew by the day. By the second week, Ella was spending most of her days surveying the entire site, from the main complexes in the south to the current Dumas construction area all the way up to the docks. She enjoyed this process and almost felt like a real spy, except when the job was painfully, tediously boring. Soon, she had her favorite spots surrounding the entire construction site picked out, and every day she made her rounds, snapping at the work and documenting the daily changes.

In the first two weeks, she had come across a patrol three times. All three times, they were extraordinarily easy to avoid. Those teams of three guards, wearing mismatched clothes, looked more like dockworkers than soldiers, and they seemed more interested in talking and smoking and kicking cans than actually patrolling. Each time, she stayed hidden, took a couple of snaps of them with her camera, waited until they passed, and then moved onto her next position.

It made her wonder again how an old expert like Bijan got caught. Poor guy must have just not known the terrain. She began to beat herself up again for not accompanying him, at least for the first day.

If I beat myself up over every defeat, I would have time to do little else.

“Yeah, like what?”

I would rather not talk about it.

“Give me an example.”

If you must know, I was one of the advisers to the chief architect for the Maginot Line.

“What's that? I don't remember this in your stories.”

We are still working our way through the Dark Ages. The events involving the Maginot Line happened way later.

An image of several round concrete forts flashed into her head. They reminded Ella of a movie she once saw about little people who lived in homes buried underground. “They look cute. What were they for?”

It was a defensive line to repel a German invasion.

“What happened?”

Uh, the Germans just drove around them.

Ella laughed so loud she worried that the patrol that had disappeared over the next mound would hear. She covered her mouth and retreated into a refrigerator missing its door. She stayed there for fifteen minutes and waited for the coast to clear.

As the minutes ticked by, Io clarified some of the dreams of her glorious career inhabiting humans. If anything, it comforted Ella that the Quasing weren't all-knowing and powerful, that they were just as culpable and mistake-prone as any human.

“So, explain this thing with these first humans? How did you know their language if it was your first time?”

That was part of the problem. I could not speak with this man. Having been used to certain types of animals for so long, the transition was difficult.

“You couldn't just read his brain and pick it up?”

Assimilating human thought takes time. It is often like reading a book. That is why I did not know everything about you right when I joined with you.

“I get it. So what am I thinking now?”

Active thoughts are much easier to pick up. You are thinking about trying that new restaurant that opened just outside of Crate Town. I warn you, I do not think you will take well to fried chicken.

“Is chicken from Kentucky bad?”

It is not actually from Kentucky.

After the chatter from the patrols had died, Ella crawled out and made her way to Metal Mountain at the far northern end by the Tapi. There, on the south shore of the river mouth a ways from the docks was a giant mountain of broken containers piled five stories high.

This was where the docks discarded their unused containers. During the early days of the war, when any semblance of order had broken down, the docks and the ships that unloaded there began to dump empty containers at the northern refuse site. Eventually, a cone-shaped mountain of empty cargo containers grew, complete with tunnels and crevices and caves.

Back when Ella first became homeless after the Vadsar Air Base had fallen, she and hundreds of others had sought refuge in Metal Mountain. Unfortunately, the mountain also attracted the sort of people who found the complex tunnels useful to hide in. Now, most residents of Crate Town stayed away from Metal Mountain unless they were conducting shady business.

It gave Ella the perfect vantage point for her surveillance, and she spent the rest of the day hidden near the tip of the mountain taking dozens of photos of the construction site. Over the course of these day-long jaunts, she and Io finally fell into a rhythm. She soon learned that she could get a lot more accomplished and with less effort if they worked together instead of butting heads all the time. It was also a lot less exhausting.

Good communication is key. You will learn that we often share the same goals.

“Are your goals to eat and make money?”

Well, not directly, but–

“Then we really don't have the same goals.”

What if I can guarantee that working together will lead to more food and money?

“Hmm, if you put it that way, sure. Seventy-thirty split?”

Whatever you say, Ella.

Working with others was new to her, and for the first time, Ella discovered she enjoyed having a partner, especially as her surveillance runs grew longer. It was nice having someone to talk to during those long boring stretches, and she had to admit, albeit reluctantly, that Io gave pretty solid advice. She began to trust the alien, which was a difficult thing to earn from someone who survived on the streets. As long as Io knew who the boss of her body was, Ella could see this partnership working out.

I am the brain, you are the muscle?

“Hah, fat chance, alien. More like I'm the muscle and the brain, and you have an advisory role.”

How about you are the brain and the muscle, except when I have advice you need to follow, and then you follow it.

“All right, that sounds good. Wait, you're trying to trick me.”

I would never do that.

Those thoughts lingered as she lay in bed and studied the moonbeams that poked through the small holes of the ceiling. It had been less than half a year since Io had come into her life and already, things felt so different. It was weird, but Ella could barely remember how she had lived before that fateful night. She murmured a blessing to Emily for bringing her Io.

For the first time since her mother died and her father abandoned her, someone had her back. Manish had become the father she always thought fathers were like. Aarav was the big brother she couldn't stand but knew she could lean on if she needed, and Io was the imaginary friend who wouldn't shut up but Ella knew she would miss if she ever disappeared.

Really? You see Manish as your dad, Aarav your brother, and I am a talking teddy bear?

“Hey, that's a step up from my previous opinion of you.”

Fair enough.

“If it makes you feel better, you're also my teacher now too.”

That does. Thank you.

“So what am I going to dream about tonight?”

Where did I leave off? Oh yes, my hosts were dropping like flies. By the way, I am not trying to be flippant about killing humans. Your kind is just really hard to keep alive…

S
hura hit
send on her tablet and watched as her instructions were wrapped with several layers of encryption and dispatched. It was time to put the wheels in motion. Her gaze lingered on the screen at the little graphic of the message being folded into a locked chest and disintegrating into the ether. Who said the Genjix did not have a sense of humor?

That graphic makes no sense. Whoever in Security created it is wasting time and resources and should be disciplined.

“I take that back. We really don't have a sense of humor.”

Shura had been in constant contact with this Riseevar and had negotiated her own deal, superseding the arrangement Surrett had made. Whereas the minister had dangled vague promises and strung the Prophus operative along, she didn't mess around and set firm deliverables. So far, Surrett had been squandering this resource and only using the double agent to run interference and counterintelligence on the Bio Comm Array project.

Shura needed and wanted to catch something larger and much more significant. If this Riseevar could deliver her that, then she would bring the defector into the Genjix fold with a guaranteed elevation to moderately high standing. That was the price of admission.

It was a very good deal for Riseevar and an even better one for Shura. It was, unfortunately, a bad one for Surrett, since she had effectively locked him out of the deal. Also, for Shura's plan to work, she needed bait, irresistible bait, bait that would overcome reason and logic and lure the target to her. The link between Surrett and the big fish was thin but strong.

The minister had, of course, protested being used in such a way. When she had revealed the plan to him, he paled and insisted on an alternative. When she informed him that catching the bigger fish was more important than his life, Surrett became desperate and came dangerously close to insubordination. Fortunately, he saw the light when he realized that his best chance of survival was to put his life in her hands in the service to the Holy Ones. She had assured him that she would do her best to ensure his safety.

You told him putting him in the line of fire was a minor detail in the plan. That is hardly a confidence booster.

“It
is
a minor detail. Who does he think he is? The minister will do as commanded when the time comes.” Shura leaned back in her chair. Things were finally coming together. Not only was she about to catch a high-ranking Prophus, the production of the Bio Comm Array project was finally back on track. They might even begin the first trial by the end of the month. That would put the project three months ahead of schedule. If she could turn this troubled project around so quickly and make a statement with a successful test, then there was no chance the Council, especially with Weston's support, would refuse her all of India once it became a Genjix state.

The icing on the cake was, after weeks of searching for an opening, Shura had finally devised a plan to eliminate the Jain priest without raising suspicion. Through a combination of bribes, subtle and not-so-subtle intimidations, and research, she discovered that Indu had a weakness for freshly picked rambutans, and one of his disciples went to the market every day to buy some. It was one of the few patterns in his life and the only luxury the monk allowed himself.

Indu was a careful man and had a taste tester, having survived several assassination attempts over the years. It seemed Jain politics were every bit as vicious as the secular version. Small doses of hydrofluoric acid injected into the fruit over the course of a few weeks would do the trick. In the end, the good monk, in his ripe old age, would suffer a heart attack and experience a very natural-looking demise. After his tragic death, arrangements were already in place to promote his two assistants to become head monks at the temples in Mahudi and Vataman.

The assimilation of Dumas would then be complete. The majority of the demolition was already well under way. Several thousand tons of materials and supplies were sitting on the docks waiting to begin the build-out of the housing phase of the project. Everything depended on whether Indu died next week or next month.

This has not been the most direct of approaches, but definitely one of your more elegant ones. I approve. Not a moment too soon, either. News from Moscow is that Rurik is close to consolidating his hold on Russia. He just sent two of his rivals to the Eternal Sea and obtained the fealty of four others.

“If things go as planned, by the time Rurik ever gets around to focusing on the Bio Comm Array and India, it will be too late.”

Shura pulled up a map of the construction site. Mogg's thugs were becoming problematic. They had spent most of the past month chasing away the residents and businesses in the area. Some she was able to integrate with the construction crews, but most were unskilled, wasted bodies that she relegated to guard duty. It was a waste of capital and manpower, but she had little choice. Mogg's union was just that, a union. Shura could not even fire these people unless she was willing to take on all of them. Eventually, she intended to replace all the workers with more reliable and loyal Genjix crews from China and Russia, but by then Mogg and her people would be accustomed to Shura's high wages, so the transition would likely turn violent. That was an inevitability, but at least six months down the road. She could arrange to have military moved in–

The door to her suite banged open so loudly, Shura whipped out her pistol with her finger on the trigger. Fortunately for Surrett, she never fired unless she was sure of her shot. The man was a sliver away from taking two slugs to the head. She glowered as he walked in unannounced. No, he was strutting.

Be careful. Something is wrong.

Shura lowered her pistol, but kept it at the ready. “How dare you? Something better be burning to the ground, Minister.”

Is he making a play for me? Killing him may be the right move. Be ready.

Genjix history was littered with instances of the unblessed, desperate for a Holy One, assassinating a vessel and forcing the Holy One to use their body. However, that was not how the Genjix operated. Anyone could kill. That was the easy part. Being accepted by the Holy Ones was the true challenge. Unless an unblessed was accepted by a Holy One, it never ended well. How trustworthy could an operative be if they stooped to stealing a Quasing? Usually, at some later date, the Holy One always arranged to have that false vessel assassinated.

Shura wondered if this was one of those instances. Surrett was desperate to become a vessel, and they were alone in this room. However, he was a much bigger fool than she gave him credit for if he thought he could defeat her in a fight.

“I apologize for interrupting you, Adonis.” His bow was hardly a nod. He stepped to the side of the entrance.

To Shura's credit, she masked the shock on her face when a handsome man in his late twenties with a long, muscular build, flanked by two bodyguards, walked in. His hair hung just past his chin and his eyes were sunken in just enough to smolder. If Shura didn't already know who he was, she would have guessed the man was the lead singer in a soft rock band.

There is a window behind you to your left. You are twelve stories up.

“I won't survive that jump.”

Of course. I am referring to my survival if necessary. However, I do not believe it will come to that. Remember his standing.

Shura bowed just low enough to follow protocol and show respect. “A pleasant surprise, brother.” She glanced at the smug look on Surrett's face. The man must have received a better deal of his own – which, to be honest, couldn't have been that hard, since she hadn't offered him much to begin with.

“We are no longer at the Hatchery, Shura,” Rurik said. “You forget your place.”

She kept her gaze on the table. “Apologies, Father.”

“You are surprised to see me?”

“Notice would have been appreciated, so I could prepare for your arrival.”

Rurik came to the other side of her desk and sat down. He glanced at the stack of blueprints on the left side of the table and then at the map of the construction site on the right. Shura's mind raced. What did Rurik know of her plans? How much could she still salvage? If he was only stopping by to check in on the project's status, then all might not be lost.

Rurik tapped the map with his forefinger. “The minister has briefed me on recent developments. I am pleased with your work.”

“I serve the Holy Ones.”

“We are back on schedule?”

“Yes, except for one last property that requires a delicate touch.”

“Ah yes, the temple. When will that be cleared?”

It wasn't a good sign if Rurik was informed of that specific detail. “A few weeks. A month at best.”

“All that for one old monk,” he muttered. Rurik pointed at the room's communication console. “Link me.”

Shura had no option but to do as she was ordered. She waited while Rurik made a call on his tablet and then, with a brush of his hand, patched the communication into the room. Her throat caught when Weston's face appeared floating in the air.

They both bowed. “Praise to the Holy Ones.”

They must have interrupted Weston during his workout. The young man's face was covered with sweat and a trickle of blood poured down the crown of his head. The rumors out of China were that the high father enjoyed training with live weaponry. They waited patiently as he toweled off. Finally, he addressed them. “Rurik, Shura. What is it?”

“High Father,” Rurik said. “I'm informing you that I've come down to Gujurat to take command of the situation. Seeing how important the Bio Comm Array will be to the Genjix, I felt it was my duty to personally oversee its execution.”

Weston shrugged. “I'm glad to hear you are finally giving it the attention it deserves. There's no need to interrupt me just to tell me what you should have been doing all along.”

Rurik bowed. “I also want to assure you that the operation to use the defector Riseevar to capture the high-value Prophus operative is still in play. I will personally ensure its success.”

Weston raised an eyebrow and his mouth curled up. “I see. Zoras values that objective dearly.”

“Of course, High Father,” Rurik said. “I assume that in taking ownership of this delicate task, the promised reward of controlling India still stands?”

“I see your game now, Rurik,” Weston chuckled. “I don't care who owns the country, just get it done. If you are successful in capturing the target, India is yours.”

Shura's heart sank. She had been betrayed and outmaneuvered. Rurik had slid in at the right moment to take credit for her work. Not only that, he now stood to reap the reward promised her.

I warned you. You pushed Surrett Kapoor too hard, and did not offer him enough incentive to stay loyal.

Shura stood next to Rurik, head bowed, humiliated, as he completed his conversation with Weston. The Russian had given her just enough credit to not make this appear like theft. Her standing from her work here would rise, but in the end it paled next to what she deserved. Especially now, with Rurik on the cusp of controlling both Russia and India, he would be more entrenched than ever, and should be able to successfully challenge for a seat on the Council.

Rurik stole a glance at Shura, a cruel smile growing on the edges of his lips. He looked back at Weston. “One more thing, High Father. Adonis Shura has done such a competent job with the project that I would like to keep her on board after I take control of India, for the sake of stability and continuity, and under my command, of course.”

Shura's veins froze. She might have done too competent a job here. Rurik could justifiably argue that she was necessary to this project's success, and if he kept control of the project, he could keep her under his thumb indefinitely.

Weston studied Shura's face, and then Rurik's. “You don't control anything yet. Show me you can be entrusted with the success of this important Genjix initiative and you will have all the resources you need.”

Weston's head blinked from view. Rurik smiled and went over to her cabinet to pick up a bottle of scotch. He held it toward Shura and then to Surrett. Both shook their head. Rurik looked at the empty glass in his hand and tossed it. He went over to the couch and drank directly from the bottle. The man was reveling in his victory.

He smiled at her and then looked over at Surrett. “Don't be too angry with the minister, Shura. He did what he thought best.”

“What did you offer him?” she asked.

“I guaranteed him a Holy One. A salute to you, Surrett Kapoor.” Rurik raised his drink as the minister bowed again. “The man deserves it after bringing so many victories to the Genjix.”

“Well,” Shura said. “I see you've made yourself comfortable. By all means, Father, my suite is yours. If that will be all, I'll leave you both–”

Rurik cut her off. “Actually, I have orders for you.” He stood up and went over to her desk, placing the bottle on the table sloppily. He pointed at the Jain temple in the center of the map of Dumas. “I don't want to wait a month to begin construction. Clear out the temple. Tonight.”

“Are you sure that's wise, Rurik?” Shura said. “It will only rile the local populace. I have a plan already in motion. It will only take–”