The Lives of Tao

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

AWAY GAME



To make matters worse, the plague found its way to these lands anyway. The turmoil I had created set the tone for the next three hundred years until the dynasty fell. When Zhu died, I had my fill of empires and dreams, and decided to return west. This part of the world deserved to be free of me, for I had brought nothing to the people here except death and tyranny.



Exactly seven months into his life as a host, Roen was laid off from his job when his company found contractors in India who did the same work for a quarter of the price. It was a mixed blessing of sorts. Tao had no choice then but to put him on a Prophus stipend, meaning his official job from that point on was to not screw up his missions too badly. The stipend, though, was pitifully small.

“No wonder Marc defected,” he said, gaping at the first check that came in.

You start at the bottom of the totem pole like every other rookie. Why do you think I told you to keep your job?

“How can I afford anything with this? I get more collecting unemployment!”

Bullets are expensive. Learn to shoot better.

“Do I ever get more?”

You mean like a raise? Sure, start killing Genjix or better yet, invent Quasing membrane reproduction in this atmosphere. Command would probably buy you a tropical island then.

“I’d like Moorea please.”

You will have to get in line for that one.

Much to his chagrin, Roen immediately began to miss his old job. It was one of the last pieces of his normal, prior life he had left. A year ago, he would have rejoiced at being laid off and becoming a full-time agent. Now, it made him sad. He spent his first few unemployed days waking up early and staring from his balcony at the hundreds of people bustling off to work.

“I used to be one of them. I don’t know if I like the new me.”

There is a period of adjustment, Roen. You are simply maturing into your new role.

“Period of adjustment? Is that what you call it? I don’t know who I am anymore.”



Since Roen no longer had disposable income to do much else, he found himself spending more time training with Sifu Lin. Lin seemed to have finally warmed up to Roen, which wasn’t saying much. The stick was still there, as were the constant verbal punishments, but more and more, Lin spent his time teaching rather than punishing.

November 15th became a day that Roen considered as important as his birthday, or whenever Jill’s birthday was. That day was the first time he successfully landed a blow on Lin. Roen didn’t know which of them was more shocked.

The strike resulted from a complex series of feints and sidesteps – that started with Roen getting punched four times – before he caught Lin out of position, and popped him on his chubby cheeks. It was a satisfying punch. Very satisfying. Lin blinked once in surprise before he howled with laughter, and with what Roen could only presume was pride. Then Lin actually stopped training early to sit and enjoy several bottles of Lin’s favorite beverage: Taiwan Beer.

Roen should have known it was a trap. After he had gotten drunk, Lin insisted on continuing their lesson. What happened afterward wasn’t pretty.



The new year rolled around and Roen had just returned from a six-week-long string of assignments, culminating in a security detail escorting a prominent host. He was in Iowa as part of the protection detail for a Prophus presidential nominee. While the Secret Service officially managed the nominee’s security, a dozen Prophus agents worked around the clock to ensure her safety from the real threat of Genjix assassination.

Intelligence had found a Genjix sniper team on top of a building outside the nominee’s hotel. The Prophus came down in full force on the sniper team and neutralized them just before the nominee left her car. During the exchange, Roen startled a sniper trying to escape, and the sniper tripped and fell off the side of the building. The rest of the team thought enough of Roen to give him credit for the kill. Their nominee lost the Iowa primary by thirty points.

“We really know how to pick them, don’t we?” he muttered as he drove back home.

We knew she was a long shot, but we had to try. Getting one of us in the White House is a real game changer.

“Still, thirty points? Stalin could run in the Iowa primaries and do better than thirty points.”

Regardless, there was an attempt on her life, and we stopped it. I consider that a job well done.

“I guess. I think the Genjix could’ve just waited until after the primaries and saved themselves some bullets.”

Roen stepped into his apartment, exhausted from the constant travel. Antonio, as usual, was working the night shift at the hospital and wouldn’t be home until tomorrow morning. It was too bad. The two hadn’t spent much time together recently and Roen missed him. Roen turned on the television and surfed through the channels, pausing on CNN and ESPN. It was the usual news: the Bears weren’t going into the playoffs, the Bulls’ offseason was terrible, and there was an SEC investigation at two firms for securities fraud.

He tuned out the rambling commentary as he logged onto his network system and perused through Prophus news. He didn’t anticipate another job for at least a week or two. Still, he diligently checked his messages and was about to log off when a new message popped up. Roen sighed and opened it, skimming over the background and going straight for his actionable items and timelines. He had thought he’d have a few days of rest at least.

Roen leaned back onto the couch and picked up his cat. The poor creature had been feeling neglected for months now and hissed as he tried to escape. He held on to the tabby as he squirmed and dug his claws into his arm. “Now, now, p-ssycat,” he murmured.

Have you decided on giving him a real name yet?

“Nah... Meow Meow’s a fine name.”

No, it is not. That is like calling a dog Bark Bark.

“Actually, it would be more like Woof Woof, but I think Meow Meow sounds cuter.”

Your naming habits will get your kids beat up in the schoolyard.

“Well, Roen’s a pretty good name then. I got beat up quite a bit in grade school. In fact, I think I will go Freudian and blame my problems on my childhood. Was Freud a Quasing?”

No, just a con man. You should get some sleep. The briefing for the mission is tomorrow morning at the safe house.

Roen frowned as he finished reading the email, dropping Meow Meow unceremoniously off his lap. This seemed to be a more complicated mission, not like the typical low-level work he’d been doing the past year. He must be moving on up the ranks. He shrugged, went to the bathroom and stared at the mirror. His once chubby face had been replaced with a gaunt one, with dark bags under the eyes, and sunken cheeks. His hair had been cropped short months ago to keep it out of his eyes. Roen was unshaven, but not in the 5 o’clock-sexy way. He barely recognized himself. “What happened to me?” he muttered. “I don’t look so good. I go from cute and fat to ugly and skinny. Why can’t I just have the best of both worlds?”

You were not that good looking to begin with. Think of it as growing more distinguished with age.

With a sad little shake of his head, Roen finished cleaning up and went to bed.

The next morning, Roen walked into the safe house and looked around. He thought there would be others to meet him. The room was dark and no one was around. Immediately, he sensed that something was wrong. Over the past year, he’d learned to appreciate his spider senses when they were tingling. Now they were sending shivers up and down his spine. Roen pawed for the light switch. He caught a faint scent of citrus before someone else turned on the lights. Then he felt a soft breeze tickle his ear.

“Boo!”

Roen tried to draw his pistol but found his holster empty. He spun around, ready to fight, but instead came face to face with a grinning Sonya, now spinning his pistol around her finger.

“Sonya!” he cried, nearly fainting with relief.

She shook her other index finger at him and returned his pistol. “Tsk, tsk, Roen. I had you there. You have to be more careful in the future.”

“What’re you doing here?” he asked.

She walked over to a chair and sat down, putting her feet up on the table. “I am the tactical lead for your new mission, Mr Roen Tan. For the next week, you’ll be reporting to me. Command has deemed you ready for international man-of-mystery work, instead of just trolling around the Midwest.”

Roen looked skeptical. “Really? Command said that?”

“Well, I had to vouch for you,” she admitted. “This one is delicate. The Keeper has asked for Yol’s release.”

Out of the question. Tell her Yol’s release is not an option.

Tao’s quick retort startled Roen. “What? What does Yol’s release mean?”

“Tao can fill you in,” she said. “He’s been hiding a Quasing from us for years now, and it’s time Yol returns to us. I’m sorry, Tao, but recently, there’s been a rise in network attacks on our older legacy systems. There’s very few active Prophus who can manage those systems. Yol and Jeo designed most of them, and since Jeo’s playing for the other team, we need Yol.”

“But I thought Quasing couldn’t leave hosts unless the host dies.” Roen frowned.

“And who says you don’t have a sharp wit?” Sonya turned, walked to her bag, pulled out a manila packet, and handed it to him. “We leave for Dublin at 1500 hours.”

“Why me? Can’t we use our agents in Europe?” he asked.

Sonya shook her head. “We need you on this one. More specifically, we need Tao. Unfortunately for you, you’re him.”

Tao was being strangely quiet about the situation. Usually, he would at least give Roen a few comforting words or berate him for whining. The silence was awkward as Roen waited for some guidance.

“Tao, speak to me. What’s going on?”

There was a long pause before Tao finally spoke. By now, Roen had been with him long enough to know something was wrong. The briefing will tell you everything you need to know. You might as well open it and find out. Sonya said something about legacy systems being compromised. If that is true, then it is serious.

“What are these systems?”

Like most large companies, the Prophus invested heavily for several decades in mainframe and older technology. Updating those systems is quite an expensive and time-consuming endeavor, so we never did.

“What do you mean updating? Like we’re not Y2K compliant?”

Please. We’re infinitely old. We number our system with six digit dates. Y2K was a joke.

“How did we not protect ourselves from this sort of stuff?”

We are fallible like everyone else. Besides, the first thing to go during cuts is always the IT budget. We had a defection some time back: a Quasing named Jeo, a technical operations specialist. You met his host, Marc, at the club. We tried to eliminate his clearance after his defection, but he must have been planning this for a long time.

If there are still intrusions, then he has created a back door. Our network integrity could be compromised. If they can hit critical systems, it could be catastrophic. But we are getting ahead of ourselves. See if the documents in the packet shed any light on the situation.

Roen opened the contents and began to sift through the papers. He picked up several stacks of bound foreign currencies and put them to the side. He rifled through a thick stack of papers and sorted them into different piles. There were two packets labeled Biographies and a map of Dublin with specific areas marked in red. A separate clear bag contained several passports, plane tickets, and several false identifications.

Roen sat down and began reading through the biographies, hoping to glean the nature of his mission. Actually, he had no idea what he was looking for. The first biography recorded the background of a Gregory Blair, listing his education, accolades, and accomplishments. They were quite impressive: graduated from Oxford, three years as an officer and pilot in the Air Force, four as an Area 51 scientist, never married, honorably discharged, and a Prophus agent up until three years ago. His historical background ended abruptly with his current whereabouts unknown.

“What happened to him?”

Read on.

Roen pulled out the next biography about a Prophus named Yol. The biography dated back thousands of years to the beginning of recorded history, when Yol first joined the Quasing collective. Then it skipped a period during the Babylonian Empire where he was a minor official in the imperial court, and proceeded to run through his various hosts. Roen didn’t recognize most of the names, though a few did stand out.

“Wow, Yol was Galileo and Duke Ellington? That’s pretty cool. Why couldn’t you be anyone like that?”

What? Are you serious? You do not think Genghis Khan or inventing t’ai chi is significant?

“I guess so, but Galileo discovered that the Earth rotated around the sun. That was pretty revolutionary back in the day.”

That is such a load of crap! Galileo discovered that the Earth rotated around the sun because Yol told him! We are a spacefaring race. It is not a discovery if someone tells you! Yol’s hosts are always taking credit where credit is not due. Did you know that he once claimed to discover spaghetti?

“Well, did he?”

Of course not. The Chinese did. It is called noodles.

“Whatever. You sound jealous.”

Skipping the sections he thought irrelevant, Roen learned that Yol was a technology operations specialist. He had some tactical experience as a general in Napoleon’s Russian campaigns and as a Japanese colonel during World War II, but otherwise he primarily occupied hosts who were artists, philosophers, and scientists.

“Talk about always picking the losing side. No wonder he decided to stick to geeking. So what is this all about? Is this Gregory person Yol as well? What does all this mean?”

Read the blue sheet.

Roen picked up a blue document which bore an official-looking seal and a signature at the bottom. “By the order of Keeper of the Prophus Command, Tao is to provide the immediate release of Yol from his host Gregory Blair and to assist with the integration of Lieutenant Paula Kim and Yol.” Roen frowned and leaned back in his chair. The orders were straightforward enough. He didn’t quite understand why he or Tao had to be involved. Couldn’t any of their other agents overseas do it? Something didn’t smell right here.

Sonya came up from behind, leaned on his back, and looked over his shoulder. “Any questions?”

He handed the paper to her. “I don’t get it. Why do I have to be the one to kill this Gregory?”

“Not you,” she said, “but Tao needs to free Yol.”

“Because?” Roen was getting a headache.

“Because we don’t know where he is,” she snapped. “Tao’s been hiding him from us for years now and with things this bad, we need him back. Edward and Tao have refused to disclose Yol’s location, and now the Keeper is forcing matters. Look, Tao, you’ve made your point, and we respect that. But more urgently, a systematic controlled lockdown was initiated on a quarter of our European safe houses. Half of our monitoring system went down, and we lost contact with at least a dozen field agents.”

“So they want me to hack in? I don’t know anything about hacking.”

“You’re not going to do it,” she said. “Neither is Tao. He’s passable, but not exactly a qualified expert. That’s why you’re going to Dublin first. We need Yol.”

“And Yol’s in Dublin? Why can’t he just log in and take care of everything?” Roen threw his arms in the air. None of this made any sense. It had never even occurred to him that there were disagreements between the Prophus. “Well, how does Tao hide someone anyway?”

He is in a mental institution.

“What?!” Roen exclaimed aloud.

Sonya picked up a red document. “Three years ago, Gregory was injured on a mission with Edward. Gregory was pronounced brain dead and disappeared soon after.”

Roen frowned. “So Tao kidnapped a brain-damaged Gregory. Why would he do that?”

I refuse to kill an injured host simply because his usefulness is at an end. Would you like us to kill you if I ever decided you were no longer of use?

“Good point. Forget I asked.”

Roen leaned back and scratched his head. “I still don’t get why he would hide Gregory from the other Prophus.”

Look at Gregory’s last name again.

Roen looked at Sonya, horrified. “That’s Edward’s brother, and you want to kill him! And you’re forcing Tao to do it!”

“We need Yol.” Sonya sat down in front of him and clasped his hands. “Tao needs to understand that. Our ranks are thin, and Yol’s a high-value operative. Command isn’t oblivious to his situation. That’s why they didn’t force the issue earlier, but Tao, it needs to be done.”

There was a long silence before Tao spoke. Roen could tell these were words he didn’t want to say. I will visit Gregory, but no promises.

Roen relayed the message.

“Thank you,” she said, and gave his hands a small squeeze. “Baji says she knows you’ll do the right thing.”

“So, that’s the mission then?” Roen asked. “You want to take Gregory out?”

“That’s the bulk of it,” Sonya continued. “There are two parts to this mission. After you establish contact, assuming we have no choice but to eliminate Gregory, we’ll need to move Yol to the new host. Paula Kim is already standing by in Dublin. We’ll get the details once Tao lets us in on them. It could be as simple as walking in and checking Gregory out, or it could require a complicated infiltrate and eliminate scenario.”

“Infiltrate and eliminate?” Roen clicked his tongue.

Infiltration is one of my specialties.

“Is that a fancy word for breaking and entering?”

Semantics, but if this mission is to go through, there are a few things we need to do. We have some loose ends to tie up.

“When do we leave?” Roen asked.

“When you get your butt to the airport,” Sonya replied. “The rest of the team is already on their way there.”

Tell her I need some time to take care of an important matter.

Sonya frowned and checked her watch when he told her Tao’s request. “Don’t bail on us, Tao. I know you’re thinking about it. 1500 hours at the airport. You better be there.”

Roen nodded and turned to leave. “What do we have to do, Tao?”

You will see. Prepare yourself, Roen. This is not going to be pleasant.