The two guards standing in the room drew their pistols. The doctors fled, stumbling over each other in their haste to get out of the room. When he was finally alone with Amanda and the guards, he began to issue orders in rapid succession. “Have all departments prepare a full status report. Call Palos and have his team prepared for vessel transfer. Recall Enzo from the Hatchery and send him to Qingdao. We leave after I finish my drink.”
Amanda bowed and left the room. A few minutes later, she returned carrying a silver plate with a cigar, a glass of golden brown liquid, a pill, and a Shilin knife. Palos, head of Devin’s security detail, was with her. Devin stared thoughtfully at the silver plate as she placed it on his lap. These were his last rites and he was wearing a gown. It wasn’t how he thought his life would end. But then, Devin never thought he’d die a natural death. Well, as natural as someone in his position was ever going to have.
He motioned them all to be quiet as he caressed the cigar, first sniffing it, then cutting the ends, and lighting it. He took a generous puff and exhaled with pleasure. It had been two years since he had last smoked one. The bourbon burned his mouth, and he relished the sweet flavor of honey and spice. After twenty minutes of bliss, when the glass was empty and the cigar nothing more than a stub, he nodded to Amanda.
“Let’s begin,” he said.
She bowed. “May I have the honor, Father?” she asked.
He shook his head. “Enzo will need you.” He turned to Palos. “I need a volunteer. Not you, old friend. You will be needed as well.” Palos nodded and left the room.
Moments later, Saldhana, the oldest man on his guard detail, walked in. He prostrated next to Devin’s bed, his forehead almost touching the ground. “Father, I have the honor.”
Devin put a hand on Saldhana’s shoulder. “You are worthy, my son.” Devin closed his eyes and took a deep breath, saying a prayer to the Holy Ones. When he was ready, he gave final instructions to deliver his body to his wife and ordered those around him to provide Enzo the support he needed to deliver the Genjix’s will. Then he picked up the Shilin knife.
The transfer ceremony will not be necessary. Make it quick and painless.
Devin hesitated. “As you wish, Zoras.”
Then he looked around the room. “Praise to the Holy Ones,” were the last words out of his mouth. Then he picked up the cyanide pill and swallowed it. Moments later, Devin Watson, senator of the state of Alabama, father of four, grandfather of nine, High Father of North America, and a member of the Genjix Council, was dead.
“Praise to the Holy Ones,” the voices in the room echoed.
Immediately, Zoras moved out of Devin’s body and floated into the air. The agents in the room prostrated themselves and waited. He moved in circles, flitting back and forth before settling into the transfer vessel. Saldhana uttered a shocked cry of pain and he spasmed on the ground for several minutes. He finally recovered and nodded to Palos. The security team formed around Saldhana and they all left the room in unison.
Amanda broke off from the group to instruct the hospital staff on returning Devin’s body to his family. Minutes later, they were in a caravan of limousines heading toward the airport. Within an hour, they were up in the air heading toward Qingdao.
Enzo sat at the edge of the infinity pool at the edge of the high cliff overlooking the lush canopy of Santa Rosa National Park. He was a near-perfect specimen for a human. His build was taut and muscular but not bulky, and he walked with the grace of a dancer. Chosen for his genes and natural physical attributes since birth, he was a handsome man: tall, with high cheekbones, chiseled features, and a completely symmetrical face. Symmetry, of course, was the scientific formula of beauty. And in Enzo’s case, it was common knowledge at the Hatchery that he was even more beautiful than most. Not only that, he could run a marathon in three hours, shoot an eight centimeter target with a handgun at fifty meters, and run any of the countries in South America better than their current leaders. Like all his brothers raised at the Hatchery, he lived and trained to serve one purpose.
The financial figures of the Eurozone’s trading day sped by on a small ticker at the bottom of a tablet resting on his lap. Above the ticker, a chart of Genjix owned assets on the New York Stock Exchange, Tokyo Stock Exchange, and the European Stock Exchange fluctuated in real time. The Genjix were up for the day. The rest of the world, not so much. The state of the Euro was a small cause for concern, though their analysts had correctly predicted this outcome and their liability shield was keeping them safe from the brunt of failing world economies. Enzo picked up his glass of Macallan 24, careful to keep only two fingers touching the glass, and took a sip. On both sides of him, half a dozen of his brothers and sisters, all in similar states of relaxation, sat on recliners analyzing the aggregate data from today’s world events broken down into a series of numbers and charts. A report from their South American operations flashed across his screen. He gave it a quick glance before shelving it into one of his archives. South America was of little concern to him.
“Brother,” Danette, who sat next to him, said, “The Minister of Finance in Sweden just resigned. Wasn’t he one of ours?”
“The position is about to become one of ours,” he corrected.
“Supplies of natural gas are down in Spain as well. The Pegasus operation is based there. Why is the Euro Council suppressing it further?”
Enzo turned to another sister. “Jeanine, answer that.”
She nodded. “Operations in that region consist of less than one percent of our global presence. Prophus dealings are estimated to be at three.”
He turned back to Danette. “Hurts them more than it hurts us.”
The group fell back into silence as they continued deciphering figures and reports. Enzo pulled up a three-month history of Genjix figures compared to what they believe the Prophus owned. It painted a flattering picture with the two sides moving in opposite directions.
Enzo finished his scotch, stood up, and stretched. He walked to the edge of the balcony and looked out at the breathtaking view below. The jungle grew in all directions as far as his eyes could see. A single bead of sweat dripped from his brow, down his cheek, careening off his jaw. The gentle churning of the water in the infinity pool was soothing to the ear, though the peace was occasionally broken by the sound of combat approximately thirty meters away. To his left, a young woman butchered the Portuguese language.
Enzo, one of the oldest on the training floor, tore his eyes away from the jungle canopy and looked at the hive of activity in the main training room of the Hatchery. Azumi was talented in many things; languages were definitely not one of them. Her recital of The Art of War in Portuguese from memory was an embarrassment. Austin should be nearing half his hundred-lap swim by now. Matthew and Akelatis’ sparring session had just finished the second round.
As usual, Elder Mother sat on her throne, overseeing the day’s studies. Nearing eighty, Enzo wondered what she was like before she was posted here. Once a very high-profile operative, she was one of the principal architects of the Hatchery program and ruled over them with an iron fist. Being the only blessed vessel, she was at the same time a parent and god to them. This was the Holy One’s third and most successful attempt at building such a program. The first two, originating during World War II with the study of eugenics, had mixed results. This third program, however, had been decidedly more successful. Already in the past ten years, eighty-four Adonis Vessels had made the transition. Enzo was currently one of nineteen assigned to Holy Ones. The rest of the one hundred and forty-seven incubates were in different states of training and readiness.
Elder Mother saw him studying her. “Enzo. I see you have completed your appraisal. Come forth and tell me what you’ve learned.”