No Deadly Thing

by Tiger Gray

  Sarah's approval was so obvious, even she could read it. She felt pitifully grateful, and even the rub of the microseude couch fabric against her arm didn't seem so bad then.

  "So," Sarah said, leaning back in her chair, "let's talk about Coren..."

  * * *

  "I don't know about this, Sonth," Ashrinn said as he followed the woman across the wind-whipped campus square, "What are you? Eighteen?"

  "Yes," she said, Punjabi accent all the more pronounced as she defended herself, "but that's of legal age in this country!"

  Ashrinn ached and it was no surprise as to why; the University of Washington campus lay under a blanket of fog. Moisture clung to his eyelashes, and the wind's clammy hands slipped under the collar of his coat. The sculpture of George Washington loomed before them, the morning mist making it indistinct and foreboding.

  "I'm aware of that." He stopped at the base of the statue and turned to face her, reinforcing his mental shields as he did so. "But you're asking to join an elite fighting unit, with no training. Plus a load of studies already on your plate. You know if you talk me into this ridiculous idea you'll have to quit school."

  Sonth planted her hands on her slender hips. She reminded Ashrinn of his mother when she did so, the serious gaze, the pale frown lines etched into her dark brow. Both were women whose diminutive physical stature did nothing to diminish the force of personality that could be called up in moments of displeasure. Yet he caught her desperation under the show of spirit, the way her lower lip trembled, how her eyes were a little too wide, showing their whites.

  "Do you know why I attend this university?"

  "I presume because you want to be a doctor," Ashrinn said, voice as tart as hers, "unless of course you've stumbled into pre-med whilst looking for the underwater basket weaving department and haven't yet figured out the mix up."

  Sonth lifted her eyebrows and tilted her head, as if surprised he'd evidenced a sense of humor, however acerbic. She smirked, her hair falling in ringlets to her shoulders. "My mother went back to India when I was a small child. I was born here, but she remembered the squalor and hunger all too well. When she got her medical degree, she used it to better her birth people."

  Ashrinn watched her, cautious. The story tugged at his heart strings; he could see where the tale was going and he gathered that Sonth's mother and his mother were not so very dissimilar in attitude. Suspicion worked in his body like caffeine, heightening his senses. Sonth was a shadowmancer, and as such was capable of manipulating his emotions if he wasn't careful.

  "And?"

  "So, I study medicine to make her happy. But your team, that is what I want."

  "Why? No offense meant, but you hardly seem the type to dream of a career change like the one you're proposing."

  "Because I'll be made a Faceless if you don't take me," In a moment the desperation came to the surface. She stepped in close so that he either had to stand his ground or back up like a frightened child, and he wasn't about to do the latter.

  "You shouldn't trust them, Ashrinn," she told him, and he had to admit her stare had a notable amount of power to it even without her putting her abilities behind it, "Anyone who would remove memories is someone to fear."

  He couldn't deny that she spoke sense but it wasn't his call, and he could see how they'd been necessary up to this point. He wondered, though, how the Faceless would react when the Order no longer needed them to alter the memories of mundanes.

  "I don't want to be one of them!" She said, and he got the impression she'd only just avoided grabbing for his wrist. He wanted to get away from her, but he couldn't seem to muster the will. He didn't think she was working magic on him --- he couldn't sense any --- but maybe he wouldn't know. He wasn't exactly familiar with this kind of power. "I have heard that they strip away your identity, who you are, and you do only as those above you say. Please."

  "I'm not running a bloody charity!" he said, only just managing to keep his voice down. He had to admit, though, that if given the choice he'd rather mold her himself than let the Cult snap her up. They were in the business of taking rogue shadowmancers, after all, if the Faceless didn't get her first. Could he in good conscience turn down her help, her talents, when the Cult had grown so bold as to turn defenseless humans into monsters?

  "But you have the Alienists on your side! I could have them train me. They are real, aren't they? Not just a rumor?"

  "They're real," He'd seen Elara Fairchild once or twice, the woman who ran the division. Therapists and criminal investigators, mostly, and free to keep their identities.

  "You were only eighteen when you joined the military, weren't you?"

  "Yes, but it wasn't at all what I expected it to be," Ashrinn said, rubbing his brow. "I promise you it's a hundred times harder than whatever you're imagining."

  "I'm not asking you to just accept me. I'm just asking for the chance to try. I know I can learn from you."

  He tried to formulate a response, but before he could speak he felt Sonth's slender fingers on his forearm. He tried to shake her off but couldn't; something about a shadowmancer's touch froze him in place.

  "You have demons, Ashrinn," she said, pupils dilating as she read him, "That which walks with you is dark."

  She shuddered and pulled her hand back. He stood as still as the statue behind him, a coil of dread strangling the voice out of him. He would have lashed out at her if her gaze, now black fields, hadn't unsettled him so much. He couldn't seem to manage anything but staring back at her.

  "How can you ask me to trust you?" he rasped, forming words only through conscious effort. How dare she crawl through his mind like that? What had she seen?

  "I didn't read anything that was not on the surface, I swear to you," she said in a shamed, small tone, "I was not even aware of what I was doing. Please, I need discipline. You can see that, can't you?"

  He wanted to shout at her, hit her, anything to make her leave him be. But he saw it. She was afraid. Hers was a desperation born of what might happen if she lost herself to her own dark places. What if she was right, and the Faceless would strip her of who she was, collar her like an animal and make her do only as she was told? The thought made him feel sicker than her intrusion, if that was possible.

  This time he touched her, laying a steadying hand on her shoulder, though he made certain his shields were as perfect as he could make them. A spark of psychic energy leapt between them even so. He felt as light headed as if he were jumping out of an airplane. Though he could not see mental images like she could, he could interpret her tension well enough indeed.

  "Show up tomorrow at six in the morning, sharp, and I'll put you through your paces," he said. Mistrust still writhed within him. What had she seen? Only what was on the surface? There was plenty on the surface, even, that he'd rather keep to himself. She gave no indication and he wasn't about to ask.

  Sonth lowered her head once more. Hiding tears? Ashrinn thought it likely, but he didn't react. Her courtesy deserved reciprocal discretion. "Thank you."

  He slipped out from between her and the statue and started to limp away. He turned back. "Sonth?"

  "Yes?"

  "If you ever do that again, I'll kill you myself."

  What was that in her expression? Relief? "Yes sir."

  * * *

  The training grounds had always been a place that appealed to the senses, as far as Ashrinn was concerned, but it looked especially beautiful dotted with the first spring tulips. And surreal, given that he had his strike team lined up before him. Jericho and Sonth attempted military precision as best they could. Liz fidgeted, wringing her hands, though she quieted at his stern look. Daniel stood with his feet shoulder's length apart, hands clasped behind his back. Gerolt stood at ease, watching him with angry eyes.

  He corrected each of them on their posture, reacting to Gerolt as if he hadn't seen the defiance. Certainly he would like it if eventually these five came to a place where he could trust them with the same autonomy hi
s Unit leaders had given him, that he had given his former team. But they weren't there yet, and they needed harder discipline for the time being.

  It had taken a long time just to bring each of them up to a comparable physical level with one another. Now each body, clad in simple khaki shorts and white tshirts, evidenced corded muscle. They all moved with an energy and precision that hadn't been there before. Even Sonth, whose light build had made him worry about her ability to carry her equipment and fire her weapons. He'd had to eat those worries. She'd come through her endurance tests better than Liz, and Liz was essentially made of energy.

  He caught Jericho's eye and she met his gaze. He would never have expected trusting a werewolf with his life, but Jericho had such an iron will that she was shaping up into his second faster than he'd thought possible. On those endurance tests he'd watched her help Liz when Liz stumbled and looked like she might fail, but she'd done it with encouragement alone, never taking the work off of Liz's shoulders but rather making it so she could do it. That was a quality he couldn't teach.

  "You've all worked as hard as any Unit recruits." He said, speaking in a conversational tone. "In some ways, harder." The magical abilities and how to coordinate them had been a special challenge. Luckily the worst that had ever come of it was singed fur and some embarrassment. "But now our true work begins."

  Jericho and Daniel looked excited, though they didn't move. This is what they had been waiting for. Sonth's mask of concentration did not budge. Liz had gained a fair measure of confidence over the months, but anxiety showed in the way she was biting her bottom lip. Only Gerolt seemed unaffected, even bored. Ashrinn remembered the look of hate Gerolt had given him when they'd first met.

  The feeling is mutual, Dawning.

  "No one makes our battle plans but us. In that spirit I'm not going to tell you what your role is going to be as specialists. You can ease up. Time to talk."

  He prompted Jericho with a look.

  "Obviously I'm your big guns," Jericho said, flashing a grin and flexing her arm, "but what if I got good at stealth, like you are, sir? Nothing like a surprise werewolf."

  Liz tittered. Even Gerolt smiled before he caught himself and pressed his lips once more into a scowl.

  He could easily imagine the devastating effect a move like that would have on the enemy. Already he was making a list of appropriate gear in the back of his mind.

  "Smart, Jericho." He noticed Gerolt shoot her a surprised look. "We're going to have a hell of a time finding a dummy big enough for you to practice on."

  "No shit," she said. "Uh. I mean, yes sir."

  Daniel stepped up next. He'd been one of the easiest people to condition, due to his time as a construct hunter. Daniel pulled his tablet from the satchel at his side.

  "I didn't get a chance to show you the other things this can do, Commander." Daniel handed him the tablet. "Display. Open folder, spells and equations: water based."

  As Ashrinn peered at the screen it came to life, the images so perfect and finely rendered that they seemed preternatural. A complex series of geometric figures flashed across the page. The interlocking shapes moved and flashed, changing from purple to blue where they intersected, and he realized that he was looking at a lesson in magery.

  "My god, Daniel."

  Daniel looked smug indeed, and Ashrinn couldn't fault him for it. "What you are holding, sir, is the largest magical library in the country. Dare I say, the world."

  The others in line shifted and muttered, sounding as awed as Ashrinn felt.

  "This is amazing. I don't know of anyone else who has undertaken a project like this."

  "The idea of fusing magic and technology is still a new one and I went through a lot of trial and error to make that thing. So I suppose it's a flashy way of saying that I can handle our technology needs. Hacking, reconnaissance, slicing."

  "So you're the guy in the van?" Jericho said.

  "What? Are you accusing me of being the guy from Hackers? When do I get to date Angelina Jolie?"

  "Right," Gerolt sneered, "because the idea that maybe mage boy's encyclopedia of spells could fall into the wrong hands is hilarious."

  Daniel turned on Gerolt, prideful look becoming a nasty glare. Ashrinn let him; he wanted to see how Daniel would handle it.

  "I appreciate your faith in me," Daniel said, "but I've been a construct hunter for years, and I've got more than two brain cells to rub together. The thing has all kinds of fail safes; it's much more likely to self-destruct than it is to end up in the hands of the enemy. Also," Daniel spat, "I'm twenty five. While I have the intelligence to realize that I don't know everything, I hardly think the descriptor 'boy' is fitting."

  "See, that's the problem with you magicals," Gerolt said as though bored, "all attitude and no substance."

  His problem certainly liked to lay it on thick, Ashrinn thought. Before even he could react, a great gust of air rushed past him. He caught glimpses of what was happening; Daniel with his hand outstretched, his jaw tight, and Gerolt on his back looking very surprised indeed.

  "How's that for substance?" Ashrinn had never seen Daniel get angry before. Gerolt struggled to his feet as soon as he could, fury in his muddy eyes.

  "See, that's what you goddamn shitbird magicals do! Damned if you could beat me in a fair fight!"

  Daniel lunged. Jericho moved to intervene, but Ashrinn got there first. He pressed his bulk --- such as it was --- into Daniel, grabbing a handful of his shirt and shaking him.

  "Dammit, Daniel! Stand down!"

  Daniel fought his hold and nearly broke it, angry enough to ignore the order. Daniel was a lot bigger than him and he considered dropping the mage through the use of pressure points, though it was Gerolt he wanted to punch.

  "Why are you here, Gerolt? Huh? Why?" Daniel shouted. "So you can prove something? I don't give a damn about your personal bullshit, understand?"

  Jericho interjected before Gerolt could reply, and the shimmer around her form made all her team mates stop dead.

  "Enough," she snarled, "the commander said enough."

  Ashrinn let go of Daniel and pushed him backward. "Back in line. You too, Gerolt."

  Both men obeyed, as sullen as children tussling on the playground. Jericho fought to bring her shift under control and, to Ashrinn's great relief, she managed it. Only Sonth had never moved or gasped during the whole altercation, but Ashrinn noted that her eyes were black fields; she'd been ready to intervene herself, albeit in a different way.

  Fear bored a pinhole through his spine at the realization. He turned cold eyes on each of them. Only Liz dropped her gaze, her face aflame. It was as if the altercation had embarrassed her more than it had the participants.

  "Gerolt," Ashrinn said, voice all the more intense for being quiet, "if you don't start acting like a soldier I swear to all that is holy that I will have the Faceless wipe your memories and dump you on the nearest street corner. You discredit your training --- your human training --- by acting like this. I won't have it from you, experience or not. Your next words had better be yes, sir."

  Gerolt glanced at the stony, unimpressed faces of his teammates. "Yes, sir."

  At least he's smart enough for that.

  "Today was to be your first lesson in something other than mindless drills," he gritted, "but I can see that your team cohesion isn't there yet." He paced for a moment, pretending he couldn't see their crestfallen expressions.. "Why is team cohesion important?"

  "Sir." Somewhat to his surprise, Sonth stepped forward. "Permission to speak."

  "Granted."

  "Team cohesion is important because when we are under combat conditions, we must rely on each part of the whole to effectively complete our task. We must be able to trust one another implicitly, otherwise our performance suffers."

  "And what happens when we don't perform at our best?"

  Sonth's eyes still swirled with fog as she replied. "People die."

  "Correct. You are all standing here beca
use you want to be the best at what you do. You're standing here because you want to make a difference, because you want to prove that you can make a difference. If you fail, if you falter, innocent blood is spilled."

  His voice hardened and he turned his gaze on Gerolt. "If we wanted a lot of flash and collateral damage, we'd send any old squad of planks. We're going to be better than that. And because of these two here," he nodded at Daniel and Gerolt, "you're going to prove you're the best runners I've ever seen."

  Lizbet groaned. The muscles in Jericho's neck tensed with aggravation but she made no other show of emotion. Sonth's brows creased; Ashrinn knew that she was always critical of her athletic performance, being the smallest and shortest member of the team. Daniel had the good grace to look contrite. Gerolt didn't.

  "Jericho."

  "Sir?"

  "You're in charge, and don't any of you forget it."

  Jericho puffed up and saluted. Whenever he put his trust in her she responded with zeal; as a werewolf he could guess she wasn't used to being relied on. He stepped back and let Jericho take his place.

  "Troops!" she bellowed. She had an excellent parade voice. "Fall in!"

  "Men," Ashrinn added as they obeyed her order, "I'll have you know that the perimeter of this farm is twenty miles around. Run like you deserve the next stage of your training."

  Even Gerolt kept his mouth shut this time.

  What the hell do they do in Australia? Shoot kangaroos and drink warm beer twenty four hours a day? You'd think the little shit would have some discipline by now. He watched as they jogged away into the surrounding woods, Jericho pelting down the footpath as though she would never tire. He felt a bitter pang of regret that he couldn't run with them without calling on magic to bolster him. Maybe Gerolt had a point.

  His internal struggle made him less observant than usual, so that the unfamiliar figure was halfway down the slope from the farmhouse before he noticed. Unfamiliar? He reassessed. There was something about the man, after all.

  "Announce yourself," he demanded. The man's hazel eyes sparked in the light, and a thin cigarette hung precariously from full lips that were given to smirking. His lanky build was flattered by a battered chocolate brown leather jacket and a pair of tight jeans. "Holy spirit," Ashrinn cursed, "Serwin?"