The Never Army

by Hodges, T. Ellery

  Mr. Clean would also be pulling Jonathan into The Never as often as possible while he remained outside of The Cell’s containment shell. It was the only way to know information was going both ways. The five men’s shadows relaying information to him just as his shadow had relayed it to them.

  As they walked to another chamber, they had already begun discussing the details that Jonathan and the main extraction team wouldn’t be playing a part in.

  “We’re gonna need at least two more men on this if we want the four local extractions to play out the way Jonathan ordered,” Sydney said.

  Anthony nodded. “They’ll be milk runs. Anyone with a trustworthy face that speaks English can head this.”

  “Shane.” Sydney said.

  Anthony cocked an eyebrow. She hadn’t needed a moment to consider, which meant she’d already had someone in mind.

  “Should I remember him?” Anthony asked.

  “Let’s just say that if I walked in on that man standing over a body, bloody knife in hand, and he said wait, let me explain, this isn’t what it looks like.” Sydney shrugged. “I’d probably hear him out.”

  Anthony shook his head. “What am I missing here, Sid?”

  “He’s gorgeous, Tony.”

  He smirked. “Alright, so we bring Shane up to speed. He’ll need a partner. The two need to do some practice runs in Future Recon in case there are any surprises to be ready for.”

  She nodded in agreement as a door opened beside them, Mr. Clean’s avatar already waiting for them on a screen inside.

  “Okay, confession,” Sydney said. “This queue Bodhi and Perth say only we can discuss. I don’t have a clue what it is.”

  Anthony nodded. “I don’t know much either. All Heyer ever said was that it had something to do with why Jonathan and a few of the other soldiers see combat far more frequently than most of the others.”

  Mr. Clean nodded. “As a rule, combatants don’t need to know. The queues are seldom relevant to anyone but me. But after today’s irregularities, Jonathan is an exception.”

  “Most of our combatants only know that a Ferox enters the gates on the Feroxian Plane. That this action triggers them being pulled into The Never. However, this is a simplification. The system is not that linear. In truth, often far more than one Ferox enters a gateway before the combatant ever gets pulled into combat.”

  “So, by queue, you literally mean a queue. The Ferox form a line waiting their turn. But why?”

  “Certain gateways located around larger Ferox populations require a more frequent lottery to keep the males in the area satisfied. Jonathan’s gateway is one of the most populated. So, what really happens is a number of Ferox might enter the gateway before he ever fights one of them. As the number of Ferox in a queue grows, the frequency with which that combatant is pulled into combat increases. Less time passes on Earth between each of his activations.”

  “Okay, simple enough, more Ferox waiting, means more frequent activation. Explains why Jonathan saw thirty of these things in three months when the rest of our guys don’t see that many in a year,” Anthony said. “But, what happened with Jonathan’s queue and why would he be worried about Malkier finding out about it?”

  “I can only answer your first question with any degree of certainty,” Mr. Clean said. “Something went terribly wrong with Jonathan’s gateway this morning. It occurred the moment he was taken out of that containment field. It would be unfortunate enough if he had only been forced to engage every combatant in his own queue, but he was forced to clear his as well as the four nodes in closest proximity to him. What is strangest, is that I was unable to intervene or redirect any of the traffic.”

  “What does all that mean exactly?” Sydney asked.

  “When Jonathan was pulled out of that shell, he was activated again and again, until he cleared five queues,” Mr. Clean said. “To you, it would have all happened in less than a minute.”

  “Jesus . . .” Sydney whispered. “How . . . how many were there?”

  “Twenty-eight,” Mr. Clean said. “And depending on when he closed the gates each time, the experience could have lasted days, weeks, or—if Jonathan was actively trying to prolong his time inside the temporary dimension—months.”

  “Bodhi and Perth said he’d claimed to have been planning this for months,” Anthony said. “You’re saying he could very well have been telling the truth.”

  “It is feasible,” Mr. Clean said.

  “But . . . how? How did he survive?” Sydney asked, the horror she was imagining touching her voice.

  Anthony’s thoughts had echoed her own. Given Jonathan’s state before all this, they honestly hadn’t thought he’d survive a single Ferox encounter let alone twenty-eight in a row.

  “I can only tell you what we can assume from what has transpired. Jonathan entered The Never under the full sway of the broken bond. Twenty-eight encounters later, he reemerged no longer showing any sign of its effects. He must have found a way to overcome it on his own,” Mr. Clean said. “Seeing as how he’s the only person to have ever managed this, it is as much a mystery to me as it is to you.”

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  OCT 15, 2005 | 3:30 PM | JBLM FACILITY

  OLIVIA STUDIED THE man sitting in her interrogation room. She’d now received multiple disturbing reports from her guards as well as Dr. Watts that the prisoner displayed a troubling amount of familiarity with her personnel. Under normal circumstances she’d have considered delaying. However, the alien’s state was worsening. Dr. Watts had little confidence that her team could do anything to reverse his fading vitals.

  As such, the decision to fast-track Jonathan’s cooperation had been made that morning. By the end of the day she would know everything he’d ever tried to keep hidden. As far as her concerns over his sudden familiarity with the staff, she had to assume he was simply displaying the same precognition that other teams had encountered with prior subjects.

  For the next few hours, they would work in shifts. Her interrogators would be backed up by a team of analysts making sure every word Jonathan uttered matched what they already knew. If he didn’t see that it was in his best interest to cooperate, she’d motivate him to change his attitude. Olivia didn’t believe the full extent of what her team was capable of would prove necessary. On a good day, Jonathan Tibbs was a few years older than a teenager, and from what surveillance inside his containment shell showed—he wasn’t having a good day.

  Yet, there was no sign of that broken man now. Which was why she felt herself hesitating. His wrists and ankles were shackled to metal loops in the table and floor. His white shirt was still smudged with red stains from his yet to be explained episode outside the containment shell. When his blindfold was removed, he simply blinked a few times under the light before lackadaisically getting as comfortable as the restraints allowed him. He didn’t look worn or tired or scared.

  He looked bored.

  On Olivia’s side of the glass, Rivers entered through a door and signaled that their man was ready to begin. She considered Tibbs for one more moment, then told herself to stop being ridiculous. She gave the go-ahead. A moment later, an agent entered through the single metal door on Jonathan’s left. Casually, he took a seat opposite Jonathan at the table.

  She addressed her staff one last time, turning to face the room before the ball got rolling. “Focus. Lindelof is about to begin and I don’t want any—”

  “Olivia.”

  Jonathan’s voice came over the audio system to interrupt her. She turned back to the window to find he’d leaned slightly to one side, tilting his head such that he was staring over Agent Lindelof’s shoulder. Eerily, he seemed to be looking right at her.

  “It would be best if you turned off the recording equipment and sent everyone but Rivers and yourself to an early lunch.”

  Admittedly, it was a far more interesting start to the proceedings than they’d expected. The agents on Olivia’s side of the glass exchanged glances. Olivia only smiled confident
ly. “So, he knows our names. Don’t get distracted by parlor tricks. There is precedent; The Mark’s allies have been observed to know more than they should in other investigations.”

  Inside the room, Agent Lindelof was as professional as Olivia had been told to expect. He didn’t so much as blink in recognition when Jonathan used her name, nor show any interest in the man’s behavior.

  “Mr. Tibbs, while it is great that you’d prefer to dispense with formalities, I do feel the need to point out that you’re in no position to be making demands.” Lindelof paused to clear his throat. “Now, our investigation has gathered overwhelming evidence that you’re the willing accomplice to an extra-terrestrial whose activities pose grave threat to our nation, and perhaps, our world. As such, you should know your government has deemed you unfit for any standard protections under the Constitution or the Geneva Convent—”

  Jonathan had scowled as though Lindelof was a fly hellbent on landing on his face. He made an obvious point of not bothering to look at the agent before holding up his index finger and interrupting. “Hey, Lindelof, do me a favor, go ahead and hold that thought. Okay? Thanks, bud.”

  Jonathan’s gaze stayed on Olivia despite the glass. “Olivia, I’m asking you to clear the room of witnesses. Now, I already know you won’t. You’re the most stubborn person I’ve ever met, but for the sake of our future interactions, I’d just like it on the record that I tried to make this easier on you.”

  Olivia nearly snorted in an indecorous display of incredulity. She found herself trying to gauge how oblivious Jonathan was to what his future held. If he had any idea how his behavior would affect his next few hours, he’d have been desperately trying to make friends right now.

  Still, she didn’t like the way this was kicking off. No interrogation could ever truly be scripted, but it didn’t mean that there hadn’t been a strategy, and so far, he wasn’t playing into it. Still, in the end, Jonathan was going to find out that no amount of bluster would scare a room full of The Cell’s operatives.

  As such, Agent Lindelof gave the warning no attention, but he did seem to be noticing that Tibbs hadn’t yet bothered to spare him a glance.

  “If you’re quite finished,” Lindelof said. “Why don’t we get—”

  Jonathan snapped his fingers. “Actually, Lindelof, before you leave today, try to remember we’ll be needing pencil and paper. Thanks, bud.”

  Lindelof smiled. “Mr. Tibbs, if you think there is something to be gained by trying my patience with this juvenile posturing, you’ll soon find that you’re sorely mistaken—I am not your bud.”

  With a smile of the sort one wears when humoring a child, Jonathan finally made eye contact with the man.

  “All right, Olivia, that’s all the time you get,” Jonathan said. “A quick heads up, you’re going to have to give Rivers that promotion early. You know how it is, he’s not going to have the clearance level to stay in the room before we’re done here.”

  When Rivers glanced at her, she felt her eye twitch in irritation. She didn’t have to say it. A single blink and a tightening of her lips confirmed Tibbs wasn’t wrong.

  What she couldn’t let anyone see was the bit of doubt that had just slipped in. That promotion was something she’d decided—but hadn’t formally requested. She had not intended to pursue it in the immediate future. For now, this was knowledge that only existed in her head. To date, she didn’t know of any previous subject exhibiting the ability to read minds.

  “Right then,” Jonathan said. “Lindelof, you were explaining how I’m a bad bad naughty treasonous piece of garbage and not a single agent in this facility will show me an ounce of pity.”

  Jonathan gave the man a knowing look. “Give me a moment while I get into character.”

  He closed his eyes and took a sharp breath, and mockingly chanted, “I’m the villain . . . I’m the villain . . . I’m the villain . . .”

  Sighing, Lindelof’s arms crossed over his chest as he leaned back and waited for Jonathan to stop wasting his time.

  “Okay, you go ahead and pick it up wherever you think best. I promise not to interrupt,” Jonathan said.

  The agent put his amiable smile back on almost as though he were playing along. “Well, thank you for your graciousness, Mr. Tibbs. Now, as I was saying—”

  “The thing about a villain . . .” Jonathan interrupted. “Locking one in a cage doesn’t make you safe.”

  Something had changed. All that pleasant smugness he’d had melted off him in an instant. His eyes went empty, his voice cold. It was as though he’d just told his soul to go somewhere else while the adults were talking.

  “You see, you’re mice who’ve captured a snake. Except, mice wouldn’t be so foolish. Mice would stay as far away from the snake’s tank as possible. You and your friends, you’ve wandered into the tank seeming to have forgotten that you’re going to be lunch.”

  Lindelof made a show of being bored, but Olivia noticed when he thumbed his earlobe. It was one of his many subtle communications, this one said he wanted to let this play out. She understood; Jonathan was putting himself into checkmate. It’s not rare, at the beginning of any interrogation, for the prisoner to resort to vague threats. A powerless kid does the exact same thing when he tries to stop a playground bully by telling him, You’ll be sorry.

  Lindelof wanted to give Jonathan enough rope to hang himself.

  “With all due respect, Mr. Tibbs, should you entertain the notion that threatening me will stall these proceedings,” Lindelof paused, leaning in a bit for effect. “I have every intention of calling your bluff.”

  Jonathan leaned forward a bit himself, and though she hoped she was imagining it, there seemed a snake-like quality to his gaze. “The Cell—its agents—they’re all wholesome folk for the most part. Proud, upstanding patriots ready to sacrifice for the good of the country. But . . .”

  A disturbing smile crept onto Jonathan’s lips. “The bad guy, well, he’s willing to do things you just can’t predict.”

  Agent Lindelof shrugged. “Mr. Tibbs, I personally feel very safe at the moment.”

  “Do you?” Jonathan asked, glancing back to the windows. “How about Agents Larsen, Lechner, Mulvaney, Odell, Vaughn, . . .”

  The roll call went on until Jonathan named every agent in the room like a teacher reading off attendance. When he’d finished, a discomfort began setting into the way they looked at one another on their side of the glass. Olivia got the sense that Jonathan was purposely observing this moment of silence just to let it fester.

  “Lindelof, as a rule The Cell avoids utilizing agents who possess attachments. It’s a precautionary tactic, keeps the ruthless folks they might have to deal with from exploiting potential weaknesses. But, bad guys do their homework. We know that someday we just might find ourselves in a room like this one. And we don’t like to feel . . . trapped, cornered . . .

  “No,” Jonathan paused, eyeing Lindelof up and down. “Perhaps the word is impotent?”

  Lindelof blinked, and Jonathan tilted his head just a touch.

  “See Lindelof, the bad guy is willing to make some morally questionable arrangements, to be sure he never has to feel that he or his friends are in danger. For instance, he might tell an acquaintance of his that Agent Samantha Lechner gave up a child for adoption when she was seventeen. He might also tell his acquaintance just where in South Dakota that child is currently attending high school.”

  Jonathan’s head leaned again, his eyes flicking to the glass to look where Agent Lechner was sitting. As with Olivia, it was as though he looked right at her.

  “A villain might, perhaps, know that while the birth parents of Agent Laurence Rivers passed away a decade ago, it’s actually an elderly woman named Joyce whom he thinks of as a mother. Now, that same villain might tell another of his many acquaintances exactly which nursing home in Maine that sweet old Joyce could be found in. As a matter of fact, his acquaintance might be very close to her right now. He may even be the one bringing Joyce h
er medication today.”

  Lindelof stopped him. “Enough, Mr. Tibbs! I’m no stranger to mind games. All you’ve shown is that you may be aware of a few of our loved one’s whereabouts.”

  Jonathan licked his lips. “Agent Mulvaney might not see it that way. See, when he was assigned to my investigation, he arrived in Seattle without any attachments. However, he’s been in the area for some time, and about two months back he met a local, one Diana Rydell.

  “Until today, Agent Mulvaney hasn’t had to think too hard on if there is more to his relationship with Ms. Rydell than a temporary fling—but when I tell him that not one, but quite specifically two of my acquaintances, are currently keeping a very close eye on Diana, Agent Mulvaney’s heart is going to realize just how much she means to him.

  “You see Lindelof, this moment is not theoretical for Agent Mulvaney. He is the first of you to know with absolute certainty that I’m not bluffing.”

  Olivia watched Agent Mulvaney and saw the man had already stood up from his chair. His body shook, his face caught between rage and fear.

  “Agent?”

  “I thought . . . I thought it was a coincidence.”

  “What coincidence?”

  “The . . . the facial recognition pings we got this morning,” Mulvaney shivered. “They were both within two blocks of Diana’s apartment.”

  “You thought that was a coincid—”

  Olivia didn’t finish the accusation; anger had crept into her voice and she couldn’t lose her composure if she wanted her team to stay calm.

  “Sit down, Agent Mulvaney, we will discuss this oversight at a later time.”

  “But . . . what about Diana?”

  “Sit. Down.”

  Mulvaney must have sensed just how much Olivia didn’t like repeating herself to her subordinates. He swallowed, looked about as though unsure what to do, and sat back down in his chair. There he fidgeted, trying to control himself.