by Cole, Myke
‘You’re going to threaten him? The president? That’s crazy,’ Therese said.
‘I’m not threatening his life, just his job.’
‘What if he turns you down?’ Big Bear asked.
‘Then we make good on the threat. Go to the papers. Go to Fareed. Let the world know that the same government that forbids Probe magic traffics in it.’
Big Bear was quiet for a long time. ‘That’s not precisely what we’d had in mind.’
Britton didn’t like the pregnant silence behind the long pause. ‘What did you have in mind?’
‘You want to offer Walsh this deal,’ Big Bear said.
Britton nodded.
Swift could no longer stay silent. ‘That’s it?’
‘That’s enough,’ Britton replied.
‘Walsh just gets voted out of office? Senator Whalen, too?’
Britton narrowed his eyes. ‘For starters. Walsh’ll probably be impeached when the truth comes out. He might wind up in jail, or at least spend the rest of his life fighting civil suits. Latent people will get a real choice. That’s what matters.’
‘That’s bullshit! Walsh’ll walk. He won’t do a day of time, and if he does, it’ll be in some country-club facility where the hardest thing he’ll have to endure is when the dining facility runs out of caviar. He’s the fucking President of the United States! Do you honestly think he’ll really be punished? When does anyone at that level ever really pay for anything?’
Swift’s face had taken on the wild look he’d had when he’d stood over Harlequin and been forced to let him go.
Big Bear nodded. ‘You also have to keep in mind that Walsh might find a way to beat it, Oscar. He’s got an army of media specialists who can run propaganda of their own.’
‘Damn right,’ Swift said. ‘He needs to pay. Pay for real.’
‘I’m not in the punishment business, Swift. This isn’t about revenge, it’s about what’s right,’ Britton said.
Swift spit. ‘What’s right is making that son of a bitch pay. Don’t go to Fareed. Or go to Fareed later, I don’t give a flying fuck. But first you open a gate and you get me to him. That’s all I’m asking for, Oscar. Put me in Walsh’s pocket, just for a minute. You owe me that much.’
Now it was Britton’s turn to spit. ‘Owe you? For what? I know you’ve been through a lot, Swift, and you have my sympathy. But I’ve done everything I could to help you, and you insist on cleaving to the same bullshit act you were running back in the SASS. You’re a human being, and we were in the suck together. We fought side by side when the SOC came after us. I’ll never forget that. I will stand by you when it’s right. But now? Now it’s not right. So you can fucking forget it.’
‘What the fuck is wrong with you? This isn’t about revenge! It’s about justice! If fuckers like Walsh and Harlequin are able to do whatever the fuck they want to whomever they want, whenever they want, and never pay for it, then the next crop will be no better. Fareed doesn’t care about Latents! He just wants to expose the FOB to get in office! Once he’s there, it’ll be hello to the new boss, same as the old boss. You know that! They hate you, Oscar! You’re not part of that world anymore. You can never go back, and they’ll never take you. Stop trying to be their dog!’
Britton’s voice dropped to a growl. ‘I’m nobody’s dog.’
Big Bear cut in. ‘This isn’t helping. We’ve got enough on our plate without fighting among ourselves. Your friend is passionate, Oscar. But I think that passion is obscuring his main point, and it’s one that not just I, but the rest of our group, largely agrees on. Walsh and Whalen are far too entrenched in their positions. They have long since lost their grip on the central concept that their job is to uphold and defend the Constitution of this country. They are despots in all but name.
‘They have to be brought down, Oscar. They have to go. You can help us to do that.’
‘You mean they have to die.’
Big Bear sighed. ‘How many innocent people have died as a result of their desire to hold on to power? Bin Laden had to die, Oscar. So did Pol Pot.’
‘That’s a bullshit comparison, and you know it,’ Britton said. ‘I’m not a fucking assassin. So you can just put that out of your mind right now.’
‘This isn’t assassination, Oscar,’ Big Bear countered. ‘It’s war. Undeclared, to be sure, but what war is these days?’
‘You know who talked like that? Scylla,’ Therese said.
‘Your buddy Grace.’ Britton nodded to Iseult.
‘She has a point,’ Iseult said.
Big Bear waved his hands. ‘Everyone calm down. We’re just talking here.’
‘Well, I don’t like what we’re talking about,’ Britton replied.
‘Consider this, Oscar. You’re not just trying to change a law,’ Big Bear said. ‘You’re trying to uproot a culture. Fear of magic is so deep seated in the American psyche that people will do almost anything to defend themselves from it. If you’re going to unseat that, make public, open Latency a fact on the ground, you’re going to need a dramatic event. Otherwise, people are going to cleave to safety, to the illusion that law enforcement and the military will protect them. The change you’re seeking won’t come easily, Oscar, and I’m sad to say it won’t come peacefully, either.’
‘You’re talking about a revolution.’
Big Bear nodded. ‘Every major societal shift has required one.’
‘Blood in the streets, chaos.’
‘Not necessarily, the Arab Democracy Movement . . .’
‘Resulted in thousands dead,’ Britton answered. ‘We just didn’t see it here. Well, we didn’t unless we bothered to look, then it was all too obvious.’
Big Bear looked exasperated. ‘Will you listen to yourself, Oscar? Do you honestly think that a change as major as what you’re proposing will simply happen? This is a democracy. The majority has to want to make it a law. I don’t know if you’ve lost touch with the goings-on here in the Home Plane while you were over in FOB Frontier, but the majority of people in this country think Latency is a scourge and that we’re monsters. It’s tyranny of the majority. If we want this to change, we’re going to have to force the issue. Sometimes, that means that blood has to be spilled, fires lit. You can’t avoid that.’
‘Maybe,’ Britton said. ‘But I have to try.’
Big Bear opened his mouth to argue but stopped when Render appeared. ‘We’re in luck,’ he said. ‘Mr Hoy’s free now. He’s waiting for us.’
‘We’ll talk more about this,’ Big Bear said. ‘Your friend’s health is the most important thing, and I don’t want to delay that a moment longer. Let’s pick this up later. I’m confident we can figure out a mutually agreeable position.’
Britton wasn’t confident of that at all, but he nodded and helped Downer to her feet, following Big Bear out of the room.
No, he decided with a sudden certainty that surprised him. I’m not confident of that at all.
Chapter Thirteen
Bait And Switch
Not all Latent folks are the same. There are intensity levels involved. Certain people have highly developed limbic conduction that makes their magic more powerful than others. But even in Rump Latencies, that can be mitigated somewhat with training. Control is, and always has been, the key factor. Some people are just gifted at it as well, more in tune with what’s required to make magic work. You’ve heard people say of athletes and artists ‘that guy’s a natural’. Goes for Sorcerers too.
– Colonel Jess Demetreon
SOC Liaison, US Army Training and Doctrine Command (TRADOC)
Big Bear hadn’t been lying about the extent of the tunnels. They walked for over an hour, the narrow passages twisting and turning so many times that Britton quickly lost his bearings. He stopped counting after the tenth branching archway they passed. Many were lit, and while they never saw anyone else, Britton felt magical currents more than once, alerting him that another Selfer was nearby, just out of sight.
They were silen
t as they went, the tension of the last conversation still hanging over them. Britton tried to put it out of his mind, focus on his surroundings, but he couldn’t shake the growing unease in him, the feeling that he had fallen in with the wrong group. What did you expect? That they’d just appoint you leader and do whatever you said? He shook his head and put the thought out of his mind.
Big Bear stopped. ‘I’m sure we can make it the rest of the way on our own,’ he said to Flicker, who had accompanied them thus far. ‘The forage element should be back by now, and I’m concerned they might need some help. Would you mind checking back at the Sixth Pool? I’ll radio-relay if we need anything.’ He tapped a small radio on a belt at his waist. ‘Just stay on channel two.’
The Pyromancer hesitated, stumbling over words as he tried to come up with an excuse to stay.
Big Bear smiled like an indulgent father. ‘Do you honestly think they mean to do me harm? Come on, I’m fine. You know Hoy doesn’t like meeting large groups of us anyway. Therese is a Physiomancer if there’s any call for that. I’ll radio you if you’re needed.’
‘I’ll be on channel two.’ The Pyromancer sounded worried. He didn’t move.
Big Bear clapped his shoulder. ‘I know you will. I’ll be fine, it’s okay.’
He turned and led the group onward without looking back. By the time Britton cast a glance over his shoulder, the Pyromancer was gone.
‘You have to forgive him,’ Big Bear said as the narrow earthen tunnel once again widened into a brick-walled edifice. A stone catwalk angled steeply upward as water flowed below. Britton spotted more worked-stone décor, tangled vines and flowers instead of eagles this time, but no less beautiful. The catwalk’s incline increased as they went.
‘This is what comes of living as hunted people,’ the Terramancer went on. ‘It’s a bone-deep fear. The kind that comes from never being able to settle, from having no safe place in the world. It hardens people.’
He stopped suddenly, looked across their faces, then flashed an avuncular smile. ‘Listen to me. I’ve forgotten who I’m talking to. You know all about that, don’t you?’
‘I’m afraid we do,’ Britton said. The warmth of the smile allayed some of his worry.
‘That’s what it does to people. When I first met Render, he was a medieval reenactor. He played role-playing games. The SOC made him like he is now. I get so angry . . .’ He paused, mastered himself with an effort. ‘It’s unnecessary. We grow less human every day the SOC hunts us, and they’ve been hunting us for so long that I can barely remember a time we weren’t running.
‘I’ll tell you the truth, Oscar. I do believe certain figures need to be removed, but you’ve heard me speak out against those who want a straight-up violent revolution.’ He gestured to Swift, who had folded his arms across his chest, watching the big Terramancer with a mild smirk on his face.
‘But it’s not because I don’t agree with them. Do you remember when Kim-Jong Il died? In peace, in repose. Rich, fat, and happy. He never paid for what he did. There was an end to the crime, but there was no justice. It is so often the case with the truly great evils in the world, the ones committed by those in power. That burns me, Oscar.
‘But your instincts are right. Revolutions don’t change the world. Not in the lasting ways we need here. That only comes when the majority of the people become so comfortable with a thing that they’re willing to make it the law of the land. It has to become a part of the culture, a fact of the ground.
‘That’s why I’m so glad you’re here. Because I think we finally have what we need to make that happen. Flicker’s wondering why I trust you enough to be alone with you and three of your friends. I guess it’s because if you’re an enemy, if I can’t trust you, then it means that hope is all for nothing. And I can’t live with that, Oscar. I really can’t.’
The sincerity in his face held Britton, made him ashamed of having doubted the man. He looked at the ground, no longer the bear of a Terramancer who led the most wanted band of Selfer terrorists outside of Mescalero. He was a tired old man, displaced. Sick of running. Desperately wanting a home.
Just like Britton. Just like all of them.
‘I don’t know what to say,’ Britton said.
‘Don’t say anything for now. Let’s go see Mr Hoy and get that infection treated.’ He pointed at Downer. ‘Then you can say that, no matter what crap Render or Flicker flings your way, and there will be more and not just from them, count on it, that you’ll stick with me. Together, we’ll find a way to start sorting out this mess. Remember what Gandhi said . . .’ He frowned, searching for the expression.
‘We have to be the change we wish to see . . .’ Therese offered.
Big Bear’s smile took years off him. ‘I’m done with skulking around tunnels. It’s time to change the world.’
Britton’s heart swelled. ‘Let’s go,’ he said, gesturing up the tunnel. They went on, even Downer stepping more lightly in the wake of Big Bear’s words.
The tunnel sloped up at a sharper angle until they were almost climbing stairs, sidestepping up cracks in the concrete surface. It finally let out into a small, arched chamber about six feet across, the walls painted a deep forest green streaked with rust and graffiti. In the center was an ancient-looking spiral staircase, the scrolled iron looking much like the detailed carvings in the surface walls – a beautifully worked relic long gone to seed. The linseed oil had flaked away, black showing patches of rust. Britton wondered if it would hold.
‘What’s up there?’ he asked.
‘Hope.’ Big Bear grinned. He mounted the staircase and made his way up. It shook but held. Britton motioned Downer and Truelove up first, then Therese, wanting to spare his heavy weight for last. The stairs lurched sickeningly at each step, but he could feel the strength of their anchor at the top, and they held as the group pushed through the hatch in the ceiling and out into bright electric lights.
Britton blinked, letting his eyes adjust after the soft magical phosphorescence of the tunnels. The light was harsh and piercing, but he could still tell that they stood in an enormous abandoned hothouse; the Victorian sweeps of rusting metal frame housing ancient glass of uneven thickness. The ground was flattened dirt, long gone to weeds and scrub grass, smelling of old cigarette butts, spilled motor oil, and rotten food.
A man stood about twenty feet away in a poorly tailored business suit. He looked bulky, lumpen, like a football player in his pads. He waved to Big Bear. ‘You made it! Great to see you.’
Big Bear moved around behind Britton. He could hear the Terramancer sliding a hatch into place over the hole they’d just come through. He glanced from Big Bear back to the man in front of them, blinking again as the figure came into focus.
The suit flapped off him, pin striped, ridiculous looking over the man’s huge frame. Then Britton’s eyes settled on his neck and face and narrowed. His head was too small to match that giant body.
He wasn’t bulky beneath that suit. He was wearing body armor.
‘Hello, Oscar,’ the man said, smiling. ‘I see you’ve met the Sculptor.’
Britton spun back to Big Bear. The Terramancer grinned, then melted.
His flesh re-formed with breathtaking rapidity, the color draining from his skin, the long beard dropping away, the huge form narrowing, width turning to height. He groaned at the pain, but the grin never changed.
In Big Bear’s place a thin man now stood, taller, his skin corpse gray. His black hair was slicked to the top of his head, looking greasy. He was already shrugging off Big Bear’s clothing, suddenly many sizes too large. Beneath, a skintight black bodysuit hugged his narrow frame, the Entertech logo blazoned on the chest. His face was blade thin, all nose and jutting lips. His dark eyes narrowed as he grinned wider.
Britton caught his breath. Not a Terramancer. A Physiomancer. And the most talented one Britton had ever seen. ‘Sorry, Oscar,’ the Sculptor said. ‘They told me you were dumb, just not how dumb.’
Then Britton’s magi
c rolled back, and the glass around them exploded.
Cloth-wrapped ropes pivoted against the hothouse’s metal frame, bending inward as the men clinging to them kicked out the glass, sliding down their length to the ground, weird, bulky guns leveled. Their body armor, helmets and weapons were a uniform black. The only contrast came from the subdued American flags on their shoulders and the unit patches on the opposite, bearing the familiar motto: our gifts for our nation.
The SOC.
The first round caught Truelove in the side of his head, sending him reeling in a cloud of spraying clear mist. Britton caught a whiff of it even as he spun to keep it from spraying in his eyes. Hot, spicy. Military grade pepper spray could incapacitate an angry bear. Truelove was already screaming, clawing at his face, as Britton ducked another stream of pepper-spray-filled paint-balls. Swift cursed and fell back, a soldier grabbing him from behind, pinning his arms.
At least they want us alive. Britton rolled beneath the stream of paintballs and kicked the shooter in the chest, feeling his boot impact solidly on the interceptor plate of his body armor. The operator fell backward, but Britton seized his weapon, elbowed him in the throat, and arrested his momentum with the sling. The operator pivoted between sling and elbow, flipping sideways and landing face-first in the dirt as Britton spun to face the Sculptor, pulling his pistol from his waistband. ‘You fucking sneaky son of a . . .’ The Physiomancer was impersonating Big Bear the entire time. Had the real Big Bear been killed and replaced? Britton cursed and fired.
The Sculptor made no attempt to dodge. His body oozed sideways, sucking the bodysuit inward so that the bullet skimmed harmlessly by. Britton felt his magic flood back into him for an instant while the Sculptor dropped the Suppression to work his own magic, but he blocked Britton’s flow again in an instant. Britton had never seen such precision. ‘Now, Oscar,’ the Sculptor said. ‘That’s not very nice, is it?’
The operators advanced, screaming at them. ‘Get on the ground, right now! Get your hands in the air!’ Truelove already crawled in the dirt, howling, his eyes pinched tight. His glasses were gone. Swift had gone slack in the grip of the soldier behind him. Downer crouched beside Truelove, trying to help. Therese spun to face Britton, whose attack on the operator had carried him away from the rest of his friends. Apart from the magical tide Suppressing him, Britton could feel dozens of others, all around him. But they were no fools; even with Downer sick, they knew better than to give her material she could use against them.
