Shadow Ops: Fortress Frontier-ARC (pdf conv.)

by Myke Cole

  “No! I met a kid! He just fried himself! I’m outside a grocery store and . . .”

  Talon’s voice went flat. “Sir, calm down and listen to me. I need you to be very clear. Are you saying you met a Latent individual and he went nova?”

  “Yes! Right in front of me! Just a minute ago!”

  “Are the police there?”

  “Not yet, but some people saw, and I’m sure they called them.”

  “Sir, I need you to get out of there right now. Do you know where the POAC is?”

  “The . . . what?”

  “The Pentagon Officers Athletic Club. There’s a loading dock underneath it. I’ll make sure it’s cleared. You drive there right now, is that clear? Do not speed. Do not get pulled over. Do not interact with the police in any way.”

  Bookbinder’s stomach tensed, but he felt an odd sense of relief at having commands he could follow. “Got it.”

  “Okay, now give me your exact address. What’s the name of the grocery store you’re at?”

  After Bookbinder told him, Talon asked. “So, what makes you sure you’re Latent? Did you Manifest?”

  “No, but I could feel it,” Bookbinder said, starting the car and heading back to the Pentagon. “And this kid could sense it too. He said he could tell.”

  “I highly doubt it, but we can’t be too careful. Get here as quickly as you can, sir. Stay away from other people. Do not go home. Do not talk to anyone. Got it?”

  “Okay. See you soon.” Bookbinder’s calm surprised him as he pulled back into traffic and began to retrace his route to the Pentagon. The uncertainty that dogged him was gone. The thing inside him had a name. The authorities were on top of it, they would take him and . . .

  . . . They would take him.

  The current intensified in time with his rising panic. What if they threw him in jail? Or did tests on him? Bookbinder was pretty sure that since he had self-reported, he wouldn’t be punished, but he didn’t know for sure. What if they quarantined him?

  What if it was years before he saw his wife and children again?

  Talon had told him to come straight in, not to go near anyone.

  But Bookbinder found himself turning the car around, gunning the engine and heading for home.

  Bookbinder paused outside the door of his home, smoothed his uniform again, and wiped the panicked tears off his face. His wife and children were inside. He had to be strong for them.

  Because this may be the last time you see them. Bookbinder knew what happened to Selfers. There was no way he would run.

  He took a moment to survey the neatly manicured lawn, the crisply pressed American flag flapping from a pole bolted to the doorjamb.

  He took a deep breath and pushed through the door.

  Julie stood at the table, unpacking a bag of groceries.

  “Hi, sweetheart.” The tremor in his voice was undeniable.

  Julie looked at him, her eyes wide with concern.

  She placed her hands on his cheeks. “Oh, baby! What happened to you?”

  The tears came. He collapsed into her arms, cursing his weakness.

  “Alan!” He could hear his own panic transferred to her, now rising in her voice. “Alan, what’s wrong?”

  “Oh, bunny,” he sobbed. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for this to happen.”

  He felt Julie’s throat work against his shoulder as she swallowed.

  When she spoke again, her voice was calm, possessed of all the command he lacked. She pushed him back and met his eyes. “Alan, you’re scaring me. I need you to calm down and tell me what’s going on. What didn’t you mean to happen?”

  “I’m Latent. I’m sorry, baby. I didn’t mean for it to . . .”

  “Latent?” Julie smiled. “Oh God, Alan. You’re not Latent!”

  “I am, baby. I really am. I can feel it.”

  “Alan.” She laughed, kissed his forehead. “What has gotten into you? You had me scared half to death!”

  “I saw a boy die, he burned to death. I felt his . . . I felt his magic. It’s in me, too.”

  “Are you serious? Where? When?”

  “Just now, I stopped off to get cereal for Kel . . . I didn’t even get it. I’m sorry.”

  “It’s okay,” she said. “Tell me what happened. Did you call the police?”

  “No, I called the SOC.”

  She pushed back from him, white-faced.

  “The SOC?”

  Bookbinder nodded miserably. “They told me to come in. I’m not even supposed to be here. I had to see you.”

  She nodded firmly, showing all the resolve he lacked. “You did the right thing. You can’t get in trouble if you report up front.”

  He tried to pull her back into an embrace, but she pushed him away. “Sweetie, you should get to them right now. If you just tell them everything and let them examine you, then you won’t get in any trouble, and you can come home.”

  “Not if I’m Latent! What if they have to keep me for tests?”

  She touched his elbow. “Honey, I’m hardly an expert, but you’re not . . . showing any magic. That’s what happens when people come up Latent.”

  “Julie, I’m serious. I can feel it. I have a magical . . . pulse, like a river flowing through me.”

  Julie put her hands on her hips. “I believe you feel something, but you were sick this morning, remember? Did you see the doc today at work?”

  “He said I was having a panic attack.”

  “Well? Maybe that’s all it is. You don’t want to make trouble with the SOC over something like that. Stop playing around and get over there.”

  Bookbinder nodded but didn’t move.

  “The boy, you didn’t . . .” Julie began.

  “I had nothing to do with it, I just . . . we could feel each other’s magic, then he went nova.”

  “Oh God,” Julie said. She hugged him again and kissed his forehead. “Now. If you go now, they won’t know you came here.”

  The kids, as if on cue, appeared at the top of the stairs.

  “Daddy?”

  He knelt, holding out his arms, and they ran to him. He lifted them up and embraced them tightly, kissing them hard on the tops of their heads. “Daddy! Ow! You’re squeezing me!” Kelly squealed.

  “It’s okay, sweetheart,” Julie said. “Daddy just got scared is all.”

  “I save you, Daddy,” Sarah said.

  He put the girls back down. You should say good-bye, he thought. Once you report to Talon, you don’t know if you’ll ever see them again.

  But something in the certainty of Julie’s tone held him at bay.

  He had failed to be strong for her, but he could do it for his girls.

  “Mommy’s right. Everything’s fine. Daddy forgot something at work and has to run back for a minute, but I’ll be home to tuck you in.” He winced inwardly.

  “Where’s Harvey?” he asked. If he was saying good-bye, he wanted to cover all the bases.

  “He’s out back,” Julie said. “Leave him be, you’ll be home soon.” She sounded so sure.

  He kissed Julie, swept her into a tight hug. “Good-bye, bunny.”

  Julie’s voice was worried, but she gave the right lines. “No dramatics, Alan. Go report yourself, get this straightened out, and come home.”

  They don’t understand. This is as much good-bye as you get.

  One more hug, and he was out the door. He knew if he looked back, he would lose his nerve.

  So he didn’t.

  The phone was already ringing when he got in the car. “Where are you?” Talon asked.

  “I’m inbound. I got . . . stuck in traffic. I’ll be there in . . . ten minutes.”

  Talon’s silence was pregnant with incredulity. Bookbinder sank into his seat under the weight of the unspoken accusation.

  “Get the lead out of your ass, sir. This isn’t a game.”

  By the time Bookbinder arrived at the Pentagon parking lot, two police cars with flashing lights were waiting for him. At first, his stoma
ch clenched, Talon had warned him to stay away from the police. But the cruisers were the gray and black of Pentagon police, not Arlington, and they waved him past through their windows, then fell in behind his car. The escort peeled off once he passed beneath the footbridge outside the POAC and turned into the loading dock.

  The normally unending traffic of loading and unloading stocks of supplies was gone. Instead, a young SOC captain waited for him on the edge of the concrete platform, flanked by two Pentagon police officers in tactical gear, body armor, helmets, carbines slung across their chests.

  Bookbinder reached for the door handle and paused. He looked back through the windshield at the short, dark-haired captain who he assumed was Talon. Once you open that door, your life will change forever. Don’t think about it. If you turn back, you’ll lose your nerve, you’ll run. Then, whatever life is left to you will be over.

  A part of his mind clung to Julie’s dismissal. Maybe she’s right. Maybe this is a panic attack.

  If so, he’d apologize to her on his knees. He’d accept any derision she, or Talon, or anyone else cared to heap on him. And then Bookbinder, not normally a religious man, found himself praying. Please, dear God. I’ve been a good husband, father, and soldier. I’ve done my job. I never cheated or stole or fooled around on my wife. I never hit my kids. Please, if you can make this cup pass from me, please do it. I don’t want to be Latent. I

  don’t want to lose everything I’ve built.

  “Sir!” Talon called to him. “Get out of the car right now!”

  Bookbinder was soldier enough to follow orders. He reacted instinctively, opening the door and pushing out into the cool evening air.

  He immediately felt Talon’s current, tight and disciplined, eddying from him. Talon must have felt his as well, because he crouched, his eyes widening.

  “Jesus!” Talon said, and stretched out his hands. Bookbinder felt his flow pass into Talon’s, then roll back from it. He could still feel it flowing through him, but the drowning sensation ceased.

  “Colonel Bookbinder, I presume?” Talon asked, jumping down off the raised platform and walking toward him. “You’re Latent, all right.”

  The sodium lights that lit the dock swayed momentarily as Bookbinder grappled with the truth. “Maybe it’s a Rump Latency?”

  Talon shook his head firmly. “Hell, no, sir. It’s the strongest current I’ve felt in a long time.”

  Bookbinder bent over, hands on his knees. “Oh, shit.”

  Talon put his hand on his shoulder. “It’s okay, sir. You reported yourself. It’s fine. Don’t worry about that kid, sir. Magic sinks happen. That’s not on you.”

  “What happened to him?”

  “The kid? Don’t worry about that. We’re taking care of it.”

  “I just. . . I thought that maybe it was a panic attack.”

  Talon laughed. “No, sir. I’m afraid not. You’re Latent. I’ve got you Suppressed right now.”

  Bookbinder looked at Talon. The man’s eyes were kind, older than the rest of his face. A silver Aeromancer’s pin shone from his lapel. “Sir, a lot of guys have this reaction when they pop. It’s really okay. You did it right. You lose nothing, not rank, not pay. It’s a change, but we’re going to help you through it. I came up Latent my first week at West Point. Believe me, you get used to it.”

  Bookbinder sagged against the wall. “What about my family?”

  Talon’s expression went hard. “I’m not sure, sir. You’ll have to speak to one of our integration counselors.”

  Bookbinder looked into Talon’s eyes, open and receptive just a moment before, and knew he was lying. He swallowed and shut his eyes. But the feel of the current, even Suppressed, wouldn’t allow him even a moment of self-delusion.

  “The problem, sir,” Talon said, “is that you didn’t Manifest. You’ve felt the current for how long?”

  “Since last night. . . I mean, this morning technically. Maybe 0200.”

  Talon clicked his tongue. “Man, that’s weird. That never happens.”

  “So, what’s going to happen to me?”

  Talon was silent for a long time. Finally, he sighed. “Honestly, sir? I have no idea. For one thing, you’re field grade. For another, you’re not Manifesting. That’s a double whammy. Any call on this one is going to be made miles above my head.”

  Chapter III

  Stress Test

  In some very rare instances, powerful Latencies will fail to Manifest. The reason for this is a matter of continuing debate, but many believe it has to do with deficiencies in the limbic system. Indeed, the few documented Auto-Suppressed or “Stifled” Latencies are loners, usually males without family and few friends. They exhibit difficulty expressing emotion and are reticent to a fault.

  —Avery Whiting

  Modern Arcana: Theory and Practice

  Talon bundled Bookbinder into a black van and produced a drawstring bag from his cargo pocket. “I need you to put this over your head.”

  “Are you serious?” Bookbinder asked.

  “As a heart attack, sir.”

  “Do it, sir,” said one of the police officers, climbing in on the van’s opposite side.

  Bookbinder shrugged and pulled the bag over his head. It was hot and close inside, but he could breathe well enough. Unable to see, he closed his eyes and tried to relax.

  “I’m going to give you an injection in your thigh,” Talon said.

  “It’s Limbic Dampener. Everybody in the SOC uses it. It’ll help you control the magical flow. You ready?”

  Bookbinder nodded, wincing at the stab in his leg a moment later. Another moment passed, and he felt suddenly calm. The stress of his new Latency, the pain of losing his family, the anxiety over his uncertain future, all receded. He was aware of the emotions and their intensity, but they no longer rattled him.

  “My wife,” he began.

  “We’re getting word to her now,” Talon said. “As soon as we’re able, we’ll arrange for you to speak to her.”

  The van drove for an hour, then finally slowed and stopped after bumping over what Bookbinder guessed was a field or unpaved road. He could hear the dull thudding of a helicopter’s rotors as he was ushered out of the van, felt the wind whipping over him as he was hurried on board, a rigger’s belt cinched around his waist and a carabiner clipped in place. A hand grabbed Bookbinder’s wrist, guiding his hand to a support bar.

  Then, the stomach-wrenching vertigo as the helo jumped skyward. Bookbinder grasped the bar hard as the helo banked sharply, then leveled off. They flew in silence for what felt like several hours. About halfway through the trip, Bookbinder’s mouth began feeling like the Mojave Desert. He smacked his gums, trying to work up some saliva.

  “Relax,” Talon yelled over the pounding rotors, “it’s the Limbic Dampener. Gives you bad cottonmouth. You want some water? We’re almost there.”

  “I’ve gotta piss,” Bookbinder said.

  “On the ground in a moment, sir. Just hold it another bit.”

  When the helicopter finally jarred to a stop, Bookbinder heard the carabiner unclip and hands shoved him forward. He stumbled a few feet out of the helicopter, the rotors spinning down and the wash against his back abating. He took a few steps on what felt like dead leaves.

  “Can’t hold it,” he said.

  Talon laughed beside him, jerking the hood off his head.

  “Go for it, sir. There’s nobody here but us girls.”

  Bookbinder squinted against bright starlight. He unzipped and let go as his eyes adjusted to the darkness. Two long, low barns loomed in the distance, massive and solid.

  “Where are we?” he asked, shaking off and zipping up.

  Talon shrugged. “Welcome to LSA Portcullis.”

  “Logistical Staging Area? Where are we staging to?”

  “Need to know, sir. For now, you need to know that you’re expected inside and that we’re going to run some tests.”

  The interior of the barn had been converted into an opera
tional staging floor, gigantic and buzzing with men and equipment.

  The stars and stripes and the SOC arms were prominently displayed, hanging from the ceiling. portcullis—us army logistical staging area, was written across the American flag.

  A bull-necked Suppressor with a craggy face and a dark crew cut stood waiting for them, leaning against a chipped folding table. Talon nodded to him. “Sir, this is Lieutenant Plug. He’s going to get you set up here.”

  “When do I get to call my family?” Bookbinder asked.

  Bookbinder felt his current surge momentarily as Talon dropped the Suppression, then roll back again as Plug stepped forward, concentrating. “I’ve got it, sir.” Plug said.

  “We can’t let you get in touch with your family from here, sir,” Talon said. “Bad operations security. But the good news is that you won’t be here long. It’s just a place for you to get checked out and integrated into the service. Once you’re assigned and settled, we’ll figure out how to get you back in touch with them.”

  “You said I’d see them again,” Bookbinder said.

  “And you will,” Talon assured him. “But you probably won’t see me. It’s been a pleasure, sir. Welcome to the Corps and good luck to you.” He extended a hand.

  Bookbinder shook it, and Talon left without another word.

  Plug kicked a metal folding chair up to the table and tapped a clipboard there stacked to bursting with papers.

  “Let’s get the admin knocked out, sir. Transfer papers, nondisclosure agreement, personal statement . . . Should take you about an hour to get it all done, then we’ve got your medical inprocessing and psych eval. I’ve got to keep you Suppressed until the head doc pronounces you fit to go off Suppression. Talon says you’re a Latent Grenade, so I don’t think that should be a problem.”

  “Latent Grenade?”

  Plug smiled. “It’s what we call folks who aren’t Rump Latents but don’t Manifest, ’cause, you know, any second you could go off.” Bookbinder started in on the paperwork while Plug sat beside him, playing a handheld video game. After his hand cramped from signing his name, checking boxes, and reading words that blurred together, Bookbinder stood, trying to work blood back into his fingers.

  “Army’s the same wherever you go.” He winced.