by Myke Cole
‘They need to be evacuating,’ Harlequin said.
She nodded. ‘Yes, sir. I tried telling them that. You can’t hear a bullhorn over all that shouting. I’m honestly tempted to just let them through. Give ’em a chance to see what’s waiting for them south of the intersection.’
She shook her head, smiled ruefully. ‘But I can’t do that, can I?’
Harlequin sighed. ‘No, Captain. You can’t.’
‘Well, we’re expending roughly fifty percent of our manpower just keeping these people back. It can’t go on like this. We need help.’
‘I’m getting it for you.’
‘Respectfully, sir?’
‘Speak freely.’
She met his eyes. ‘You’re not getting it fast enough.’
Harlequin’s stomach turned over. ‘Help’s coming. I promise.’ The words sounded lame in his own ears. ‘How’re you handling the Gahe?’
She sighed. ‘We were doing okay at first, sir. The SOC LE support element was able to do for them, but they’ve been coming more often, and there are more of them. We’re stretched pretty thin on that count, too. You know our regular ordnance just goes right through them.’ She shuddered.
‘I know. Help’s on the way in that department, too.’
She nodded. ‘Yeah, Barricade One radioed that your Elementalist had arrived. They were able to repulse their attack with her help and she’s working up elementals there to dispatch to us. Should be here shortly. Thanks for that, sir. I know trafficking in Probe magic is going to generate some blowback for you, but I also knew that after what you did for FOB Frontier, I knew you’d do anything to save soldiers. Huah.’
Harlequin blinked. ‘What?’
‘What, what, sir?’
Harlequin blinked again and swallowed. It wouldn’t do this captain’s morale any good to learn that he had no idea what she was talking about. ‘Nothing. Sorry. I’m as tired as you are. You said the Elementalist was over at Barricade One?’
‘Yes, sir.’ She nodded. ‘Intersection of Houston and Broadway, just over . . .’
‘I know where it is,’ he said. ‘I need you to dig in and hold on here. You make those fuckers pay for every inch of ground.’
Her smile went grim, and she saluted again. ‘To the last bullet and the last man, sir. They won’t get through while we draw breath.’
Harlequin returned her salute and leapt back into the air, flying toward a tall building, its art deco water-tower housing crowded with snipers. A few toy-sized remote-controlled drones circled, relaying information on the enemy positions to the ground. A quick look down told Harlequin all he needed to know. The enemy were numerous, they were everywhere, and more were inbound.
A few of the snipers on the tower waved to him as he passed overhead and came into sight of Barricade One. Huge shipping containers had been flown in by helicopter or dragged by truck and overturned. One of the giant metal rectangles’ doors hung open, the packed rubble inside spilling out.
Mortars were set up in a church’s main steeple, raining fire down in front of the barricade, forcing the goblins to take cover. A few rocs and wyverns circled in the distance, but while they scattered as Harlequin approached, they were already keeping well back.
A moment later, Harlequin saw why.
Man-sized funnels of air, nearly invisible save for the dust whirling within them, hovered over the battlefield. The last time Harlequin had seen one, it had swept him off the high-school roof he was in charge of securing.
Air Elementals.
A moment later, Downer came into view. She appeared to be flying of her own accord, but as she came closer, he could see she was suspended in one of the whirling funnels, grinning. Harlequin landed on the roof opposite the steeple, motioning for her to join him. She waved as her elemental brought her over, dropped her steadily on the rooftop, then spun off on its own mission.
‘Just what the fuck do you think you’re doing?’ he asked.
‘Saving your barricade,’ she replied, folding her arms across her chest, ‘or did you think they were going to handle the Gahe on their own?’
‘I needed you to stay in Battery Park! I ordered you to . . .’
‘Oh, I’m sorry. Am I still in the fucking Army? Or am I a contractor? Did my conditional pardon get reinstated when I wasn’t looking? I’ll have to admit, my current legal status and chain of command is rather confusing at the moment.’
‘Sarah, I do not have time for this! You get your ass back to Battery Park, or . . .’
‘Or you’ll what? Send me back to a cell? Did you think my elementals would just stay here without me?’ She kicked the side of the crumbling water-tower housing beside her and raised her hand. The tumbling brick and mortar flowed out and re-formed into something approximating a hulking outline of a man. It took a step toward Harlequin, hunching its shoulders and sending a shower of desiccated concrete to the roof beneath it. ‘Did you honestly think I’d stand still for it? I am done being the government’s bitch.’
Harlequin thought about Suppressing her, decided against it. For all her bluster, she and her elementals were helping the fight, albeit at a different point than he’d expected. She was a serious force multiplier wherever she wound up, and the situation at Barricade Three had kindled a sick fear in his gut. You should have put her here in the first place, and you know it. You’re overwhelmed.
Maybe. But he was still the incident commander, and he needed to be able to control his assets. Hewitt was enough of a problem as it was.
‘Okay,’ he said, patting the air with his palms, ‘but you have to understand that magical resources are at a premium here. I need to be able to focus them where they’re needed most.’
‘I’m a person, not a resource,’ she said, ‘and I am where I’m needed most. You think I’m blind? You’ve been running around like a chicken with your head cut off, and most of your staff thinks you’re the Antichrist. While you were off partying at the UN, I figured I’d get the lay of the land. It’s not lying so well up here. If I hadn’t put elementals in the fight, we’d have lost this barricade before you showed up. There are a few Gahe making it down to Battery Park, but most of them are coming out of the gate and heading straight up here. They know the juiciest parts of the city are north, or, at least, Scylla does.’
He smiled inwardly. Not a little girl anymore, that’s for damn sure. And a natural head for strategy. He burned at the thought of how the McGauer-Linden Act had forced them to this moment. Who knew the kind of officer she would have made if she’d only been given half a chance?
Harlequin looked over his shoulder at the battlefield before Barricade One. It was clear for now, the enemy withdrawn to the cover of nearby buildings or overturned cars. But he could see even from this distance that the street was rimed with a thick, glittering crust. It shimmered, tinted gray, like dirty snow. Evidence of the Gahe’s failure to break through the barricade. At least one of them had died in that space.
His mind screamed at him to fight her, to show some spine, to be a leader. But he couldn’t argue with the facts. She’d put herself in the right place. She’d averted what could have been a catastrophe. All great leaders had one trait in common, they trusted their people.
He sighed. ‘You’re right.’
‘I am.’ It began as a question, but she managed to make it a statement at the last moment.
‘You are. I’m overwhelmed. You did it right. I should have had you here all along. Thanks.’
She stammered before settling on, ‘You’re welcome.’
‘I need three of you, Sarah. We can do for these goblins and whatever else all damn day, but the Gahe are going to get through. Help’s just not coming fast enough. I keep thinking that if we can just hang on a little while longer, we’ll get what we need to stop this.’
She blinked, still stunn
ed to find him agreeing with her.
‘I don’t suppose you can break off some of your elemental . . . cohort? Send them back to Battery Park?’
She shook her head. ‘Doesn’t work that way.’
‘They . . . they need to stay close to you to keep alive?’
‘No. They won’t leave me.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘They love me. They won’t leave me. Well, not far and not for long, anyway. You have to remember that they’re sentient. They can think for themselves.’
Harlequin arched an eyebrow. ‘They love you. They tell you this?’
‘No, but I can feel it. They know I made them. I’m . . . I’m their god.’ She looked down, embarrassed. In all the years I knew her, I never once asked her what it was like.
‘When I first came up Latent, they were my friends, you know,’ she said. ‘It wasn’t exactly something I could talk to people about, so I talked to them.’
Harlequin tried not to let his remorse show. She’d been a target to him, then a tool. Never once had he stopped to consider anything else.
‘Did they listen?’ he asked.
She smiled. ‘They did. Much better than most people. More importantly, they understood.’
‘I’m sorry, Sarah,’ Harlequin surprised himself by saying, ‘for all of it. I’d take it back if I could.’
Her eyes narrowed, some steel came into her voice. ‘I thought we were past the part where you talk down to me. I don’t need your sorry. Never asked for it.’
‘I know, I’m saying it for me. To get it off my chest. I wish I had a dozen more like you.’
‘So you could win this fight.’
‘That, too, yeah.’
Downer no longer sounded angry. ‘It’s your own damn fault, you know. Who knows how many Latents might have helped if you hadn’t forced them to choose between Selfer and SOC? Heck, some of them are probably in this city.’
Harlequin’s mouth went dry. There were Selfers in the city. And he knew where to find them.
It was one thing to employ a Probe who was already in government custody. It was another thing entirely to make common cause with Selfers. The thought made his stomach turn over for the third time in less than an hour.
But before he knew it, Harlequin had nodded to Downer and leapt into the sky, leaving her staring at his boot soles shrinking in the distance.
Chapter Twelve
Flushed People
The ‘Pangea Theory’ posits that, perhaps prior to the First Reawakening, in the ancient, even primeval past, the Source and the Home Plane were united at a more fundamental level. The division occurred later, owing to reasons lost to history. Radical proponents believe that all life originated in the Source, and that humanity itself (along with all Home Plane fauna) is a ‘lost tribe’ cut adrift, in search of its roots. ‘The Return’ movement espouses this position, putting them in line with the beliefs of the goblin ‘Embracer’ tribes.
– Avery Whiting, ‘Into the Breach Zone’
Op-ed in the New York Times
Harlequin marveled at himself as he flew back to Battery Park. He’d spent the best part of his early career working to bring down the Houston Street Gang, and part of him burned to think that remnants still existed. The thought of working with Selfers worked against something rooted deep in him, but Scylla’s army was obviously finding it easier to steer clear of them and focus on the barricade. He should brief it up to Gatanas; maybe the news would help move the man to send more arcane support. Harlequin thought of the tower of the Trump Building slowly tumbling into the street as the A-10s completed their run. No, better to stay mum on this for now. The last thing he needed was to give Gatanas another excuse to bomb civilians.
He banked west, looking for the area Sharp had described. With most of the fighting up at the barricade or around Battery Park, the streets looked mostly empty, with only the occasional pack of demon horses or goblin patrols amid the smoke and wreckage. It was hard to tell which spot might be clear.
But as Harlequin flew over a small, horseshoe-shaped park off Canal Street, he could make out other barricades, tall shelves of earth and rubble, capped with slabs of broken concrete. They were seamless, drawn up out of the ground in one piece. He flew lower. The barricades looked empty, but they systematically blocked off two blocks square to the west of the park. Behind them, there was some damage, but not nearly as much.
He shed altitude, trying to feel for magical currents, but he didn’t want to risk getting taken down, especially without an escort. What would a magical current tell him, anyway? The goblins had them, too.
He turned, flew due east, heading for Chinatown, following the wide expanse of Canal Street. The buildings grew tighter here, and he spotted the occasional Chinese sign, growing more and more frequent until it was the only language he saw. The neon still shed light in some places, but many more had been shattered, or had gone dark in blocks where the power was out.
As he closed on Walker, the contrast was stark. There were no barricades that he could see, but a rough line of corpses clearly delineated the borders of the clear zone. A bear-sized creature with bat wings and a disturbingly human face lay on its side, its purple guts strewn across its ribs as if some giant hand had reached in and ripped them out. Goblins were piled around it, many with their heads turned at odd angles, limbs ripped off. Harlequin felt his stomach turn as he made out what had probably once been a smallish dragon, until something had turned it inside out.
Rending. Offensive Physiomancy. What other weapon could do this? He shed altitude, circling above the line of dead, marveling at the lack of physical obstacles into the neighborhood. Even with a Render, it would be a tall order to keep the streets clear.
Yet they were clear. Just beyond the line of corpses, Harlequin could see working street signs, store windows intact. The streets were free of bodies; the only indicator that this block sat in the middle of the Breach Zone was the trash blowing across the streets, the smoke in the air.
Harlequin circled lower, radioed his position back to Battery Park, just in case. Where were the sentries? It didn’t matter. This was a stupid, unnecessary risk. He could come back later in force and see for himself. He dipped low, spun around, and prepared to turn back south.
He stopped in midair, hovering. It was faint, but he could feel a magical current, rippling through the air . . . No. Two. Maybe more. If he could feel them, they could feel him.
There were Selfers here. Nothing he didn’t already know.
He rose, turned, picked up speed toward the park, letting the feel of the magical currents fade behind him as distance ate the signal.
But one of them grew stronger, a rising in his senses with every foot he flew.
He was getting closer.
He slowed, shed altitude as fast as he could, denying an enemy the chance to Suppress him and drop him out of the sky. At last, he was level with the building entrances, head sawing wildly as he looked around for the source of the current, seeing only the blur of façades as the buildings raced past.
The current rose until it sang in his veins, tickled the back of his throat. He Drew his magic, feeling his neck dampen as storm clouds coalesced around him.
And then winked out. The foreign current crossed his own, stopping his flow and rolling the magic back. He strained, pushed against it, felt it hold fast. He flailed in the air, arms pinwheeling as he came down, his stomach catching the metal rod of an awning, folding his body in half, breath exploding from him. He scrabbled for purchase on the smooth plastic surface, struggling to suck in air, all hope of winning free from the Suppression gone.
He fell, shoulders and tailbone slamming into the sidewalk, head bouncing on the ground so hard his vision grayed. All sense of the magical current was lost. He felt three, then one, then none. He tried to Draw his magic
, but he couldn’t focus on his own flow through the ringing in his ears and the sudden pain blossoming behind his eyes.
His vision began to clear, and he heard shouting and the slapping of bare feet on asphalt. Goblins. They were coming for him. He struggled to clear his head, got to his feet, blinking furiously. His vision was blurry, the pain in his skull blinding him. A high ringing in his ears began to give way to a loud buzz. He fumbled for his pistol, biting back vertigo.
He took a whooping swallow of air and swayed, but his legs held him, and he stumbled back a pace from the converging shapes. Small brown blobs, a white one at their rear. They snarled, shouted. He blinked again, his vision slowly resolving. Goblins, a white-painted sorcerer with them. One reached him, thrusting out a spear with a victorious yell.
Harlequin kicked it aside, finally managing his holster catch and dragging the pistol out, slamming the weapon into the goblin’s face and sending it sprawling. Something sharp sliced past his arm. Another whistle of air past his ear. He raised the pistol and fired madly, not bothering to aim, unable to anyway, praying his rounds hit the sorcerer.
The goblins scattered, but sparks and spraying chips of brick and cement told him his shots had gone wide.
The goblin’s current held his own fast. He was sure he could break free if he could only concentrate, but his lungs still burned from the lack of air, his lower ribs aching. The headache stabbed him less with each throbbing pulse, but the pain was still horrendous. He felt wet warmth on the back of his neck. Blood from his head, most likely.
He was certain he felt another current now. A second sorcerer. Even if he could break free, it wouldn’t do him any good. I can’t believe this. I’m going to die out here just because I couldn’t be bothered to move with a proper escort.
Another goblin reached him, swinging an axe almost as big as it was. He ducked back, heels slipping off the curb, lost his balance, fell again, his head and vision clearing in exchange for a sharp pain shooting up his wrist as it took his full weight.
The goblin followed, swinging the axe around and up over its head for another strike. Harlequin kicked out, finding the creature’s bony knee. It stumbled across him, lost its grip on the heavy axe, which went clattering to the ground. Harlequin seized its throat, squeezed, punched it in the face. Once. Twice. The creature went slack in his grip. He grabbed it by the shoulders and hauled it into the way of another spear thrust. The spearhead punched through the goblin’s body, scoring Harlequin’s cheek and spraying him with hot blood.
