Shadow Ops: Control Point

“Whispering” is as deceptive a term as I’ve ever heard. “Hammering” is more like it. How about “will crushing” or better yet “mind control.” Let’s call this thing what it really is. You are taking a creature, stripping of it of its free will, and overriding it with your own. You are making it a slave. We outlawed that among humans. It’s high time we did it with animals too.

— Arnold Dishart, Vice President

People for the Moral Treatment of Animals (PMTA)

Swift avoided Britton the next morning, but Britton caught him casting furtive glances his way. Swift’s smoking anger still lurked below the surface, but Britton felt it cowed for the moment. Because now he feels that he needs me. Because now he knows I could be a potential way out of here. Seems like just about everybody’s got a use for me.

Wavesign continued to work on his magic with no appreciable results. Britton took it upon himself to join Therese, trying to talk him down from the emotional surges that were too strong for even the Dampener to manage properly. Only Britton and Therese were willing to withstand the soakings anyone working with him had to endure when his magic went wrong. While working with Britton, Wavesign lost control of his vapor cloud and generated a small river, which flowed around him, soaking Therese, Britton, Swift, and Pyre to the ankles. Britton chuckled, and Swift kept silent; but Pyre cursed and slapped Wavesign on the back of his head. “Fucking A, man! It’s cold enough out here already!”

Wavesign looked horrified and humiliated, and Britton paused. Are you going to take that? He waited another moment, and realized that, yes, Wavesign was going to take that. Just as Therese opened her mouth to say something, Britton stepped forward and cuffed Pyre on the ear, sending him staggering backward. “You touch him again, and wet feet are going to be the least of your problems.”

Pyre looked up at Britton, stunned, his mouth dropping open. “Maybe all this babying him doesn’t help, you ever think of that? Maybe what he needs is a firm hand.”

Britton snorted. “Look around you, genius. He’s in a prison. A military prison. That a firm enough hand for you?”

Salamander jogged over. “Problem, gentlemen?”

Britton shook his head.

“No problem,” Pyre said, cupping his ear and walking away, making an exaggerated showing of shaking off his soaking feet. Salamander nodded and returned to the rest of the group.

“Why do you put up with that?” Britton asked.

“Whatever,” Wavesign said. “It’s not…it’s…just. I can understand where he’s coming from. It’s annoying.”

“Sure, but that doesn’t mean you deserve to be treated like that,” Britton said. “You’ve got to stand up for yourself.”

“Are you okay?” Therese fussed over him, but Wavesign pushed her hands away.

“It’s fine,” he said.

“We’ve been at this for a while,” Britton said. “What do you think is holding you back?”

“It’s like I’m in a circle,” the boy confessed. “The magic comes to my feelings, you know? It comes when I’m sad. So what do you do when you’re sad all the time?”

Britton looked over at Therese. “I guess you have to think about what’s making you sad and try to make peace with it.”

“I appreciate your help, you know,” Wavesign said, barely a whisper.

“You’re helping me, too,” Britton said. “In a lot of ways, I’m lucky. I Manifested as an adult, and a trained soldier at that. I have a lot of advantages you don’t. Watching you deal with all that teaches me how it’s really done.”

Wavesign was quiet. Therese punched him in the shoulder. “Talk to us, Ted. What makes you sad?”

The boy rolled his eyes and pitched his voice low, looking up at where Swift and Pyre stood talking with the rest of the No-No Crew. Peapod spoke to Pyre, her voice low and admonishing as she gestured at Wavesign. “When I came up Latent,” Wavesign said, “my brother hauled me into the woods and kicked me around pretty bad. Told me not to come home. Cops picked me up walking along the road. I like it here, honestly. It’s better than what I had. But…still…” He cuffed at his face, so constantly beaded with water that it was impossible to tell if he was crying.

“It’s not a family, is it?” Britton asked.

Wavesign nodded. “My folks weren’t nice. My mom died when I was too young to remember, and my dad took a strap to me most times. My brother was just doing what he knew they always wanted.”

“He got rid of you,” Therese said.

Wavesign nodded.

“What he didn’t do was lock you in your room and call the SOC,” Britton added.

“So?” Wavesign asked.

“So, maybe, deep down somewhere, he wanted to protect you,” Britton said.

Wavesign shrugged.

“Even with everything your family did to you,” Therese said, “it’s okay to miss them.”

“Not them,” Wavesign said bitterly. “My grandma and my cousins. My friends at school.”

Britton thought of Cheatham and Dawes, Rob Dausman, even the snarling Stanley Britton. He thought of movie theaters and shopping malls, Monday night football in the squadron break room, burgers grilling outside. All that was beyond him, all the smiling faces he’d felt sure would be an e-mail or phone call away for the rest of his life.

When he looked up, Peapod stood there. She worked to find words, her excruciating discomfort apparent in her shifting stance. “Pyre’s sorry,” she said. “You’re a good guy, and you didn’t deserve that.” She looked over her shoulder at Pyre, who made eye contact with Wavesign and nodded curtly.

“You’re still part of the crew,” she added.

That’s the problem, Britton thought. But now wasn’t the time to say anything about it.

“Ready for another try?” he asked.

Later, as Britton and Therese took a break, leaning against the front of one of the Quonset huts, Britton decided to take the plunge.

“So, Therese. Do you remember asking me earlier why I didn’t try to use my gates to escape?”

“Because you have a bomb in your chest,” she said without hesitating.

“How the hell did you know that?”

“Swift isn’t exactly reticent,” she said, laughing. “Everybody knows. He already asked me if I could get it out.”

It took Britton a moment before he could speak, but Therese shook her head. “I’m sorry, Oscar. I’m getting there, but there’s a big difference between closing a bullet hole and moving something out of a heart ventricle while keeping the thing beating. I’d probably kill you at this point. I need time to get better. I need practice.”

Britton sighed. “How much time do you think?”

“Healing gashes or knitting veins isn’t too tough, but the complicated organs — the heart, the brain, they’re tricky. If your muscle doesn’t function for a moment, or if a vein has a bulge in it, that’s not the end of the world. Not so with your heart.”

“So it could be a while.”

“A long while. I’m sorry. I don’t get a lot of practice in here.”

“They’ve got a cash, Therese. I’m sure they could use your help in there.”

“I’d have to raise the flag, Oscar,” she said, her eyes narrowing.

She’d have to be willing to be the SOC’s instrument. She’s not.

Are you?

They both stood in silence while Britton grappled with the surge of emotions the conversation had brought. Perhaps it was the effect of the Dampener, but did he actually feel relief? Are you actually glad that