container of sugar down on the bar. Truelove smiled and set about preparing Marty’s drink.
The Goblin ignored the mug, making soft noises as he climbed on an empty barstool to run his fingers over Britton’s face. The rough pads of his fingers felt cool, soothing.
“Fitzy is asshole,” the creature muttered, reaching into his scrubs and producing the worn leather pouch. He took out a pair of broad leaves, licked their backs, and, despite Britton’s groans of protest, stuck them over the largest swellings, clucking admonition when Britton tried to pull away. The bruises began to feel better the moment the plant touched his face. Even his headache subsided slightly. “Damn, Marty,” he said, smiling in spite of himself. “Why do all of your remedies involve spit?”
The Goblin didn’t reply, gently pressing the leaves down to make sure they stuck.
“We’re really not supposed to be hanging out with him,” Downer groused, still moody over their confrontation.
Britton’s anger sparked. The Dampener shunted it to the side, but he gave it rein. After all Marty had done for him, after all the patient kindness he had never hesitated to show in spite of how the humans there treated him, he deserved better. Zealots, especially the newly converted, sometimes gave way when you applied a little pressure.
“You know, these people don’t love you,” he said. “Why do you think we’re contractors? If we’re the good guys, why doesn’t the army acknowledge us?”
“Because we’re Probes…” she said.
“And they’re willing to destroy our lives because of it,” he went on. “We’re the same, Sarah.”
“No, we’re not the same,” she said. “I know that I did something wrong. I want to make it right. I want to serve my country.”
“What did you do wrong?” Britton asked. “You woke up one morning with a power you didn’t ask for. You decided that you might want to take a second to play with it before someone else stepped in and told you how to run your life. That’s your big crime?”
Scylla’s words echoed in his mind.
“I killed people! I damaged property!” Downer shouted, and the OC began to empty again.
“That’s Harlequin talking,” Britton said. “I might as well gate over to his office and have him lecture me.”
“You leave him alone!” she yelled. “He took care of me. He gave me a second chance!”
“Oh, come off it. Your magic gave you a second chance,” Britton said. “You’re here for the same reason I am; the SOC wants your magic. If either of us had gone Selfer in a more common school, we’d probably be dead. Now we get to be government slaves instead.”
“I’m not a slave! I’m a Sorcerer!” Downer’s face was red.
Truelove let out a nervous, honking laugh and stepped between them. “It’s okay, it’s okay,” he said. “We’re all in the same Coven.”
Downer ignored him and held Britton’s eyes.
But not tonight. He had nothing left to give. “I’m going to hit the rack. Lots of studying to do for tomorrow.”
He stepped out into the chill air and looked up at the night sky. The huge stars winked back at him.
He shook his head and started toward P block. A hand touched his elbow. He looked down into Marty’s black eyes, surrounded with painted dots. Britton reached out to touch the creature’s head, then jerked back his hand. Would Marty take it as patronizing? What was it he had seen them do? Britton closed his eyes and bowed, tapping the lids. Marty smiled broadly, then repeated the gesture, murmuring in his own language.
“You important,” Marty said, sketching a doorway in the air with his fingers. “Special.”
Britton sighed. “Yeah, people keep telling me that. It’s not helping any.”
Marty looked at him, uncomprehending. Britton sighed. “God, what a fucked-up life this has turned out to…” He paused, then looked back down at the creature. His eyes widening.
“Holy shit,” he breathed.
Because he suddenly realized that there might be a way out of this after all.
Marty stared back at him, the blue surgical mask dangling from one ear, flapping in the wind.
Britton knelt to Marty’s height. “Have you ever heard of a flesh-eating worm?”
Marty turned pensive. “…wurm?”
“It’s a worm from here. It eats muscle.” Britton thumped his chest.
Recognition dawned across Marty’s face. He corkscrewed one finger over his sternum. “Worm! I know! I know! Worm very…few. Very…important. Some in srreach room. Cold room with Doctor Captain, remember?” The research tent where they’d met Captain Hayes. Britton remembered.
He sagged with relief, sitting on the ground.
“Why?” Marty asked.
“Marty, there’s a bomb in my heart. You understand a bomb?”
Marty nodded gravely. “You”—he searched for the word—“captured.”
Britton nodded.
“Worm very…hurt you. Kill you.”
“Not with magic, Marty. Not with someone to Whisper it. Maybe it can break the bomb.” More than likely it would set the ATTD off, but that was a chance Britton was willing to take. He remembered Rampart’s words to him in the helo as they left the LZ.
“Do you have a Goblin buddy who can Whisper, Marty? Please tell me you do.”
Marty grinned. “I know. I important. I bring friend with magic for worm. Talk worm no kill you. Eat bomb.”
Britton grinned in spite of himself, nodding so hard his neck hurt.
“Can you help me?”
Marty was silent for a moment, then looked back up to Britton and nodded. “Secret.”
Britton grinned. “Can you get a worm? Do you have someone to Whisper it?”
Marty’s face went serious. “Difficult.”
Britton considered what he was asking. The little Goblin was not well liked on the FOB as it was. If he were caught stealing from a SOC facility…he batted it away. He had to try. He couldn’t stay there. It couldn’t be his life.
“Can you get one for me?”
Marty was silent for a moment before nodding. “You important.”
Britton smiled, then tapped his lids again. Marty repeated the gesture, then pointed to the leaves plastered to his face. “Keep on. When you no feel, take off. Keep on to sleep is okay.” He waved and trotted back inside the OC.
CHAPTER XIX: IN THE HOLE
