Shadow Ops: Control Point

Downer didn’t blink. “Because they tagged you. You’ve got an ATTD implant.”

Britton nodded. Fitzy or Harlequin must have told them. Hell, Therese had said half the SASS knew.

“So run, then.” She shrugged. “If it’s so bad, take a hike. Those things work fast. You won’t feel a thing.”

Britton opened his mouth, then closed it. It was not as if he hadn’t considered the option.

“I know why you don’t,” Downer said. “Because you used to be army, and now you almost are again. You’re protecting your country, and you know it. Harlequin said we’ll probably wind up fighting narcoterrorists in South America, or keeping the Chinese out of Taiwan, or catching pirates in the Straits of Mal…Malacca, or whatever it’s called. Once we’re doing that, you’re going to be happy again because you’ll be helping people.”

You’re wrong, Britton thought. I’m holding on because there’s a chance, however remote, that I can defuse this damned thing.

“She’s got a point,” Richards said, tipping back another tumbler. “But you know the real reason you stay?”

“Et tu Brute?” Britton asked.

“Curiosity,” he went on. “There’s a whole world out here and like it or not, you’ve got the keys to the kingdom. You want to see what’s up just as much as the rest of us do.”

Britton searched his head for a rebuttal and found none.

But Scylla’s words haunted him. I cannot imagine a life lived under someone else’s thumb just to keep him from having to be afraid. I cannot imagine having to never truly be myself again. The SOC might train him, give him a chance to do something with his magic, but it would always be by their leave and for their ends. There had to be a better way, to neither run nor fight. Serving the SOC wasn’t it.

“No anger,” Marty said, coming up behind them. He touched Downer’s wrist, and the girl instinctively jerked away. “No anger us. Plenty anger others.”

The rest of the patrons of the OC muttered at his entrance but gave him and the rest of the Coven a wide berth.

“Tell her, Marty,” Britton said. “Hell, tell me. Why are you even here? Why do you work for Entertech? I see how they treat you. Why aren’t you fighting with the rest?”

“Other tribes,” Marty said calmly. “Not Mattab On Sorrah.”

“Mattab On what?” Britton asked.

“It’s the name of his tribe,” Truelove offered.

“Why doesn’t your tribe fight?” Britton asked.

“All water babies,” Marty said.

“What the hell does that even mean?” Britton fumed, unable to contain his frustration.

“He means we all come from the magic,” Truelove explained.

“I get that,” Britton said. “But that’s not even true. Marty, we came from another world.”

“Came back,” Marty said. “You tribe…” He paused, searching for the word. “Lost.”

“What?” Britton asked. “You mean we’re from the Source originally?”

Marty spread his hands, uncomprehending. He smiled broadly. “Mattab On Sorrah no fight. All water baby. Mattab On Sorrah help. Marty help. Long time. We wait. Everything okay.”

“How can you let them do this to you?” Britton asked, Marty’s patience building his frustration to a pitch that surged his magic. “That’s not helping, that’s suicide.”

Marty shook his head. “Help, always help. Wait.” Britton was rocked once again by Marty’s patient kindness. He was a leader among his own, but the military on the FOB treated him like a servant, an animal. Still, he stood by them.

“See?” Downer said. “He doesn’t mind. Why can’t you just be happy where you are?”

“We’re slaves,” Britton said, “slaves that kill.”

“You killed my boyfriend,” Downer said. “You almost killed me. I killed people, too. Harlequin says that’s all behind us now. It’s a fresh start. That comes from the president. All we have to do is forget it and start over. I can do that. Why can’t you?”

Britton knew she was right. The truth was that Britton was beginning to revel in his newfound control, that the rest of Shadow Coven were becoming colleagues if not friends. He had lost his home and was beginning to build a new one on the razed foundation. Was it better to pout and scream like Swift? To stew in the hole like Scylla? Even Therese had raised the flag and joined up once she’d realized that her magic would be put to some use.

And yet.

“The hell with this,” was all he said as he stood and left. For the second time, Marty followed him out, stopping him with a hand on his elbow.

“Okay,” Marty said. “No anger.”

“It’s not okay,” Britton growled. “You might be some kind of a saint, but I’m not. You’re one of the best… people I know, and I’m angry on your behalf.”

Marty did his ear-wiggling shrug, not appearing to under-stand.

Britton squatted in front of the Goblin, putting his hands on Marty’s narrow shoulders. Worry made his voice hard. “Marty, I need that worm. I really need it.”

Marty frowned. “Srreach room is…hard. Many people.”

Britton cursed and looked at the ground. He knew what he was asking of the creature, but he couldn’t stand the thought of another day here. “Maybe I could help?” He thought briefly of gating back to his world, then into the cash from there, but the ATTD would alert whoever watched it.

Marty’s frown deepened. “So important?”

Britton gritted his teeth. He thought of the half-dissected corpses he’d seen in the cash and shuddered. Who knew what punishment the SOC would levy on a Goblin contractor caught stealing from there?

But Downer’s zealotry moved him. Scylla’s offer made him shudder. He couldn’t make that place his home. He just couldn’t.

It was different for Therese. She was helping people. Britton was training to be a walking meat cleaver to be used against God knew whom.

“Yeah,” Britton sighed. “It is.”

Marty looked at him, folding his arms across his chest. His massive head bobbed on its scrawny neck over narrow shoulders, but Britton couldn’t miss the regal look in his pointed chin and broad brow. Marty sucked in air and clucked, deep in his throat, a hitching sound that Britton had never heard a human make. He realized it was Goblin pensiveness.

Marty nodded again. “Important,” he said.

“Important,” Britton repeated.

CHAPTER XXII: DO SOME GOOD

The tongues of blazing fire,

The ice storm’s savage trill,

The gale and steadfast mountain,

All serve our nation’s will.

— Excerpt from the SOC anthem “Phaleratus Ministro”

Therese’s absence from the SASS set off a war of emotions in Britton. Betrayal competed against worry that eroded into simple loneliness. Britton slumped his way through the morning video, wondering vaguely if the rest of the enrollees felt her absence as keenly as he did. They all seemed down to a greater extent. Swift sagged in his chair, pale and harrowed-looking. Pyre and Peapod bickered quietly beside him. Wavesign’s control seemed to have regressed, and he rained steadily in a corner.

One of the enrollees had raised the flag during control class that morning, which set Swift into his usual fit of impotent screaming that a resigned Salamander didn’t bother to check. He administered a perfunctory oath at the