Shadow Ops: Control Point

“I thought you might. Seeing how these SASS videos are starting you down the road to thinking you work intel, let’s get you off that particular slippery slope. You don’t have to go to the SASS anymore,” Fitzy said. “I think we can both agree that you’re past that.”

It was Britton’s turn to be pensive. “I need to go back, sir. Just one more time.

“There’s something I need to do.”

CHAPTER XXIII: UNCONVINCED

Kind of changes your take on things, doesn’t it? We’re suddenly a world starving for conspiracy theories. The mysteries are all solved. The heads on Easter Island? Stonehenge? Bigfoot? The Bermuda Triangle? In the past we’d just shrug our shoulders, and say, “Magic!” We’re still sayin’ the same thing, but nobody’s shrugging anymore.

— Comedian Art Wilkes, Live on Home Entertainment Network

Britton entered the SASS while the enrollees were lined up for basic control practice. As Britton looked around, he realized that both Fitzy and Therese had followed him from the raid-staging site, and stood a few paces behind him. The No-No Crew, Wavesign among them, stood leaning against the side of the Quonset hut, refusing to participate as usual. The yard seemed tiny to Britton, Swift’s crossed arms and frowning face even more petulant and useless.

Salamander paused from his work with a young woman, busy raising rock walls from the mud at her feet, and stared frankly at him, arms folded. A moment later, the rest of the enrollees followed suit. Can they see the difference I feel? Britton wondered. Can they tell that I’m beyond this now? He glanced over at the flagpole, with its reflective black-and-orange US flag. As a member of Shadow Coven from the outset, he would never need to raise it, but he felt that he had the moment he’d stepped through the gate into that foul-smelling room and dragged the hostages to safety. Oscar Britton had a purpose. Oscar Britton had a home.

“Apologies for the interruption, sir,” Fitzy said. “Seems Keystone here is owed a favor, and I’m helping him collect.”

Salamander shrugged. “Orders came down from Taylor a couple of hours ago. Britton’s disenrolled.”

“No,” Britton said. He marched to the flagpole and stood rigidly at attention. He locked gazes with Wavesign, then looked to Swift, Pyre, and Peapod, making eye contact with each of them as he slowly and deliberately pulled on the rope, raising the flag to the top of the pole.

He executed a crisp left face and saluted Salamander smartly. “With all due respect, sir. Now I am disenrolled.”

Salamander’s mouth twitched in what might have been a smile. He stood at attention and returned the salute. “Why, yes, Keystone. I do believe you are.”

Swift started to say something, but Britton silenced him with a wave. He stalked straight to Wavesign, who looked left and right before he became unable to deny that he was the focus of Britton’s attention and met his eyes. The rain cloud coalesced.

“Wavesign, Ted,” Britton said. “Raise that damned flag. Do it right now.”

“Huh?” the young Hydromancer said.

“You fucking heard me,” Britton said. “Go raise that flag right now. Quit messing around.”

“Don’t listen to him, Wavesign,” Swift said. “The second you haul on that rope, you belong to them. You’d be your own damned hangman.”

Britton wheeled on Swift. He raised one fist and rolled a gate open on the depths of the Vermont rock quarry where he’d learned to scuba dive in his teenaged years. The freezing water was mostly black, streaked with green, choked with rock dust. “You shut your fucking mouth,” Britton seethed. “You’re the reason this kid walks around in a rain cloud all the time. You’re a miserable, angry bastard, and you won’t be happy unless everyone rots with you. Now shut the hell up, or I will toss your sorry ass through this gate, and you can see how well your Aeromancy protects you from thousands of pounds of subzero water.”

Salamander sputtered at Fitzy. “Unauthorized!”

Fitzy smiled. “With all due respect, sir, it’s not. Keystone here is a duly contracted Sorcerer, using his magic for designated operations. He’s no longer a SASS enrollee. There’s no call to Suppress him.”

Britton turned back to Wavesign, his eyes imploring. “Come on, man. This”—he waved his hand under the young Hydromancer’s moisture cloud—“is because you have a crew of pouty children watching your every move.” Peapod and Pyre bristled, but Salamander shook his head, and they made no move.

“That’s why you can’t concentrate,” Britton went on, “it’s why you can’t get control of it. Raise the flag and get out of here. We can put you someplace where you can get this under wraps.”

“Why would I want to do that?” Wavesign asked. “They’ll just teach me to control it so I can hunt down innocent Selfers, or murder people for them.”

“That’s Swift talking,” Britton replied. “The SOC isn’t perfect, but they do good things, too.” He gestured to Therese. “Therese is in the cash saving people’s lives. I just got to do that today as well. It’s like no feeling I can describe. Working for the SOC is like working for anyone. It’s like our system of government. For all its flaws, it tries to do good. Sometimes, it succeeds. That’s a hell of a lot better than standing around here with your arms folded, raining on yourself. You’re wasting your time and your talent. Raise the flag.”

Wavesign’s mouth worked, he looked at his feet. I’ve got him, Britton thought. But the Hydromancer only shook his head. “I can’t,” he muttered.

Swift opened his mouth, and Britton whirled back to him. “Say something,” he said. “Go on, do it.”

Swift’s mouth worked, his eyes wide, but no sound came out. After a moment, the burden of eye contact became too much, and he looked away.

Britton took a step forward. “You want to spin in useless circles? Fine. But you’re done dragging anyone else along with you.”

He turned back to Wavesign. “Raise the flag.”

Wavesign looked terrified, but he shook his head.

Britton whirled away from him in frustration. “Can’t we just drag him out of here?” he asked Fitzy.

The chief warrant officer shook his head. “Regs,” he said. “Gotta do it of his own accord. No coercion.”

Britton thought of the ATTD in his heart and snorted. “You can always change your mind,” he said to Wavesign. “I’ll try to come check on you, and if you ever do change your mind, I’ll find a way to work with you. Remember that.”

Swift found his courage again. “He’s not coming with you, you fucking turncoat. Forget it.”

Britton stalked back to him, conscious of Fitzy’s and Salamander’s eyes on him. His magic surged on the tide of his anger, but he clamped down on it. The hard line wouldn’t work with Swift. If he was to get through to him, and to Wavesign, he’d have to try something else.

“You want to wind up like Scylla?” Britton asked. “You want to have pride of place in your own solitary hole?”

“Better than what you’re doing,” Swift answered. “At least she’s on our side. The SOC are the only people that really need to be scared of her. She believes in all of us being free to rule ourselves. That’s what we all want.”

“You were the color of bad cheese when they took you out of the hole,” Britton said. “Doesn’t sound like she was on your side then.”

“That’s not what she believes anyway,” Therese added. “She believes in enslaving non-Latent humanity. That’s not the same thing.”

“That’s justice,” Swift answered.

Pyre nodded agreement. “Christ, what do you think they’re doing to us here?”

“Slaves can’t raise the flag,” Britton said. “They can’t choose to be free.”

“That’s not freedom,” Swift said, his voice hardening. “It’s just a different kind of slavery.”