Shadow Ops: Control Point

“Why do you hate them so much?” Britton asked. “I understand that you have reason to hate them, but it goes beyond…anything.”

“That fucker Harlequin came to get me after I got stupid at a show I was playing, let a little magic slip,” Swift said. “I had a girlfriend…we had a baby together. She got in the way when they hit my apartment. He killed them.”

“They probably gave him a fucking medal for it,” Pyre added.

They probably did, Britton thought. Successful raids are exactly the thing you get commendations for.

Britton was silent. What could he say? No words he could string together would recoup those losses.

But Therese voiced his thoughts anyway. “I know you’re angry, but fighting everything won’t bring them back to life. Life sucks really badly sometimes, but you still have to live it. You have to pick up the pieces and try to do something with what’s left.”

“Working for them won’t do that,” Swift said.

“We have our honor, we have our pride,” Pyre added.

“The army uses those terms a lot,” Britton answered. “Honor’s one of our core values. That shit all goes by the wayside the moment bullets start flying, or someone’s competing for a billet, or somebody is trying to get out of an assignment. Hell, you sound more army than the SOC.”

“I can look in the mirror each morning,” Swift said. “Can you?”

And Britton was silent at that, because after this latest mission, he thought that maybe he finally could.

But Swift’s smug expression helped him find his voice. “How much longer do you think you’ll be able to look in the mirror, Swift?” Britton asked.

“What do you mean?” Swift asked, cocking an eyebrow.

“You know what I mean. How much longer do you think they’re going to put up with your brand of resistance? They get nothing from you; heck, you actively attempt to subvert others around you. Sounds like a lose- lose situation for the SOC. How much longer before they just up and decide you’re disposable?”

“They wouldn’t do that,” Pyre said.

“Wouldn’t they?” Britton asked. “You’re the ones who go on and on about how horrible and inhuman they are.”

“We’re useful,” Pyre offered.

“Look at Scylla, they just keep her locked in the hole…” Swift added.

“Scylla is an incredibly powerful Probe,” Britton said. “Latency is rare, but I see no shortage of Aero-and Pyromancers around here.”

He thought of Billy again, gibbering, drooling, the leads trailing from his skull. “Maybe they’ll lobotomize you,” Britton said. What was it Harlequin had said? We’ll turn your body over to our medical research facility to see if they can learn anything from your tissues. Either way, you help us. “Maybe they’ll just decide they want to keep you around for medical research.”

Swift looked shaken. “They won’t do that.”

“Or maybe you don’t appreciate the seriousness of what you’re taking on here. Swift, I learned a long time ago that if you want to change powerful organizations, you have to do it from the inside. You have what it takes to do that.”

Swift’s voice was barely audible. “You don’t understand…I can’t.”

My God, Britton thought. Am I actually cracking him? If he raises the flag, the whole No-No Crew will follow suit.

“I do understand. Your girlfriend and child would understand, too. I know what the SOC did to you, to them, but that doesn’t mean that you have to throw your own life away trying to get revenge for it, especially when you’re not succeeding. Your family would want you to survive. They’d want you to go on.”

Swift found his composure, and with it, his anger. “What the fuck do you know about my family? I’d rather die than work for these bastards. If they decide they’re tired of my free will, let ’em come and kill me. At least I’ll die free.”

Britton looked at the razor wire and guard towers surrounding them and let the overstatement pass.

“I’ll fight,” Pyre added, not looking certain at all.

“And you’ll lose,” Britton finished for him. “I know it, and you know it. Hell, Swift, you don’t want to die.” He reached out to put his hand on the Aeromancer’s shoulder. “I don’t want you to die, either.”

Swift shrugged the hand off and bit down on a curse that came out garbled. He stalked off, Pyre trailing him.

You lost him, Britton thought. He shook his head. Therese and Fitzy joined him as he moved toward the SASS gate, glancing at the pillbox’s rusted door as he did.

As if Scylla had sensed his gaze, the panel slid aside. “Won’t I be seeing you anymore, my pretty Oscar Britton?” Her voice drifted out to him.

“No, Scylla. I’m done with you, with all of you. I’m done here.”

“Oh, but I think I will,” she replied. “Yes, I do believe I will.”

As if sensing Britton’s discomfort, Fitzy gave him and Therese their privacy, walking a good way ahead of them both. He was quiet for a long time, looking at his boot tops until Therese nudged him. “What? You’re going to let Swift get to you?”

“I just wish I could reach him,” Britton said.

“That’s good of you, really,” she said. “But it’s not your job to save him.”

“I want to save him,” Britton said. “We saved those hostages, Therese. It was amazing. That’s what magic can do if we let it.”

“It was amazing,” Therese agreed. “You’re a hero, Oscar.”

Britton shook his head. “No way. I killed my father, Therese.” It felt good to say it, as if admitting it dragged the fact out into the light and cleansed it in the Source’s unnaturally bright sun.

Therese was quiet for a moment. “Did you mean to, Oscar?”

He shook his head. “I don’t think so. I hated the man, but I didn’t mean to kill him.” If it felt good to say it, it felt doubly good to know it was true.

“You ever heard of ‘Rending,’ Oscar?” Therese asked, her voice scarcely above a whisper.

Britton nodded. “Physiomancy the other way. Instead of closing wounds, you make them.”

It was Therese’s turn to look at her feet. “That’s how I Manifested. By the time the smoke cleared, I’d messed a guy up pretty bad.”

“Dead bad?”

She nodded.

Britton couldn’t think of what to say to that, so he followed with a repeat of her question. “Did you mean to kill him?”

She nodded again. “Fucker was putting his hands on me. If I hadn’t, he’d probably have raped me.”

“Bastard deserved it then,” Britton said. “You did right.”

Therese shook her head. “It was horrible. I don’t care if it was right or wrong. I’m never doing that again. Now that I can control it? Never again.”

They walked on in silence after that. Fitzy, noting a break in the conversation, paused to let them catch up. The adrenaline charge Britton had felt at taking on Swift had faded, leaving him tired and vaguely ill. He turned to Fitzy. The smaller man kept pace at his side, his face fixed and eyes hidden behind his perennial aviator glasses. His stride was pompous, his carriage arrogant, but Britton put it aside. He helped you back there. He didn’t have to let you do that.

“Thanks, sir,” Britton said. “I appreciate you sticking up for me back there.”

Fitzy didn’t break stride and kept his eyes fixed straight ahead. “Don’t go expecting a reach around, Keystone. I did that for one reason and one reason only — because there was the slimmest chance that I could get yet another malcontent to do the right thing and ante up for his country. Don’t go laboring under the delusion that this had anything to do with anything approaching the slightest positive inclination toward your sorry ass.”

Fitzy’s voice was a monotone command drawl. Britton couldn’t tell if the man was being ironic.

“Well, thanks anyway, sir,” he tried.