Control Point (33 page)

“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.”

“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.

“You can thank me tomorrow,” Fitzy said, glancing briefly at Therese, “by stopping these sickening attempts at foreplay and actually putting in some work.”

Britton refused to give up on Wavesign. He enlisted Therese’s help. “He might need a woman’s touch,” he mused. “Who knows? Maybe it’d break him loose. You raised the flag, and I know he likes you…”

Salamander insisted they stay for the day’s classes. “Never hurts to have a refresher.”

Wavesign, for his part, ignored them with studied effort. Britton might have pushed the issue, but Therese’s company mellowed him, and he sat at the back of the classroom, acutely aware that their knees were lightly touching and pretending not to notice.

They exited the schoolhouse, tired and cramped. They’d missed chow, but Salamander had ordered a small folding table set up in the mud, covered with brown paper lunch sacks. Wavesign left quickly and moved beyond their reach. Britton decided not to chase him. He waited as the rest of the No-No Crew passed, then tapped Therese on the shoulder. He grabbed a sack from the table and tossed it to her, motioning at the cold dirt.

“As comfortable as any spot in this pit,” he said. He slid down the building side, winced as a splinter dug through his shirt, and settled on the ground, grimacing.