Shadow Ops: Fortress Frontier-ARC (pdf conv.) (3 page)

“Doc, could we—”

“We’ll keep this between us,” Thompson cut him off, his voice sympathetic. “You’re not the first field grade I’ve had in here with this condition, sir. It’s stressful at the top. Sometimes you have to make room for that. You just call me tomorrow.”

The doctor paused in the doorway. “There’s one thing, sir.”

Bookbinder pulled up his pants and buttoned them. “What?”

“It’s silly, really.”

“What is it?” Bookbinder was tired and hungry and irritated at having wasted an entire working day.

“Well, I have to ask you to call your command’s SOC liaison.”

Bookbinder’s jaw dropped. “You think I’m Latent?”

“It’s just that some of your symptoms are consistent with new Manifestation. Protocol is that it gets reported, but there’s no reason you can’t take care of that yourself. Don’t worry, you’re not Latent. You’re not actually displaying any magical power, which only ever happens with Rump Latents, but they don’t have sensations as strong as what you’re describing. A lot of them don’t even know they’re Latent until someone else picks up their current.”

“Believe me, this is superstrong,” Bookbinder said. “I can barely concentrate on anything else.”

“I know,” Thompson said, “which is why I’m sure you’re not Latent, but you still need to check in with the SOC LNO. Just takes a second for them to send a Seer over. Again, don’t worry. Even if you are Latent, you’re not Manifesting, which means it’s Rump and no real danger to anyone.”

Bookbinder pulled his shirt on and nodded. “Okay, Doc. Thanks.”

Thompson nodded, waved, and left him alone in the drowning tide, suddenly malevolent now that it had a potential name.

Magic,
Bookbinder thought. He thought of his house in Arlington, his wife and children, his retirement check just a few years away. After that, an easy job as a defense contractor, the double-dipping ensuring smooth sailing for Julie and the girls.

Then golfing, summers in the RV at national parks, and long weekends at the seashore. Maybe grandkids if he was lucky.

Magic did not fit into that equation. Even those who didn’t go Selfer were ostracized.

Get ahold of yourself,
he thought.
It’s like 1 percent of 1 percent who actually come up Latent. It’s like the doc said—panic attack.

He suddenly found himself hoping the doctor was right.

He punched up the SOC liaison on his dashboard phone during the drive home.

The voice that answered was grainy and distorted. “SOC. Talon.”

Bookbinder paused at the lack of phone courtesy, then reminded himself that the SOC didn’t follow protocol like the big army.

“Hi, this is Colonel Alan Bookbinder, I’m the J1 for AMC.”

“Sure, sir.” The voice became friendlier, he guessed in reaction to his rank. “How can I help you?”

“I feel ridiculous even calling you, but I’ve been feeling really weird lately, and the doc couldn’t find anything wrong with me. But he said I have to report to you.”

“Uh–huh,” Talon said.

“So,” Bookbinder went on, filling the uncomfortable silence that followed. “I’m reporting.”

“Drowning sensation?” Talon asked. “Like you’re in the middle of a river that’s flowing through you?”

A sick chill settled in Bookbinder’s gut and began to work its way up his spine. The current intensified.

“Yes. . . that’s it exactly,” he croaked.

Talon didn’t react to the change in his voice. “You have a nightmare, sir? Or a really vivid dream just before the sensation came on?”

Bookbinder nodded at the speaker before remembering that Talon couldn’t see him. The car behind him honked, and he realized he had slowed to a crawl. He put on his blinkers and pulled over.

“Yes,” he said again.

“But you obviously haven’t Manifested or you’d be on your way here in person instead of calling me.” Talon’s voice was calm.

“Yes,” Bookbinder said. Panic drowned him. “Do you. . . oh my God, do you think I might be Latent?”

Talon chuckled on the other end of the phone. “Hell, sir. You’re not Latent. If you had actually come up Latent enough to feel the flow, you’d have Manifested. If you were Rump, you probably wouldn’t feel anything at all. And on the odd chance that you are Rump, you’re no threat to yourself or others.”

“But . . . but you knew about the nightmare . . .”

“That’s a common symptom, but it doesn’t always happen that way. I Manifested in the middle of the afternoon, taking a shower. It’s okay, sir. You want me to send a Seer over to your house now to see if he can pick up a current? Or I could swing by myself . . .”

Relief replaced panic, drowning all. “No, no, it’s fine. God, I feel like a damned fool. I’ll come by tomorrow morning. Let me at least get a good night’s sleep and see how I feel when I wake up.”

Talon laughed again. “Roger that, sir. I’m usually in around 0700, we’re on the . . .”

“Fifth floor, A ring, I know.” You couldn’t miss it on all the posters encouraging those who suspected they might be Latent to self-report.

“Okay, I’ll see you tomorrow.”

See? Damned idiot. No way you’re Latent.
Relief and embarrassment churned in him. He felt the current rising, as if in response. Damn, but that was weird. Oh well, panic attack it was. He would go home, take the pills, and get some sleep.

But not before he kept his promise to Kelly.

He swung into the convenience-store parking lot and jogged through the entrance, pausing as he reviewed the signs swinging over the aisles looking for the breakfast cereal. He spotted a line of purple boxes peeking off one of the metal ledges and made his way toward them.

And stopped short.

The tide that drowned him was suddenly crossed by another; strong and foreign. His eyes wrenched off the cereal boxes and moved unerringly toward the current’s source.

A young boy, no more than sixteen, stood at the end of the aisle. Ripped blue jeans draped over wide sneakers. A black hooded sweatshirt masked most of his features, but not his eyes, wide open in shock and fixed on Bookbinder’s uniform.

The sick feeling rushed back into Bookbinder’s gut, bullying away the sweet relief.
He can feel my current, too.

Panic attacks didn’t facilitate that kind of communication.

Only magic did.

The kid yanked down the shelf, sending an avalanche of cereal boxes cascading between them.

He turned and ran.

Bookbinder went after him.

Bookbinder vaulted the pile of cereal boxes. He landed a foot short, his slick-soled dress shoe skidding sideways and sending him sprawling. The kid dashed around the aisle, racing for the exit.

“Wait!” Bookbinder called after him, scrambling to his feet.

“I’m not going to do anythi . . . I’m not . . .”
Not going to what?
he asked himself.
Why are you chasing him?

I have to know,
he answered himself,
if I’m like him.

He spun, pushing off against the crushed boxes and chasing the kid through the store doors, ignoring the clerk, who was threatening to call the police.

“Kid! Stop I . . .” Bookbinder called. The kid pumped his arms, the hoodie flying back to reveal a shock of unruly black hair. He rounded the corner of the store and tore down the alley, knocking down trash cans.

Bookbinder pursued him, his wind up now, vaulting the obstacles smoothly. A chain-link fence topped with a coil of barbed wire blocked the exit, but the kid leapt up it. He tangled his sleeve in the barbed wire and struggled, entangling himself worse. He looked over his shoulder at Bookbinder, his eyes wide and unseeing, a panicked animal.

Bookbinder slowed, kept his distance. “Kid, it’s okay. I just want to talk to you. I’m not SOC.”

More scrambling. Bright lines of blood blossomed on the kid’s face and arm.

“Jesus! Stop messing around.” Bookbinder tugged gently at the kid’s ankle. “You’re going to hurt yourself.”

Bookbinder could feel the kid’s current pulsing erratically against his own. Where Bookbinder’s tide felt like a steady soaking, the foreign tide was wild, mounting to crescendo.

“Fuck you!” the kid screamed. “I’m not going anywhere!”

“Nobody’s taking you anywhere. I’m not SOC.”

The kid paused, a glimmer of hope on his face, then he focused, and a snarl overcame his features. “Bullshit, man! I can feel you! You Latent motherfucker!”

The sick feeling he’d had when talking to Talon returned.
You
have your answer, now get out of here.

“Wait,” Bookbinder said. “How do you know I’m Latent?”

You know how he knows.

The kid’s sleeve tore free, and he fell, landing a couple of feet from Bookbinder. He could hear the shouts of others at the end of the alley. The kid’s eyes widened in terror as they looked over Bookbinder’s shoulder. He leveled a hand at the colonel’s chest.

“I can fucking control it, man! I can fucking fry you!”

Bookbinder felt the wild seesawing of his current and knew the kid was lying. “It’s okay, son. Don’t do anything stupid. Nobody’s trying to hurt you here.”

“Back off!” The boy’s current spiked madly. “Just back the fuck off!”

Bookbinder took a few steps backward. The boy frowned, then gritted his teeth as his current spiked again. He raised his hands to his head, shrieking.

The boy doubled over, his current so strong that it blinded Bookbinder’s senses. The colonel lurched forward, reaching out.

“It’s okay! Calm down! You’re going to be okay!”

“Oh Christ,” someone said from behind Bookbinder. “Kid’s going nova. Run!”

But Bookbinder didn’t run, he knelt before the boy, his hands on his shoulders, trying to soothe him. “Listen to me, son. Focus on my voice. Concentrate. You can beat this. You just have to calm down.”

The kid whipped his head from side to side, skin smoking, tendrils of gray vapor wafting from inside his sweatshirt. His hair began to smolder, then burst into flame. He screamed.

The boy threw his head back. His eyes shot wide, then disappeared in puffs of smoke as flames shot from his skull. His skin went black, curling and flapping away from his head. Bookbinder scrambled away on his hands, his eyebrows singed, as the kid writhed on the ground, burning brightly.

Bookbinder got his to feet, panting. He dusted off his uniform instinctively, hands moving involuntarily while his mind grappled with the sight before him.

The kid lay, a smoking ruin that was hard to imagine had once been alive.

That’s magic. That’s what’s in me.

He spun, but the alley was empty; any onlookers had fled at the sight of the boy’s fiery death throes.

He ran, the smell of cooked meat and the echoing screams driving him to his car.

Talon answered the phone on the first ring. “I’m definitely Latent,” Bookbinder said. “I can feel the current.”

Talon sounded exasperated. “Sir, we discussed this . . .”

“No! I met a kid! He just fried himself! I’m outside a grocery store and . . .”

Talon’s voice went flat. “Sir, calm down and listen to me. I need you to be very clear. Are you saying you met a Latent individual and he went nova?”

“Yes! Right in front of me! Just a minute ago!”

“Are the police there?”

“Not yet, but some people saw, and I’m sure they called them.”

“Sir, I need you to get out of there right now. Do you know where the POAC is?”

“The . . . what?”

“The Pentagon Officers Athletic Club. There’s a loading dock underneath it. I’ll make sure it’s cleared. You drive there right now, is that clear? Do not speed. Do not get pulled over. Do not interact with the police in any way.”

Bookbinder’s stomach tensed, but he felt an odd sense of relief at having commands he could follow. “Got it.”

“Okay, now give me your exact address. What’s the name of the grocery store you’re at?”

After Bookbinder told him, Talon asked. “So, what makes you sure you’re Latent? Did you Manifest?”

“No, but I could feel it,” Bookbinder said, starting the car and heading back to the Pentagon. “And this kid could sense it too. He said he could tell.”

“I highly doubt it, but we can’t be too careful. Get here as quickly as you can, sir. Stay away from other people. Do not go home. Do not talk to anyone. Got it?”

“Okay. See you soon.” Bookbinder’s calm surprised him as he pulled back into traffic and began to retrace his route to the Pentagon. The uncertainty that dogged him was gone. The thing inside him had a name. The authorities were on top of it, they would take him and . . .

. . . They would take him.

The current intensified in time with his rising panic. What if they threw him in jail? Or did tests on him? Bookbinder was pretty sure that since he had self-reported, he wouldn’t be punished, but he didn’t know for sure. What if they quarantined him?

What if it was years before he saw his wife and children again?

Talon had told him to come straight in, not to go near anyone.

But Bookbinder found himself turning the car around, gunning the engine and heading for home.

Bookbinder paused outside the door of his home, smoothed his uniform again, and wiped the panicked tears off his face. His wife and children were inside. He had to be strong for them.

Because this may be the last time you see them.
Bookbinder knew what happened to Selfers. There was no way he would run.

He took a moment to survey the neatly manicured lawn, the crisply pressed American flag flapping from a pole bolted to the doorjamb.

He took a deep breath and pushed through the door.