Myke Cole - Shadow Ops - Control Point

The Officers’ Club was crowded, some in and some out of uniform — looking every bit as tired and disheveled as those on line for the chow hall. A few of the barstools stood empty. A coast guard ensign in rumpled blue utilities stood to grab another drink from the bar, his eyes falling across Britton and Truelove.

He froze, staring.

A moment later, an army captain followed his gaze. He shifted in his chair, tapping a buddy on the shoulder, and gesturing. Within moments, all talk, clinking of glasses, and stubbing of cigarettes had stopped. The only sound in the Officers’ Club was the upbeat two-step belting from the Wurlitzer — the singer reminding the audience never to forget the old dirt road in their heart of hearts.

Truelove self-consciously made his way to the bar, muttering apologies as the room began to empty until only a few die-hard marine officers sullenly occupied a table near the door.

Britton joined Truelove at the bar but kept the marines in his peripheral vision. The bartender, a pale-faced, ginger-haired Entertech contractor, glared at them, muttering into his beard. Truelove looked embarrassed but didn’t dare ask for a drink.

Britton followed Truelove’s lead before deciding it was ridiculous. He opened his mouth to order a drink when the door banged open, and three more figures entered.

The first was a Goblin, small even for its race. It wore blue surgical scrubs, its broad, three-toed feet bare. Its bald brown skull was covered with a small blue surgical hat and a face mask that hung from a large, pointed ear. Tiny white dots covered its forehead and cheeks.

Behind the Goblin stood a young girl in a Coven Four uniform — the left pectoral showing the four elements surrounding a central eye. She was in the prime of adolescence, slightly chubby. Her head had been recently shaved.

Recognition hit him as she approached, smiling at Truelove.

He’d last seen that face slicked with sweat, panting in a stairwell, where a nine-millimeter round had taken a bite out of her side.

Harlequin entered behind her, seeing the recognition on Britton’s face and smiling ruefully.

The marine officers muttered at the new arrivals, glaring hard at the Goblin. “…that Coven. Hang out with those freaks. You believe that?”

The girl looked at them, and the marines suddenly found the depths of their drinks fascinating. Her eyes returned to him, and Britton felt himself swamped, unable to speak. Alive? She was alive? He started to stand, reach out for her, then thought better of it and sat down.

“You must be the new arrival,” the girl said.

Britton ignored her, holding Harlequin’s eyes. When he could finally speak, he said, “But you killed her.”

“This is your basic problem,” Harlequin said, “which I thought I made clear on the ride out to Portcullis. You think you’re so much smarter than everyone else.”

The girl looked askance at Harlequin, who smiled. “This is one of the assaulters who took you down. Turned out to be a Probe himself.”

The girl turned back to Britton, her eyes widened. She swallowed but said nothing.

“I’m…” What could he say? “I’m sorry.” The words came out in a rush. “I didn’t want to…I had to.”

The girl opened her mouth to say something, then closed it. She looked at her feet.

“I don’t believe this,” Britton said.

“Believe it,” Harlequin said. “While you’re at it, believe that you wasted a lot of time and effort and hurt a lot of people unnecessarily by running. If you’d just done the right thing, we’d have taken care of you. But you decided that you knew better. Did you honestly think we kill Probes, particularly Porta-mancers? Christ, Oscar, it’s possibly the rarest and most powerful school of magic. We’re not just going to chuck that in the trash.”

“You faked her death,” Britton said. “You kidnapped her. That’s slimy even for you. How’d you manage it?”

Harlequin shook his head. “A good magician never reveals his secrets, Oscar. And considering that the law would have given her death, we figured taking her into custody was a step up.”

“It’s all right,” the girl said in a voice that didn’t sound like it was all right at all. She pulled up a vacated stool. “It’s better than running. They train you and have your back. We’ll be real Sorcerers now.” Her words were rote, wooden.

“How many times did you make her repeat that?” Britton asked Harlequin.

Harlequin shook his head. “So much smarter than everyone else.”

Britton framed a retort but was cut off by the girl’s quavering voice. “Sarah Downer,” she said, extending a hand.

The gesture took all the fight out of him. So brave. She’s been ripped from her moorings, same as you. And she’s so much younger. Yet here she is, swallowing her fear and offering her hand to the man she knows shot her.

Shamed by her bravery, it took him a moment to take her hand. “Oscar Britton,” he said, overwhelmed.

Harlequin chuckled at Britton’s stunned expression. “Take a lesson from young Downer here. She seems to have figured out some things you’d do well to imitate.”

Downer lit up at the compliment, her pale cheeks blushing as she studiously avoided looking at him.

Britton stared at his lap, speechless. Was it possible that Harlequin was right? The SOC hadn’t killed her. Was there a method to their madness? Could they be the good guys after all? He shook the thought away. His anger returning at the sight of her reaction to Harlequin’s compliment. “She’s just a kid,” he said. “You scared the crap out of her. You’ve probably been interrogating her nonstop since I ran. Are you surprised she’s supposedly ‘come around’?”

Harlequin shrugged. Downer blanched, and Britton’s anger immediately gave way to shame again.

“You know, for a so-called kid, she’s a hell of a lot smarter than you, Oscar,” Harlequin said as he leaned down to help the Goblin onto the stool beside Truelove. Downer rushed to help, her eyes fixed firmly on the Aeromancer. Truelove grinned, slapping it lightly on the back and turning to the bartender.

“You know I ain’t gonna serve him,” the bartender said, gesturing at the Goblin.

Truelove looked studiously at his lap, but Harlequin folded his arms over his chest. “And you know I’m not going to ask you twice, Chris.”

The bartender bristled, but Britton could see the fear in his eyes. “I’ll leave. You can serve him your damn self.”

“I think we can manage opening a couple of beer bottles. If you’d care to take your useless ass off to bed, I’d be delighted to oblige,” Harlequin said.

Chris threw down his bar cloth and strode around the bar. He thrust an angry finger at the Goblin, who sat passively on his stool, ignoring him. “You know he’s a damned spotter. Hell, he’s probably running weapons out to the tribes. I can’t believe they let him work in the cash. Who knows how many people he’s poisoned?”

“Entertech and the army seem to feel differently,” Harlequin said. “Now get lost before Simon brings your great-grandma out here to lecture you on the pitfalls of bigotry.”

Chris turned purple but shuddered at Harlequin’s words. He stormed out, the last of the marines on his heels.

Harlequin groaned and shook his head. Truelove slid off his stool and went behind the bar. He rummaged around, producing two long-necked bottles of cold beer and a cup, which he set in front of the Goblin.

“You’ve got to cut Chris some slack,” Truelove said haltingly, clearly uncomfortable from the confrontation. “The tribes don’t take kindly to our presence here. Most folks at the FOB have a tough time distinguishing between the Goblins that work for us and the ones trying to kill us.”