Myke Cole - Shadow Ops - Control Point

“The Selfer has none of these traits. All he has is magic. Take that away from him, and you have a frightened child, helpless and ripe for the righteous punishment that you will mete out on behalf of the government of the United States and God Almighty upon whom our sovereignty depends.

“And that’s what we’re going to teach you now. How to take that magic away.”

Fitzy tapped the armored fist on his chest. “Suppression is a highly sophisticated art. It is an act of intricate skill rather than power. This is why Rump Latents like me wind up assigned to it so frequently. If you can learn the knack, and I assure you that you can and will, you can interdict anyone’s magical capability.

“And that’s the thing, isn’t it?” he asked, coming closer to Britton. “We all know that my magic is ten times weaker than yours. But with proper training, that’s just fine.”

As he spoke, three nervous-looking Novices filed into the compound. All three were male, broad-shouldered, and tall.

“SAOLCC has seen fit to tap Cepheus and Camelopardalis Covens to loan us some Terramancers,” Fitzy said. “These men were chosen because of their facility with nonsentient automatons, what we affectionately call ‘tar babies.’ ” As he spoke, the men spread their arms, and the soil before them bubbled upward until roughly man-shaped piles of earth swayed before them, chips of rock sparkling from within.

“You may consider these tar babies as your incentive to get this right the first time. They will clobber the snot out of you until you can destroy them. The only way you can do that without getting me highly agitated is by Suppressing the magical flow that animates them. You will do this by Binding your own magical current to theirs, without giving it shape — such as a gate”—he pointed to Britton—“or a sentient elemental”—he nodded to Downer.

“This is conducted, like most magical exercises, largely by feel. The only way to learn it is to do it, so let’s start learning.”

The going was tougher than Britton expected. He stood across from the automaton. The Novice behind it saluted and dropped into a MAC guard, the tar baby following suit, the cut of its hips and shoulders mimicking its driver exactly. It lunged for Britton, throwing a rocky right cross at him that he easily blocked. But the automaton was made of hard earth and rock, and Britton danced backward, cradling a bruised arm.

Fitzy laughed. “You won’t get far that way.”

Britton reached out a hand and tried to visualize his current flowing through the automaton. Before he could blink, a gate had opened in the middle of the creature, cutting it neatly in half. The Novice behind backed out of his guard and raised his hands. Fresh earth flowed upward to fill the cracks, knitting the tar baby back together while Fitzy yelled. “What part of ‘don’t use your magic except to Suppress’ didn’t you understand?”

“Sorry, sir,” Britton said. “I didn’t mean to. This is new to me.”

“My boot up your ass isn’t new to you,” Fitzy shouted, “and that’s what’s coming if you keep this crap up. Do it right, Keystone!”

Beside him, Downer’s tar baby was already a pile of loose rocks and clods of dirt. “It’s easy.” She beamed.

“How the hell are you doing it?” Britton asked.

“Umm. It’s like…it’s like there’s a string from the Novice to the tar baby,” she said. “Try opening your gate there.”

“It’s not group therapy, Keystone!” Fitzy shouted, and nodded to the Novice, who charged the automaton forward, catching Britton off guard. He ducked backward, but not before a rocky hand swatted him hard on the ear, leaving his head spinning.

Britton focused on the image of a chain connecting Novice and tar baby and tried again. His mind flashed a vision of Portcullis’s loading bay out of habit and for a moment, a gate flashed open in front of the Novice’s face. He gasped and stumbled backward before Britton could close it. The automaton stumbled backward as well, raising its arms in time with its master to ward off the gate.

“Damn it!” Fitzy snarled, striding forward.

Britton sidestepped a few paces and concentrated on calling the magic, Binding it to the thread between tar baby and Novice, pushing all other thoughts from his mind. Fitzy reached him, raising a hand, then stopped as the automaton collapsed.

Britton could feel his flow pushed outward, intersected with the Novice’s. The pressure of the foreign flow interleaved with his own, a gentle pulsing in his chest. As his mounted, it yielded slightly.

“I got it,” he said, raising his hands. “I got it, sir.”

Fitzy nodded stiffly at the collapsed automaton. “Lucky thing, too,” he said, and dropped his hand. “Let’s see you do it again.”

Britton couldn’t do it again for much of the next round, but neither did he make the mistake of opening a gate. When he finally managed the Suppression, Fitzy simply called for another go. By the fifth fight, both he and the Novice were sweating. The fatigue made it harder to concentrate on rolling back the magic, forcing him to fight the tar baby as best he could, his forearms, shins, and chest quickly becoming a field of bruises. The pain made him long for a trip to the cash for more of Marty’s healing leaves.

But by the end of the day, he was Suppressing as consistently as Downer.

The Coven’s spirits were high as they wrapped up the day’s session. They traded jokes and slapped one another’s backs as they took turns rolling one another’s magic back. Even Fitzy cracked a smile and pronounced their efforts “something approaching competence,” before giving them liberty and leaving them to their own devices.

But Britton’s good spirits sank as quickly as they had risen. What are you so happy about? he asked himself. Because you’ve learned a new skill that now belongs to your slave masters? You’re all just tools in a toolbox, a good day of training won’t change that.

“I’ll hit the showers and maybe catch up with you all in the OC,” Britton said, trying not to let the feeling show.

“Uh, negative.” Downer grinned at him. “You are going directly to the cash. Do not pass Go.”

Britton looked down at the network of bruises covering his arms.

“Your face isn’t much better,” Richards said.

“Thanks,” Britton said.

Truelove laughed and headed down the muddy track toward the hospital. “Come on, Keystone, let’s get you fixed up.”

Britton felt pride surge in spite of himself. He was mastering his abilities, he was part of a team that was every bit as skilled and dedicated as he was. Even if the army owned them all, their affection for him was genuine enough. These people were still his friends.

“I think I’m going to get cleaned up first, maybe lie down for a bit.”

“Are you kidding?” Downer asked. “You look like you got hit by a truck.”

“Yeah,” Britton said. “I’m just kind of licked. A few bruises won’t kill me. I’ll catch up to you.”

“This isn’t about Fitzy’s new anti-Goblin-fraternization stance, is it?” she pressed. “If you need to see Marty, go see him. You know I always say, regs are meant to be broken.”

Britton laughed in spite of himself. “Do you always say that?”

“Well, no,” she admitted. Her face went pensive, then she flashed him a smile that showed the dazzling beauty she would one day become. “But I’m learning to.”

But in the end he didn’t go back to his hooch; his feet took him back down the same muddy lane, tracking slowly toward the cash. Why was he going? He wasn’t hurt that badly. Despite Downer’s mothering of him, he would do much better with a nap than a doctor.