Shadow Ops 3: Breach Zone (30 page)

Chapter Sixteen

Call To Arms

Forcing children into military service has been the hallmark of failed states around the world, and a tragedy that the UN and a slew of NGOs has worked tirelessly to combat. In the Ivory Coast, Uganda, Rwanda, Kurdistan, the cry of outrage is heard at each new report of children forced to go to war. Except in the United States. Here, Latent children are routinely indoctrinated into the SOC in the name of national security, and the voices of outrage are suddenly silent, quietly grateful that someone is dealing with the problem.

– Jill Vasconez
Human Rights Watch

Harlequin and Bookbinder double-timed it back to the ready room at Castle Clinton.

‘Got a few cans of 7.62mm rounds under my desk,’ Harlequin said. ‘Let’s start with those, then we can tour the ammo dumps after that.’

‘Why not?’ Bookbinder asked, as they stepped into the ready room.

And froze.

The normally bustling room was completely still. The servicemen and women stood, eyes wide, gaping at screens that normally showed the park’s perimeter, locations of supply dumps and troops, red triangles indicating where the enemy was attacking in the greatest force.

They now showed the news, an orange-and-blue banner reading –
BREAKING: LIVE
beneath it.

They were dominated by a single face. Dark, wise eyes were surrounded by skin as pale as it was smooth. Jet-black hair ended at sharp points along the jawline. The full lips were set in a smile at one corner, as if the speaker were enjoying a private joke.

Scylla had abandoned her leather armor. Her skin tone was even, still creamy white, but showing well under the camera’s scrutiny. Since his appointment as Special Advisor to the Reawakening Commission, he’d been the SOC’s public face, and that meant lots of time on television. He was no stranger to the tricks of the trade. He could tell a professional had been at work here.

Scylla wore a black suit, fashionable, reasonable, and probably looted from one of the upscale boutiques that her army had ransacked. A simple strand of pearls adorned her neck, matching studs in her ears. She looked presentable, professional.

Like a politician.

The sight evoked the Grace he had known – brilliant, hopeful, refusing to be locked down by the small minds around her. God, she was so beautiful. Looking at her made his stomach hurt. Harlequin could almost imagine that she was still Grace, that nothing had changed. That she should be reasoned with.

But then she spoke.

‘. . . greatest regret over the devastation wrought by the airborne attack against the Trump Building. It was an unnecessary loss of life that underscores the carelessness with which this nation’s military has always handled its responsibilities.’

In the lower-left-hand corner of the screen, a YouTube video clip ran on a constant loop, showing A-10s peeling off and the bronze finial atop the spire of the Trump Building slewing to one side, hanging for a moment, then finally crashing down in a cloud of sparks and smoke.

Scylla gestured to the clip. ‘Apparently we’re not the only ones responsible for damage to this city. The free tribes of the Source do not fly attack aircraft.

‘I’m not surprised, of course, and neither should you be. This administration has already shown itself to be interested in just one thing: perpetuating its own power. That’s why we’re here – because if we let the new president go on doing exactly what the old one did, and he will, then the next thing he’ll conquer is the Source. The Native American tribes of the Home Plane have already experienced the American insatiable thirst for conquest, and that’s why they’re fighting, too, along with their indigenous brothers and sisters who have crossed into this plane to make sure that what happened to the Apache never happens to them.’

The YouTube clip shifted to battle scenes from the Mescalero reservation. Giants and goblins surged around a core of
Gahe
, trading magical and conventional fire with barricades manned by uniformed soldiers. The magical fighting seemed to be more intense here, with bursts of lightning and flame lighting up the desert landscape.
That’s because the SOC is there
, Harlequin thought. There were far less
Gahe
to be seen, but they were more than made up for by squads of Apache Selfers. Many of them were painted to mimic their mountain gods, skins pitch-black, horned and grinning masks over their faces. The non-Latent Apache moved with them, firing rifles, far more accurate and disciplined than any goblin.

‘So, I’m speaking directly to the so-called Selfers of the United States. Is your experience really so different from what the Apache suffered when the West was supposedly won? Humans cannot stand one simple fact: that Latent people have a power over which humans have no control. The two Gate-Gate incidents have shown us something more, as did my time imprisoned at the now-no-longer-secret base in the Source: The government has no intention of making magic “safe”. They have every intention of gaining control over it. They don’t want to protect anyone; they want to empower themselves, and they want to do it on your backs.

‘The SOC maintains control via a drug known as Limbic Dampener, which helps control the emotional center of the brain, which conducts magic. If this drug were freely distributed, all would have control over their magic, and there would be no need for the McGauer-Linden Act. But they will never distribute it. Because their contractor, Entertech, has made so much money off its production that they can afford to buy every politician on the Armed Services Committee.

‘I know. I invented the drug. When I wouldn’t sell it to the SOC, they threw me in a hole to rot. These are the people who rule you. They could end the crisis tomorrow, but money and power are too important to them.’

Bookbinder shook his head, looking at Harlequin. ‘That bitch! Do you believe this cra . . .’

But Harlequin stared at the screen, biting back tears.

‘It’s true, sir,’ he said. ‘It’s all true.’
Oh, Grace. I lost you.

‘Your government would have you believe we are an invading army,’ Scylla went on. ‘What we are is an instrument of liberation. The United States of America ceased to be a free country the moment the McGauer-Linden Act was signed into law. Apartheid is apartheid, even when the class it seeks to oppress is a powerful one. To all the so-called Selfers watching, I say this: Against the might of the US military, you don’t have a fighting chance. But banded together, we can throw down this traitorous regime and take our rightful place as free people, lords of our own bodies and minds. Together, we can be free at long last. Anyone watching the news this past week cannot fail to find us. You know where we are, and we welcome you. The so-called Breach Zone is just the beginning. It forms the kernel of a new society built on the ashes of the old. This country was founded on a fight for freedom. It was Thomas Jefferson who reminded us that “The tree of Liberty needs to be watered from time to time with the blood of patriots and tyrants.” Now is the time to water. The time to sow comes after, and we will all reap the final reward together. Come, fight. And at long last, be free.’

The screen flashed away from Scylla to split images of the action unfolding in both Mescalero and New York City. ‘This isn’t what we want,’ her voice continued. ‘We have four demands. Once met, the fighting can cease, and there need be no more unnecessary bloodshed. The process of rebuilding can begin.

‘First, the Mountain Gods of the Apache will be reunited with their children in a sovereign territory that encompasses all the land of the Mescalero, Fort McDowell, Jicarilla, San Carlos, Fort Apache, and Camp Verde reservations, as well as designated connecting corridors between them. There are other land disputes that will need to be arbitrated, but that can be ironed out after the immediate withdrawal of all armed human forces from these lands.

‘Second, the five boroughs of New York City are declared a sovereign state safe for Latentkind. Magic-using persons from anywhere in the world will be welcome here, granted immediate citizenship. The Statue of Liberty will once again be a symbol of a place where the oppressed and harried can at last find rest, can build a new home where they are free to be what they truly are. In this land, our Arcania, magic will be recognized for the thing it is, a genetic evolutionary trait. We will build a new world, far better than the old, no longer prisoners of the limitations of technology and the fears of those who are chained to it.

‘Third, the humans will recognize that the Source is a sovereign realm already inhabited by an indigenous people. This is not some backward land to be exploited for its positional advantage and natural resources. The so-called goblin tribes will send ambassadors to negotiate future exchanges and travel on both planes, but no human will ever set foot there again without first receiving explicit authorization from the tribe whose lands they enter. You did what you did to the indigenous population of this country a long time ago, when a technology gap gave you advantages they could not possibly counter. But now, thanks to magic, the playing field is level, and your heavy hand will no longer be tolerated.

‘And last, you dissolve the Entertech Corporation, opening the stores of Limbic Dampener to all, free of charge. In the new state of Arcania, production will begin anew, and never again will Latent people Manifest out of control, fueling the profiteers’ arguments that magic is dangerous, that we need the protection they provide for a generous fee.’

The screen returned to Scylla, panning back to show her full body, the business suit rounded out by a shiny pair of black leather pumps. Harlequin bit down, but the sight of her still tore at him.

Two people stood beside her, also in suits though looking far less natural in them. One was a man with tattoos on his neck and face, scrawling script that Bookbinder couldn’t read. He looked shoehorned into his clothing, thick neck resisting the trim collar of his expensive shirt. His hands were clasped in front of his belt buckle, smoldering gently, flames flickering up between the knuckles.

The other was a woman, her clothing invisible beneath a suit of armor, formed from overlapping plates of ice. It looked impressive, but Harlequin knew it was still ice. It would probably crack if she tried to move. Just the sort of useless drama that Selfers were known for.

Two goblins stood beside them, wearing beaded leather robes sewn with bronze discs. Their faces were covered with fields of white-painted dots. They looked noble, scrubbed clean, heads back and eyes haughty. There were no
Gahe
in the frame. He was sure that was deliberate.

‘Make no mistake,’ Scylla said. ‘We will win this. This is what you have been waiting for all your Latent lives.

‘Join us and fight for it.’

The screen cut away to a news desk, where two analysts began discussing the clip while a cutaway at the top of the screen repeated it.

The room stood in silence.

‘Every time I think we’re digging out of the hole,’ Harlequin muttered, ‘we go right fucking back in it.’ He looked up at Bookbinder. ‘Those magic bullets aren’t going to go nearly as far now. Ah, hell. I should have seen this coming.’

Cormack shrugged. ‘It’s not that bad. How many Selfers are there? And they’re spread across the country and on the run mostly, right?’

Harlequin shook his head. ‘Have you ever heard of the Houston Street Selfer Gang?’

Cormack nodded. ‘Sure, everyone has. But you guys smashed them right before Gate-Gate round two.’

‘It took us years to get inside that organization,’ Harlequin said, ‘and the asset we used to take them down is long gone. They had steady funding streams and a network of tunnels underneath the city that the NYPD and the SOC combined couldn’t take apart. They had safe houses aboveground, there’s no shortage of sympathizers for Selfers on the run in this country, Captain. And now they’re hunkered down in Tribeca, doing a better job than we are at keeping the
Gahe
out. The
Limpiados
are in Chinatown. I’ll bet my right arm both are watching this news show right now. And there’ll be others, from farther afield.’

‘This is New York, it’s the capital of the world,’ Cormack said.

‘I wish that were true,’ Harlequin answered, ‘but I’ve been in the Selfer-hunting business for a while now. There’s the Haudenosaunee Nation in Buffalo. There’s the Storm Lords in Charleston. There’s the Bruja Bloods and the Suicide Girls in Maryland. And that’s just the crews I know who are close to this city. You range farther afield, and you get more. In the past, we were able to keep more on top of them, but with the whole SOC siphoned off between Mescalero and here, that’s probably not the case. It’s only a five-hour flight from the West Coast to here, and even a lousy Aeromancer can match speeds with a jumbo jet.’

Harlequin looked over at Bookbinder. Bookbinder remembered the stress test the SOC had given him at LSA Portcullis. He remembered being ripped from his family, remembered feeling his life adrift, powerless, at the whim of a bureaucracy who had no real interest in his welfare.

And he was one of the lucky ones, inside the system.
It’s okay, sir
, Talon had said.
You reported yourself. It’s fine.

‘She’s a very charismatic woman,’ Bookbinder said. ‘She makes a compelling argument.’

‘She’s also lying,’ Harlequin said, his voice thick. ‘I know Scylla. She’s fucking crazy, and she’s not interested in any free republic. She’s interested in killing people.’

‘That won’t matter,’ Bookbinder said.

‘You tell me, sir. Think about it. If you were a Selfer on the run, with nowhere to go and no chance of amnesty, what would you do?’

Bookbinder frowned, thinking. Harlequin silently hoped he’d say something that would encourage them, knew he wouldn’t. ‘I’d join her,’ Bookbinder said finally. ‘I’d join her and fucking kill you.’

Harlequin nodded. ‘You’re goddamn right you would. This is fourth-generation warfare at its finest. We’re about to have a major insurgency on our hands. And these won’t be tiny goblins or giants and rocs possessed of animal intelligence. These will be Latent
people
. Thinkers, planners, able to use guns and cast spells. They’ll be as much of a problem as the
Gahe
, if not worse.’