Month: December 2020

Okay, so this isn’t chapter 61 yet. Holidays and family and work stuff have colluded to keep me busy, and I haven’t even had the chance to go back and give chapter 60 a proper edit. The good news, 61, is 90% there. The bad, I’m exhausted and don’t want to do 2 not quite done chapters in a row. The best: this is it. 61 is the last chapter, the epilogue.

Afterwards, I think I’m going to go back to posting Old Ventures. I’ll probably take a couple of weeks off, to work on the outline and catch back up. I think I’m going to repost at a chapter a week, so I can get some headway before I’m posting new material again- I really need a little bit of a break from posting 5 days a week. But hopefully tomorrow I’ll be able to put it up. And hopefully, you all like it as much as I’ve liked writing it for you.

EDIT: Nope. Did I say family was part of the slow-down? I did? Okay. Family twice, then. Should be able to get it done tomorrow, as I nominally have the day off.

Sixty-One

“I kind of feel cheated,” Rui said over the phone. “After the night we’ve had, I was kind of looking forward to the idea of setting fire to some CBP vehicles.”

“Yeah, well, if it’s any consolation, you’re still a fugitive, you’re just not wanted for attacking government agents.”

“Yet,” Rui said, “you’ve got to let a man dream.”

“And we’re sure about these coordinates?” Sonya asked. “Because I haven’t seen a road sign for aboot a hundred kilometers.”

“It’s supposed to be in the middle of nowhere,” Ben said. “That’s part of the point.”

“I see headlights,” Rox said, breaking into the party line.

“Aw,” Sonya said, “thanks for noticing; I wore my fancy push-up for you.”

“Less banter, more tree!” Rui said. “Tree tree tree!”

“Hush,” Sonya said, turning the wheel at the last minute and narrowly avoiding a large fir with her side mirror.

“Part of my life flashed before my eyes,” Ben gasped, stepping out of his bus, heaving, “Maybe parts of some past lives, too. I’m pretty sure I was an old west gogo dancer.”

“I’m not sure whether to be scared, or aroused,” Cris said, hopping down from his bus. “Did you look like you?”

“Me, 10% more feminine curves and slightly longer hair.”

“Okay, now I’m aroused,” Rui said.

“Shockingly,” Rox said, walking among them from the shadows, “it’s been days since anyone’s told me about their erections?”

“You missed it, right?”

”It was so short, it was hard not to,” Sonya cut in.

“Everybody okay,” Rox asked her, though her eyes shot right to Ben.

“Better every second,” Ben said, letting go of a breath he felt he’d been holding for several hours as children streamed from the buses. “So, why did you direct us to the creepiest woodland campout ever?”

“Because they’re the Canadian equivalent to our school. Except it’s housed in a secret, ex-military installation in the wilderness, so it’s more secure because it’s anonymous. And, you know, bonus points because their Prime Minister doesn’t feel so inadequate about Breed that he’s made it his personal mission to shove them all out of the country.”

“And we trust them?” Cris asked with an edge in his voice.

Rox looked quizzically at him a moment. “Trust is… an ongoing process. But that’s why we wanted you to meet their Director. Not of operations. But of instruction.”

“Their D. Ops gave me a hand,” Anita said, dropping down from on top of one of the buses. “We started to get concerned he might give me all eight pints of his blood, too, so he’s resting in medical. But the Director of Instruction runs the show. She’s the opposite number of the dean.”

They heard a woman muttering just around the front of one of the busses, “Um, I’m not sure about, whoa-” before she was shoved towards them. Mai stepped out behind her, smiling. “I’m, um, Dr. Maron. I have a doctorate in experimental education, I’ve grown pilot educational programs for several different kinds of classically difficult student populations. While I only minored in genetics, I’ve consulted with some of the top minds in the field of Breed studies. I’ve been talking with your friends, and while our program wasn’t planning on scaling up, that was mostly an issue of funding and population; Canada is much smaller than the US, and most of our Breed have already been recruited to your Blaremont Academy, which as of the arrival of these buses is no longer an issue. And your Latina friend spent the last hour on various stock-buying and betting web sites and has already quintupled the size of our endowment, so that won’t be a factor, either. But I’d like you all to follow me…”

They walked past staff organizing the children into more manageable groups, and into the facility. They moved through the facility’s foreboding corridors, into some dormitories. “I’d like all of you to meet the young man who started all of this.” A young boy was strapped to his bed. “He can be a bit of a wild child, but only when he gets excited. How are you feeling, Roger?” The boy opened his eyes sleepily. They lit up when they saw Dr. Maron. “Don’t be scared. Some people are here I’d like you to meet. I think they’d like to be your friend, if that’s okay with you. Is that okay with you?” He peered anxiously at them. “I’m going to remove your restraints. Remember what we talked about. No biting, no scratching. Most people don’t have extra durable skin or a healing factor to compensate, so you’ve got to be gentle with them.” One at a time she loosened and then removed his restraints. As soon as the last, around his left ankle, was removed, he jumped behind her, and hid.

“It’s okay, Roger,” she soothed. “As far as we’ve been able to piece together, his parents lived on the frontier. The kinds of people who live almost entirely off the land. Their neighbors wouldn’t see them for years at a time. There was some kind of an accident, maybe a gas leak. His parents died. He’s been hunting for food since he was about four, feeding himself, clothing himself, finding enough wood to keep the stove warm. But he’s hardly ever spoken to another human being; he’s essentially feral. He’s young; in cases like this usually a child can be taught, given time, and patience. But with his Breed abilities coming in, he’s a bigger handful than a child his age and size would normally be. But he’s a good boy. Aren’t you, Roger?” He peaked his head out from behind her and nodded slowly.

“Most of the kids here, at least before tonight, were those with extra special needs, ones who couldn’t get into your school because they couldn’t pass the entrance exams, or who were far too young to apply. But fundamentally, our mission isn’t changing tonight- it’s evolving. We’ve been proving for months that targeted educational approaches can work. Until your friends broke in, we’d gone the better part of six months without an incident- Roger being an asterisk. He got out on his way, while he was being transported. I’d been working with him near his home for months, trying to convince him to come work with us here. When it came time for the transport, Garrity wouldn’t let me ride with him- said it was too much of a security risk, and he got scared and kicked the back doors off the van. Garrity sent a goon squad after him; thankfully they didn’t hurt him. But since he arrived, he’s been a very sweet boy.”

“Then why the restraints?” Anita asked, glaring hatefully.

“Because he’s still new here, and adjusting. We’re not sure if he suffers from night terrors, or is just anxious, but he’s not used to being around people. The first day when an orderly came to wake him, he sliced four inch-deep tracts into his face. Thankfully that orderly has an advanced healing ability, and you’d never know I had to hold his eye in my hand for five minutes to keep it from detaching from the optic nerve completely. We’re being more careful with him, that’s all.”

“Is he a prisoner here?” Anita asked.

“That is a bit more complicated,” Dr. Maron said. “Most of our students are here with their guardian’s permission. Since both of Roger’s parents are no longer with us, he’s technically a ward of the state. He’s not a prisoner, but he is in our care, and we’re legally responsible for him. I guess he’s no more a prisoner here than your average kid is a prisoner of their parents- only, I’m not sure we could keep him if he really wanted out.

“That probably answers the question,” Rox interceded. Anita stared at her, nodding furiously.

“Ahem,” Anita said.

“I don’t know if it’s necessary, or whatever,” Rox said. “You seem like an okay person, with people’s best interests at heart.”

“But if you aren’t,” Anita said, muscling past Rox, “my diminuitive friend and I come back here. We shoot, stab, burn and whatever else is necessary through the facility’s support staff. Then we hold our own little mini Nuremberg- we do an investigation, we conduct trials, and we execute anyone who, in our humble opinion, deserves it. As much of a complete and total sociopath as I can be- I really don’t want to do any of that. So imagine how much extra annoyed I’ll be if you make me. Imagine how much longer I’ll make the executions take.”

“How stable is she?” Dr. Maron asked. “Because I’m familiar with the atrocities that took place in the previous program- and disgusted by them. I have no intention of bringing back any of that kind of barbarity. But it doesn’t take the training and experience I have to recognize that this woman is suffering from at least some delusions, and frankly I’d prefer not to risk mine or my staff’s lives unnecessarily.”

“She’s fine,” Rox said. “If you’re providing food, shelter, and training to the children here, then she’ll be the best defender this place could ask for. But I’d be cautious about the edge cases. You have a mental patient who you think will respond to limited electroshock, you have a kid who maybe needs restraints when he gets upset- tell us. Up front and as early as possible. Because if she finds out, and it didn’t come from you- it could be ugly. But I promise- if you’re straight with us- and straight with her, we’ll all stay on the same team.”

“So you’re the good cop, then.”

“I’m the rational cop. She isn’t. But it’s part of my job to keep her on a leash- at least until it’s time to let her off…” Rox and Dr. Maron continued walking, while the others lingered behind.

“Sometimes irrationality’s exactly what you need,” Ben said. “These kids aren’t here today because we thought through the most rational plan to rescue them. They got here because they needed out of that detention facility; and we needed them out of there nearly as bad as they did. Rationality would have seen us negotiating with ourselves until someone else did the right thing. Sometimes the least rational thing in the world is being rational.”

Anita held up her finger. “I don’t know who it speaks more poorly for, but I know exactly what he means.”

The End

End Note

I’m happy you made it this far. I’m happy I did, too. 2020 was a hell of a slog. We all deserve a little appreciation for soldiering through it.

As for what’s next for me, I need a break. Or maybe my family needs me to need a break. But I can’t keep the pace I’ve been on indefinitely. So for the next couple weeks I’ll keep posting the Pitchgiving, and then I’ll start in on another pass for Old Ventures 2. I’ll post a newly redone chapter every week, maybe Monday but I’ll see what makes the most sense. Then we’ll stay on a weekly schedule until it’s done. And I’m weighing doing a Pitchmas sequel… but we’ll see how I feel by the end of Pitchgiving.

Family shit happening, so I won’t be able to give this the pass/polish I normally do until later, but didn’t want to delay the post. So those of you reading right now get a rare glimpse at an earlier draft. Genital warts and all. (Usually I remove them with a belt sander).

Sixty

“Thanks for buying us time,” Tucker said, an instant before Drake appeared.

“It odd when you do that,” he said.

“It’s weirder when he doesn’t, and just talks telepathically so the rest of us only hear half the conversation,” Mikaela said.

“How are things going with your couriers?” Tucker asked.

Mikaela scrolled through the texts on her phone to make sure she hadn’t missed any. “The one in Washington just finished up. The dupe in New York is apparently stuck in traffic. But they’re hurrying as best they can.”

“You up for this?” Iago asked. “You’re not spread too thin?”

“I don’t think I’m like jam. I think once a dupe is here there’s no more energy required from me. But I’m hoping we don’t have to find out.”

“I think I have a better idea than hope.” Drake disappeared. An instant later, the first ICE agent rounded the corner. He turned, behind him, as Drake reappeared and dropped a handgun at Mikaela’s feet. The ICE agents started marching again. Every few seconds, Drake would reappear in their midst, take the gun from an agent and be gone before they could even react. Most had been disarmed, and the procession was just on the edge of earshot, when Drake appeared behind Louie, who spun around, and hit him in the face with the butt of his sidearm. Drake started to fall, and teleported so that he landed beside Iago.

“That was a real bad idea,” Tucker said. “Before this moment, I was happy to let you walk away. But you’re assaulting students- my friends. On campus. In front of the eyes of the world.” He gestured to the cameras half the students were holding up.  

“I am a Federal Officer. I have a sworn affidavit from a witness declaring this school is harboring an illegal- knowingly. You try to stop me from proving it, or if I do, you can kiss your federal funding goodbye, and probably your state funding, too.”

“Given your history of sending armed gunmen to this campus, I don’t think anyone would fault us for questioning the veracity of your claims,” Tucker said.

“What are you implying?” he asked, seething.

“I’m stating as a provable fact that you were instrumental in aiding, abetting and arming the assault on this school last year. I’m stating that you gave the gunmen who threatened the students and teachers here secret governmental weaponry designed to neutralize Breed abilities. You even gave them a few suggestions about the best time of day to assault the campus, a few little tidbits from your time in the Marines about the best ways to destabilize local authorities.”

“Provable how? Because courts have already ruled against evidence gathered through technopathy as unreliable, and confessions given in the presence of telepaths as inadmissible.”

“Provable in that we’ve got the receipts. They’re currently being vetted by journalists across the country. We can also prove that your IP address was logged when that purportedly anonymous tip you’re acting on emailed you. And I’m fairly certain that won’t qualify as exigent circumstances; certainly wouldn’t get you a warrant, which I suspect is why you haven’t bothered to try.” 

“That true?” one of Louie’s subordinates asked.

Louie swallowed. “Of course it isn’t. She’s just trying to hurt morale.”

“Not cool,” another agent said.

“What?” Louie asked, turning angrily in their direction.

“Misgendering him. Not cool. We’re here for an illegal. That’s no excuse to be transphobic.”

Louie rolled his eyes. “It’s a shell game. This whole day has been. Make us waste our time, resources and energy on a raid they had no intention of letting us carry out. Then stimy us at every step. You ask them and they’ll tell us it’s because there’s a problem with our paperwork, or one of tone. That if we tried it over again, they’d totally be on board. But they’re not. They hate our entire mission. This isn’t about caring that we dot our ‘I’s- they want us to stop existing.”

“I feel like he’s telling on himself,” Tucker said. “I trust the rest of you are smart enough to hear it.”

“This has gone too far,” Louie’s subordinate said. “It’s one thing to rifle through some refugees dainties on the strength of a fake tip. But this is a school– one that not that long ago had to fight off an armed insurgency.”

“What?” Louie asked, his voice thundering.

“Jesus fucking Christ, Devin, they are so obviously holding back. You could probably pick one of them at random and they could have killed all of us with barely a thought. That’s abjectly terrifying- which is why I think most of us agreed to help today- but they so obviously aren’t the aggressors here. They have been acting defensively. Patiently, even. This isn’t right. We’ve all felt it, in the pit of our stomachs. We know this isn’t right, and we were all too cowardly to say so, let alone do anything about it. And me stating that- it isn’t brave. We are way too late for ‘brave.’ Who here hasn’t brutalized some immigrant we suspected was innocent? Who here hasn’t threatened a perfectly legal green card holder, or someone with a valid visa, because who’s going to believe them? Or fucked with a dreamer just because we could? This isn’t right; none of it. These kids are just here to learn, to make our world- and our future- better. And the best thing we can think to do is try to scare them into doing it someplace else? No. I’m done. I can’t tell anyone else how to do this, but I’m done.” He set his phone, his keys, and a gun on the street and turned back towards the hill. The crowd of agents parted to let him through, but he hadn’t even cleared them before he was joined by a second.   

“You may not all have the spines to do this job any more,” Louie barked, as still more agents walked. “That’s fine. Scurry home with your tails between your legs. I won’t say a word to your agents in charge; I’m sure they’ll figure out what kinds of cowards they have working under them. But the rest of us have a job to do. The rest of… us,” the crowd was nearly gone, but one was still standing with him.

“We don’t,” he said, and held up his phone while turning up the volume on a news broadcast. “Multiple outlets are reporting that DHS tech was used in the domestic terrorist attack in Bellingham last year. Agency spokespeople have denied any official involvement, but were unable to rule out rogue elements within the Department acting unilaterally. ‘What I can tell you, unequivocally, is that official governmental policy is to acknowledge and respect the civil rights of all citizens and legal residents, regardless of genetic disposition or so-called Breed status. Any agent found to have coordinated with non-governmental actors in comission of these attacks will be prosecuted as co-conspirators and treated accordingly by this department and this government.”

“Thanks for buying us time,” Tucker said, an instant before Drake appeared.

“It odd when you do that,” he said.

“It’s weirder when he doesn’t, and just talks telepathically so the rest of us only hear half the conversation,” Mikaela said.

“How are things going with your couriers?” Tucker asked.

Mikaela scrolled through the texts on her phone to make sure she hadn’t missed any. “The one in Washington just finished up. The dupe in New York is apparently stuck in traffic. But they’re hurrying as best they can.”

“You up for this?” Iago asked. “You’re not spread too thin?”

“I don’t think I’m like jam. I think once a dupe is here there’s no more energy required from me. But I’m hoping we don’t have to find out.”

“I think I have a better idea than hope.” Drake disappeared. An instant later, the first ICE agent rounded the corner. He turned, behind him, as Drake reappeared and dropped a handgun at Mikaela’s feet. The ICE agents started marching again. Every few seconds, Drake would reappear in their midst, take the gun from an agent and be gone before they could even react. Most had been disarmed, and the procession was just on the edge of earshot, when Drake appeared behind Louie, who spun around, and hit him in the face with the butt of his sidearm. Drake started to fall, and teleported so that he landed beside Iago.

“That was a real bad idea,” Tucker said. “Before this moment, I was happy to let you walk away. But you’re assaulting students- my friends. On campus. In front of the eyes of the world.” He gestured to the cameras half the students were holding up.  

“I am a Federal Officer. I have a sworn affidavit from a witness declaring this school is harboring an illegal- knowingly. You try to stop me from proving it, or if I do, you can kiss your federal funding goodbye, and probably your state funding, too.”

“Given your history of sending armed gunmen to this campus, I don’t think anyone would fault us for questioning the veracity of your claims,” Tucker said.

“What are you implying?” he asked, seething.

“I’m stating as a provable fact that you were instrumental in aiding, abetting and arming the assault on this school last year. I’m stating that you gave the gunmen who threatened the students and teachers here secret governmental weaponry designed to neutralize Breed abilities. You even gave them a few suggestions about the best time of day to assault the campus, a few little tidbits from your time in the Marines about the best ways to destabilize local authorities.”

“Provable how? Because courts have already ruled against evidence gathered through technopathy as unreliable, and confessions given in the presence of telepaths as inadmissible.”

“Provable in that we’ve got the receipts. They’re currently being vetted by journalists across the country. We can also prove that your IP address was logged when that purportedly anonymous tip you’re acting on emailed you. And I’m fairly certain that won’t qualify as exigent circumstances; certainly wouldn’t get you a warrant, which I suspect is why you haven’t bothered to try.” 

“That true?” one of Louie’s subordinates asked.

Louie swallowed. “Of course it isn’t. She’s just trying to hurt morale.”

“Not cool,” another agent said.

“What?” Louie asked, turning angrily in their direction.

“Misgendering him. Not cool.”

Louie rolled his eyes. “It’s a shell game. This whole day has been. Make us waste our time, resources and energy on a raid they had no intention of letting us carry out. Then stimy us at every step. You ask them and they’ll tell us it’s because there’s a problem with our paperwork, or one of tone. That if we tried it over again, they’d totally be on board. But they’re not. They hate our entire mission. This isn’t about caring that we dot our is- they want us to stop existing.”

“I feel like he’s telling on himself,” Tucker said. “I trust the rest of you are smart enough to hear it.”

“This has gone too far,” Louie’s subordinate said. “It’s one thing to rifle through some refugees dainties on the strength of a fake tip. But this is a school– one that not that long ago had to fight off an armed insurgency.”

“What?” Louie asked, his voice thundering.

“Jesus fucking Christ, Devin, they are so obviously holding back. You could probably pick one of them at random and they could have killed all of us with barely a thought. That’s abjectly terrifying- which is why I think most of us agreed to help today- but they so obviously aren’t the aggressors here. They have been acting defensively. Patiently, even. This isn’t right. We’ve all felt it, in the pit of our stomachs. We know this isn’t right, and we were all too cowardly to say so, let alone do anything about it. And me stating that- it isn’t brave. We are way too late for ‘brave.’ Who here hasn’t brutalized some immigrant we suspected was innocent? Who here hasn’t threatened a perfectly legal green card holder, or someone with a valid visa, because who’s going to believe them? Or fucked with a dreamer just because we could? This isn’t right; none of it. These kids are just here to learn, to make our world- and our future- better. And the best thing we can think to do is try to scare them into doing it someplace else? No. I’m done. I can’t tell anyone else how to do this, but I’m done.” He set his phone, his keys, and a gun on the street and turned back towards the hill. The crowd of agents parted to let him through, but he hadn’t even cleared them before he was joined by a second.   

“You may not all have the spines to do this job any more,” Louie barked, as still more agents walked. “That’s fine. Scurry home with your tails between your legs. I won’t say a word to your agents in charge; I’m sure they’ll figure out what kinds of cowards they have working under them. But the rest of us have a job to do. The rest of… us,” the crowd was nearly gone, but one was still standing with him.

“We don’t,” he said, and held up his phone while turning up the volume on a news broadcast. “Multiple outlets are reporting that DHS tech was used in the domestic terrorist attack in Bellingham last year. Agency spokespeople have denied any official involvement, but were unable to rule out rogue elements within the Department acting unilaterally. ‘What I can tell you, unequivocally, is that official governmental policy is to acknowledge and respect the civil rights of all citizens and legal residents, regardless of genetics or so-called Breed status. Any agent found to have coordinated with non-governmental actors in coordination of these attacks will be prosecuted as co-conspirators and treated accordingly by this department.”

“Not another step,” Anita said, as Rox crossed into the panic room; she didn’t move her sidearm’s sights from the general leaned against the wall in the opposite corner. “You’re already too close for comfort. But you have to understand, you can’t luck your way through this. This ends, here, and now, one way or the other.”

“I know,” Rox said. “I’m not here to overpower you. Because you’re right. This ends one of two ways- and that decision is completely down to you. I think we both understand you’ve got a decision to make- one that will change the nature of our relationship forever. And I can’t do more than urge you to make the right call.”

“I don’t like the sound of that,” Garrity said, “maybe because she’s already crippled m-ow, goddambid, I bid my dung.”

Rox glared in his direction. “That was me barely paying attention to you; don’t make me focus on you, general, or you might accidentally swallow your teeth.” She turned her gaze to Anita. “Wish I could say this is my first time dealing with a freak out- mine or a friend’s. But it might well be the most violent and elaborate freak out I’ve ever seen.”

“I was voted most likely to violently and elaborately freak out,” Anita said. “Of course, that was here, and in fairness, we were all in a catatonic state of constantly elaborately and violently freaking out; I’m pretty sure the only reason I one was I was the only one who could still write names while that freaked out.”

“Cute,” Rox said. “But I mean it. I’m here to talk- or really, to listen. We’ve been through a lot. And I don’t think you’d have done this if you thought you had another way out. So tell me. And maybe I can help you find a different way. Or maybe you’ll convince me.”

“I don’t even know where to start,” Anita said, staring wistfully at the floor. “I’m not sure how many people I’ve killed. I mean that literally. Even ignoring the fact that I sometimes can’t distinguish between a vivid vision of an alternate reality and my own recollection, even setting aside that they fucked with our heads and our brain chemistry- I’ve killed so many people I can’t keep track of it. And I don’t… maybe that’s because the number’s too big. That if I knew it, if I could quantify it, I couldn’t live with myself. Maybe it’s because there was a time in my life I just stopped giving a shit. That I started to believe that I wasn’t even the most evil thing in this program, so maybe the world really was a bad enough place to need things like us, doing the work we did. I don’t know. And not knowing… I think it makes things a lot worse.

“But I have tried,” she gasped back a sob. “I’ve wanted so desperately to be a good person. To be like you. And Ben. And everyone. But it’s been make-believe. Pretend. Because I know I’m not. I know the only reason my bodycount hasn’t been bigger with you is because I knew you wouldn’t stand for it- and somehow the only thing worse than being me would be being me and getting rejected by you.”

Rox exhaled slowly. “I’m going to let you in on a not-so-secret secret,” she started, choosing her words with care, “there are no bad people. And no good ones. Sure, with your Hitlers, and your Drumps, it feels like they had to come out of the factory wrong. But that’s really not it; in fact, it’s kind of the opposite. The reason someone like Drump gets away with being so awful, is people who like him say he’s a good person, and therefore whatever he does is de facto good. That’s why so many people who don’t think they’re hateful bigots can be so awful to people we care about.

“Really, it’s because so many of us get it exactly backwards. None of us have an intrinsic value. If you want to be a good person, you do good. And you have, Anita. I’ve watched you try to be a better person, to fight back your worst instincts, to wrestle with your inner demons. And none of us win that fight all the time.” She sighed. “I can be a dick, to the people who care most about me worst of all. But when it comes to the big stuff, in particular, I try. And most days that is what separates good people from bad. We honestly evaluate the world we live in, and try to put more good into it than bad. And in practice that can be hard; it’s easy to define ‘good’ by your religion, or your preferences and rubber stamp your actions. But being truthful, in a real, raw way… I’ve seen the person you’ve become. And right now I don’t think you’re angry at Garrity- not at your core. You’re scared. Scared of what he did to you- and how that continues to reverberate, and impact who you are. And just as importantly, you’re scared of what he might do again, including to the little boy we came here looking for.”

“Fuck,” Anita said. “Fuck me. I’d forgotten all about him.”

“No,” Rox said. “Trust me, you didn’t. I’m not saying it was at the top of your mind- because it hasn’t always been at the top of mine this last hour- but it was there, all the same. You care about what happens, to him, to a lot of the people. You’re scared that if you let Garrity live, if he hurts anybody else, it’ll be on you. And I get that; I’ve had that thought myself. So the absolute last thing I’m doing is calling you crazy. But here’s the place where the rubber really meets the road. I trust you. If, in your judgment, the combination of the things he’s done and the danger he poses is just too much for you to let him live- I will back you. I will do my best to explain it, to our friends, to the Canadians, to whoever I need to.

“But… it doesn’t have to be that way, either. If you’re done being afraid of him, and feeling responsible for him, this is your chance to stop. Look at him.” She paused, as they both did. He was an elderly man, gingerly cradling a bloodied stump, unable to meet their gaze. “Whatever he was, whatever power or influence he held- he doesn’t anymore. Not in this moment, certainly, and probably not at all, at least not from where I’m standing. I mean, you’ll note- none of the security staff have come for him.”

Anita’s arm tensed, and the blade in her hand shifted, ever so slightly, the tip slicing through Garrity’s flesh without penetrating beyond the skin. “I spent so much time terrified of you,” Anita said. “How fucking pathetic is that?”

“It’s not,” Rox said. “You were scared then because you needed to be, to survive him. And now, you’ve evolved. And you don’t need to be scared of him anymore.”

“Maybe you’re right. But I seriously would feel better putting one behind either ear.” “I’m sure you would. But I don’t think you need to. And I bet that feels almost as good.”

Note: Whoops. This was in my outline for chapter 54, and even then, I think I probably want to move it earlier, still. But it’s presented now, in an awkward damned spot. The opposite of a Christmas miracle- a Christmistake.

Fifty-Eight

Mikaela’s legs were sore from being on her feet most of the day. She recognized the license plate on the car, running ten minutes late. She thought she could get used to having a technopath army at her fingertips, feeding her information.

She saw the reporter’s pumps first, then her suit as she walked briskly across the parking garage towards her. “You know nobody does this, right?” she asked.  

“This being?” Mikaela asked.

“Clandestine meeting in a parking garage. We video chat, we email. I seriously thought about not coming, because this is a good way to get mugged.”

“Is that why you were late?”

“I was late because the Starbucks drive-thru was a bloodbath. Apparently they ran out of pumpkin spice… somehow. So what’s the big goddamned secret too spicy to have any digital footprint at all? And should I take the battery out of my phone first?”

“Your phone’s been handled,” Mikaela said.

“That’s creepy.”

“You familiar with technopathy?”

“Dorks who can talk to computers.”

“Well, those dorks are preventing the NSA’s dorks from listening into our conversation, or tracking your whereabouts. Which is important, because said NSA dorks have been utilizing government resources to target US citizens.”

“Spying?” The reporter gave a fake yawn.

“Not hardly. I assume you heard about the incursion in Bellingham.”

“An army of gunmen took an entire college campus hostage. And I work in news. So yes, I heard about it.”

“They did it with NSA tech. Technically a joint research initiative with DARPA.”

“That’s juicy,” the reporter said. “If we can prove it.”

Mikaela smiled knowingly. “Of course.” She handed the reporter a grocery store tote bag.

“I think I’m good on iceberg lettuce.”

“What you’ll find in the bag are hard drives containing both the government contracts, and also communication from an Agent Louie from CBP requesting an opportunity to field-test the tech. Dates and times correspond to the campus assault.”

“Holy shit,” the reporter said. “I’ll have to get tech to authenticate, but this is the stuff Pulitzers are made of.”

“Could be,” Mikaela said. “But it’s only fair to warn you that you aren’t the only outlet with copies. Do your due diligence, but if editorial drags their heels you can tell them there are six other outlets in the region who had a head start already- and couriers will be delivering copies to the Times and the Post and every other major outlet in the country by end of business today.”

“Even Cox news?”

“Well, we didn’t send them to the Enquirer, either. I meant news outlets.”

“Burn.” She turned to leave, but stopped to look back. “This is legit, right? You wouldn’t be the first source who tried to launder a hit piece to grind an ax. Hell, if it spills good ink, I’m not sure I care if it’s even true.”

“Oh, it’s true. And you’ll even help protect the kids they used as guinea pigs for their weapon. The only people who lose on this one deserve to.” “I’ll be in touch.”

Rox could feel something poking her in the ribs, and remembered the radio she had clipped to her belt. She keyed it, and asked, “General Garrity?”

“Who the hell is this?” he asked, his voice faint, but still angry.

“Someone who wants to talk to Anita. You should oblige me; I might be the only one who can talk her down from mutilating you.”

“Little late,” he said angrily.

“You always did suffer from little man syndrome,” Anita said over the radio. “Now you’re just a slightly littler man- though even with the extent you overcompensate I’m not sure you can get to be a much bigger asshole. And I’d suggest you not try- or I might be inspired to make you considerably less of a man.”

Mai sniffed the air. “Think I have something,” she said, tilting back a small bust of Alexander the great, revealing a keypad. “You want to do the honors?” she asked Rox, stepping aside.

Rox hit a key, and the pad flashed red without accepting any input. “Garrity wanted me to tell you that the panic room locks down automatically for fifteen minutes,” Anita said over the radio. “No one in or out in that timeframe, even if you guess the code.”

Rox tossed Mai the radio. “I’ll keep at this, you keep her talking.”

“Uh,” Mai said, staring at the radio.

“You both lived through this hell,” Rox said. “That shared experience means you, better than probably any other human being on the planet, understands what she’s going through. Tell her that. And listen.”

“Hey,” Mai said.

“Huh,” Anita replied. “Putting the murderous, anti-social stoic on the radio. I did not see that coming. I mean- I wouldn’t have if that weren’t literally how my ability works.”

“Yeah,” Mai said, exhaling in an almost-chuckle. “Your friend out here moves in mysterious ways.”

“I’m curious if it’ll work,” Anita said. “A little part of me hopes it will,” she said, her voice breaking. “I don’t think I like how this ends, otherwise.”

“Oh?” Mai asked.

“Well, dysfunctional as our relationship’s always been, I’ve grown fond of those runaways. Wish I could say they look up to me, but it’s really mostly the reverse. I wish I were them- that I could be them. That we hadn’t lived through what we did. That I could start fresh. New. Unsoiled. Hopeful.”

“You aren’t,” Mai said softly. “Soiled, I mean. Life is hard. None of us make it through without scars. Some of our wounds never seem to scab over, they just fester, and hurt, and ruin anything they come into contact with. But even at my worst- and I’d bet my worst and yours are about neck and neck- I may have felt broken. And hopeless. And lost. Soiled. But I wasn’t. Losing my memory- even temporarily- it meant I got the illusion of being pure, and innocent, for a while. Maybe that made my transition easier- I don’t know. I still haven’t told my friends everything, because I worry, every day, that they’ll see me, the real me, the person you know and hate for a fucking reason-”

“Mai, I don’t-”

“Maybe not. Maybe that’s just projection- the same way I projected a lot of my anger and frustration and disappointment in myself onto you. But the point is, I’m a little worse-for-wear. A little cynical. And I don’t always know which way is up, let alone what’s right. But none of that damage is permanent, or irrevocable. Some of those wounds may never completely heal, and those that do will leave scars, but there is life after what we’ve lived through. And I’m not saying it’s easy, and I’m sure as hell not saying it’s fair the weight you and I will always carry, but Anita, you survived what I thought at the time wasn’t survivable. And I know you can get through this, too. And even if I doubted you- I know you have people out here who care about you, who will support you. Who will take up some of that heavy load, if you just stop assuming they’ll hate you too much if you let them know who you really are.”

“I see why she gave you the radio,” Anita said. “She’s cleverer than anyone ever credits; it’s hard to see it, past the dumb luck.” “Got it,” Rox said, stepping back from the bust. The door lock disengaged, and the blast door lowered. “We’re in.”

Tucker’s phone rang, and he answered it. “So I have bad news,” Ryan said.

“Let me have it.”

“Agent Louie commandeered the bus. Put a gun to our driver, Miri’s, head, and is forcing her to drive him to campus. Apparently he did not notice the high end cameras we installed. On the plus side, we’ve captured the audio from a half-dozen of their phones, and we’re already uploading it to every news outlet in the hemisphere. The bad is that they’re about only a couple minutes out, and they plan to set off a riot. They say they have an ‘anonymous’ tip of an illegal in one of the dorms, so they’re going to go in and arrest anyone and everyone they ‘suspect’ of being here illegally. The other half of them are going to the records room, to burn every printed record, and destroy anything digital, too. It’s probably not enough to do what they want it to, but if we let them terrorize us here-”

“Then no Breed is going to feel safe anywhere.” Tucker hung up his phone. “Drake?” Tucker asked him.

“Yeah?” he thought back.

“You catch all that?”

“Of course.”

“How long would it take to transport all of us to campus?”

“I think I have a better idea. Where’s Iago?” Tucker reached out telepathically, and shared an image. “Follow me. I’ll need to know where the bus is, next.” Drake disappeared, and an instant later he was in their living room, where Iago was watching the news.

“They just played the audio,” Iago said. “What do you need me to do?”

Drake grabbed him, and they both teleported to the bottom of the hill leading to the school. “We need ice,” Drake said. “As much ice as you can put on that road.”

“Then you need to coordinate with Tucker so some student doesn’t try driving down the hill. Might even want a magnetokinetic, if he can find one.”

“Karl,” Tucker said in his mind. “He’s here, yellow dog shirt.”

Drake was gone in an instant, back with Tucker. “Karl!” they barked in unison, and a tall, wiry kid who couldn’t have been more than 17 stumbled out of the crowd. “You’re with me,” Drake said, and took his wrist, and they were gone.

Iago had already iced over several feet of the road. “Not sure why you started us on the corner,” Iago said. “That seems extra precarious.”

“That was the idea.”

“What’s the plan?” Karl asked.

“You’re playing catcher. Any cars hit this ice, I need you to set them as gently as you can in the ditch.”

“It really doesn’t work that way,” Karl said nervously.

“However it works, make it work,” Drake said. “We’re out of time and we’re out of options.”

“We’re stopping traffic at the top of the hill,” Drake heard Tucker in his head again. “And I warned the driver. She can heal herself- just don’t let anyone die. Oh, and she’s going to be there in about thirty seconds.”

“All right, we’re out of time,” Drake said out loud. “We need to make space. When the bus hits that ice it’s not going to be pretty.” Drake waved them towards the line of trees a few feet from the sidewalk.

“You know, I’ve always secretly wanted to do this,” Iago said. “I’m glad I finally get the chance- and that we’re doing it to such a deserving group of assholes.”

“Well don’t celebrate just yet. If we accidentally kill one of them, we’re going to enter an even bigger world of crap.”

“Crap?” Iago asked, frowning.

“Paradoxically, I swear less when I’m tense. Shit.”

The bus came roaring up the hill, and when it hit the ice careened towards the sidewalk opposite them. It jumped the curb like it wasn’t there, narrowly avoiding an apartment building and heading for an overgrown blackberry bush. “Uh,” Karl said, realizing that there was nothing behind the bush but a steep incline towards the grocery store a quarter mile down. He reached out his hand as the bus tilted from its wheels, its momentum keeping it sliding even as it fell, trailing a shower of sparks. “Uh,” Karl said, as he started to slide along with the bus.

“Anchor him,” Drake said, grabbing onto Karl’s arm to try and slow him. Iago froze his feet to the ground, and kept going until he was encased in a layer of ice several inches thick up to his neck. “Not, uh, entirely what I meant, but it worked.” The bus tried to roll one last time, which might have been enough to crest the hill, but Karl pulled his fingers back towards himself, and the bus settled back harmlessly into the parking lot.

“Uh, can you get me out?” Karl asked, his teeth chattering.

“Think so,” Drake said. “And you both need to get gone.” He grabbed Iago’s shoulder and the back of Karl’s head, and transported them both into their living room just up the hill. “Get him some hot chocolate or something,” he said, and disappeared.

Drake arrived just in time to see the bus doors open up. The driver, her face slicked with blood, climbed out. Iago teleported back to the apartment, stumbled into Karl who was in the process of stripping out of his shirt, and grabbed a roll of paper towels before returning. He handed the roll to the driver, who wiped her face. A single small cut was all that remained, and closed up an instant later. “That sucked,” she said. “Though it beat the alternative. Not sure they’re down for the count, though. We might not want to stick around.” “No, probably not,” Drake said. “But my roommate’s making hot cocoa.” Drake took her hand, and they both disappeared.

“Fessuns,” Garrity said, wrapping his belt around his wrist and tightening it with his teeth to control the bleeding. “Always figured it would be one of you that finally punched my ticket. Though I’d have loved to be wrong.”

“Shut up,” Anita said, holding her head, “I don’t care.”

“Are you okay?” he asked. “Aside from the obvious instability that would lead you to break in here and maim me.”

She pointed her blade into his stomach, enough that he could feel the edge through his shirt but not quite enough to break the skin. “I’m trying to decide whether to stab you to death.”

“I’d much prefer a gun, if you’re asking for input.”

“I wasn’t. And if I were, I’d probably be looking for what you want the least.” She closed her eyes, clearly struggling. “I wasn’t prepared, to see you again. Even seeing your picture- it put me back there. I practically ran through your facility; I couldn’t begin to tell you if I killed anyone on the way. No- I did, but I couldn’t tell you if that happened in this draft or another one. But I can’t remember the last time I had a clearer purpose; I wanted you dead so badly it was primal, animal.”

“Then why am I slowly bleeding out, or is that the answer? Because this,” he grimaced as he raised his partially severed limb, “hurts, certainly, but we both know you could do so much worse. If you wanted. But that’s always been your problem, Fessuns- you didn’t. Even when you were trying for a Section 8, not that we can folks just for being crazy up here- we’re too civilized for that. But your heart’s never been in it, not even when your life was on the line. So if you’re trying to make me piss in my pampers you should have let Mai do the dirty work. She at least knows when to let her inmates run her asylum.”

“You’re trying to goad me,” Anita said. “Which is frustrating primarily because it exposes how easily manipulated you believe me to be. If I hadn’t already taken your hand- I told you not to go for that gun- I’d have to cut something else off to prove the point. But to answer the question at the heart of your manipulation, you’re alive because I am both seeing too many alternate realities and not enough depth. Killing you will either cause a genocide or prevent one- and as much as I deeply want you dead, that’s a hell of a margin for error.”

“Ah, so it isn’t poser Hannibal Lecter Anita, it’s indecisive Anita. Probably my least favorite, if I can be candid.”

“Maybe- and I’m just spitballing here because it feels like an erupting Mount Saint Helens is crowning through my forehead as we speak- but perhaps rather than set your dial to maximal dick, you could try telling me why I shouldn’t risk a genocide to murder you- because even with genocide as a possible unintended consequence it is delicious watching that blade slide in and out of your flesh. Almost pornographic, flipping between the drafts, where tiny variations in timing make the stabbing a few seconds sooner or later, it looks like it’s sliding in and out of you repeatedly.”

“I’m not going to beg,” he said proudly. “We did what we thought we had to. For all we knew the Russian experiments on weaponizing Breed were going to bear fruit, and people like you were the next nuclear bomb. I wished that weren’t true; every day I asked whatever god was listening to take that burden away from us. He wasn’t listening; I imagine you’re familiar enough with that. But we all of us did what duty and country demanded. Except some of us stuck it out. Worked the program- reformed from within. Not that I was always the reforming type; took me a while to understand the error of my ways. But this ain’t the facility you knew; here we deal with troubled kids, and trying to get them on a path to a normal life. I’m not so much in charge of the place as entombed here; I know where the bodies are buried, and have the right kind of background and clearances to keep a lid on what happened.”

“I don’t believe you…”

“Why would you? I was the program, as far as you and the other agents were concerned. I was your tormentor. But things change. People, too. Who was it, you thought let you slip the chain in Argentina? Did you think we couldn’t track you down? Or your friend out there, when she went missing in Afghanistan. You think we couldn’t have tracked either of you to the ends of the Earth? Hell, you think we didn’t? But with the both of you getting loose so close together, and the body counts you left in your wake- it helped me convince everybody else we’d been playing with old dynamite, gave me the leverage I needed to shutter the program.” He exhaled, and kicked out his foot, before piercing her with his eyes.

“I don’t blame you, understand? I’ve seen more war than any man ought to; done things that even I, at my most detached, was horrified by. I don’t think you get to live a life as bloody as mine, and die intact of old age.”

“Nothing to worry about there,” Anita said, anger still roiling in her voice, “since you’re no longer intact.”

He held up his stub. “I’m flipping you off, you just can’t tell.” “I might be the only one who could,” she said. “It wasn’t a clean slice in all of the drafts; in some of them the hand’s still hanging on by a tendon or two.”

The ICE agents were barely moving, and were more and more resembling snowmen. They were caked in frozen rain, with a light dusting of fresh snow sticking to the top of that and icicles hanging off of several of them. “You almost start to feel a little bad for them,” Tucker said, grinning. “I mean, we’re entering Valley Forge levels of pitiful, here.”

“I don’t,” Izel said coldly. “But maybe that’s because I can taste the racism. It’s like blood on the back of my teeth.”

“Sounds like you may need to floss more,” Drake said from behind them, startling Izel.

“The combination of fear and hatred coming off them… you see that toxic mix in rabid dogs, but it’s horrifying in a person- let alone a person who wants to abuse his power to hurt you.”

“How are we doing?” Drake asked.

“They’re about ready to break,” Tucker said. “And I don’t just mean the fact that some of them are so frozen that if they tripped and fell they’d shatter like a crystal vase.”

“He’s right. I think they’d have given up before now if they could figure out how to. So we’re going to give them an out.”

Tucker keyed a radio. “Bring in the heavies.” Drake heard the bus’s breaks from a few blocks over, then saw as it rounded the corner. It was filled with students he recognized from the campus.

“Our heaviest hitters,” Izel said. “The ones who could stand up to the punishment if it became a brawl.”

“Also the ones with the most bulletproof paperwork,” Tucker added. “It would sort of defeat the point if we accidentally got somebody deported.”  

The bus continued past them, and turned around in the cul-de-sac surrounded by the apartment complex the ICE agents were marching for. It stopped at an angle across the street, and students began to empty out of the bus. They formed a line, covering the road, the sidewalks, and any reasonable path towards the apartments. “That’s our cue,” Tucker said. “You want to-” Drake touched both of their arms, and they teleported to the front of the group.

“You look awful, Officer… Louie?” Tucker said, and peered at him a moment.

“It’s not spelled that way in China; it’s by no means the worst Romanization I’ve seen. Also, you’re in our way.”

“Really?” Tucker asked. “Because it kind of looks like air is in your way at this point. I’ve seen spinsters with walkers finishing a 10k with more spring in their steps.” This time the agent peered at Tucker. “My two queer great aunties; even into their 70s they were a couple of fitness buffs. But my point: about the only thing you could march successfully for right now would be a hot cocoa. As it happens, we at the school heard about your misfortunes, and raided our cafeteria to bring you some at your office. You weren’t there, but we heard through the grapevine you were headed this way. So we commandeered you a bus.” The students who had been standing in front of the bus’s door parted.

“I’m afraid we can’t throw in the towel just yet,” Louie said, stiffening. “I’ve heard reports that apartment complex is full of Breed that are illegally in this country.”

“Really?” Tucker asked. He pulled up his phone. “Because the school is very thorough about vetting our students’s paperwork, including student visas, and fully 84% of the residents of that complex are students at our school. I’ve just emailed you copies of all of their documentation, by the way.”

“How?” he asked. “Cell towers have been dark since this morning.”

“I’ve got four bars,” Tucker said, showing him the phone. Louie checked his phone, and saw a massive email waiting in his inbox. “Maybe your office is in a dead spot. Or maybe whatever happened has been fixed.”

“Maybe,” he said. He dialed through. “Hello, this is Agent Louie with ICE. I need to report an illegal gathering.” Izel opened her bag, and produced several sheets of paper, which Tucker handed to Louie. “It’s a protest?” Louie asked. “They paid the fee and have all the proper permits.” He hung up. “I don’t believe in coincidence,” he seethed.

“And if you could use your red hot rage to thaw out some of your comrades, maybe you’d be in a position to do something about it. Though I’d humbly suggest that isn’t the case.” Tucker raised his hand over his head and snapped his fingers. A student standing at each wheel lifted the bus over their heads, until it was suspended eight feet in the air. “I thought a lot about what I’d say, threats we could make. Like we could Roanoke you, disappear even the memory that there ever was an ICE office in Bellingham, wipe the memory of anyone who ever came looking and delete any record any of you ever existed. Then we’d have to track down your families, and wipe all their memories. It’s exhausting just thinking about it. And I think it’s already dawning on you the mistake you’ve made coming here today.” Tucker snapped again, and the bus was set gently back down.

“The bus holds forty eight; it took four to lift a school bus. Agent Louie, you jumped into the lions’ den here,” Tucker continued. “You thought you could handle what you were calling down- felt you could get away with violating the rights of some immigrant students without anyone ever being the wiser. You were wrong. We can let bygones be bygones. You don’t have to risk your life, and theirs,” Tucker led his eyes to his fellow agents, “over an error. But this isn’t happening like you wanted. Not today. Not tomorrow. Not so long as any of us are above ground to resist you. So friendly advice- and I promise it’s the last that you’ll hear from me- get on the bus. Go back to your office. You really don’t want to hear us roar.” Louie popped the button strap holding his sidearm in a shoulder holster. Tucker held up his hand for them to wait.

One of the ICE agents broke lines, and started towards the bus. As he put one foot on the first step, he turned back towards Louie. “Sorry,” he said with a shrug.

“You made him do that. Puppeted him.”

“Nope,” Tucker said. “I gave the agents you corralled into this a chance to do the right thing.” Two more crossed the line, and a third, and two more. “Sometimes that’s all it takes.” Louie flexed his hand over his pistol, before letting it fall empty to his side.

“You better not be lying about that hot chocolate,” he said, “or I’m coming back.”

“I’m not,” Tucker said. “It’s even still hot.” Louie got on, last, and the doors closed behind him.

“I don’t like this,” Izel said, as the bus pulled away. “They shouldn’t get to just walk away like this.”

“They’re not. The technopaths are going to ruin as many of their lives as possible. Just showing up for something like this means they can’t be trusted with the job they have. The few we can’t find dirt on we’ll watch. Maybe we’ll have to catfish them, maybe we just have to wait until they hit financial skids, and can use that to get their clearance yanked. But the men who marched here today aren’t getting off scot free, Izel. I’m just disappointed sling-shotting them into the sun, which would have been more satisfying, is probably wrong somehow.” “I’m disappointed about that, too, now,” Izel said, smiled and waved as the bus rolled away.