Crown Vic to a Parallel World

38

Weapons and When to Use Them

“We’ve had a small breakthrough.” Neb announced from her position next to an illuminated screen on the wall of the conference room.  Around the table sat Bem, Ars, Shawn, and me.  The four team members, including Shawn and I, were dressed in fatigues like when we’d been in the canyon.  Ars’ flamboyant suit stood out from us like a housefly on a white wall.  The screen Neb pointed to was a display that showed a list of complex names.  Neb held a remote control about the size of a carpenter’s pencil that doubled as a green laser pointer.

Ars had spent many minutes greeting us and rattling about the progress we were making and my power and blah, blah, blah.  Neb shut him down with a hard look and a sharp word.  She was now leading the meeting and I was much happier.

“One of the Steward’s researchers had a moment of brilliance.” Neb explained with some uncharacteristic enthusiasm invading her voice. “This researcher decided to compare the census records from the years, both before and after the exile of King Pravus.  In those ancient times, the census was taken only once every ten years.  The exile fell neatly on the five-year mark.  Whoever purged the other records likely forgot about it.  As a result, the researcher uncovered some information that he transmitted to us.  It’s not much, but it’s more than we had.”

Neb used her pointer to select names from the list.  As she highlighted them, whatever information that was available appeared on screen.

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Veneficus Pravus, occupation – Monarch, 175 years old at time of exile, telekinetic rating XCIX.

Exercitus Praefectus, occupation – Head of land based armed forces, 230 years old at time of exile, empath rating LXXXIX.

Sal Ductor, occupation – Admiral, 128 years old at time of exile, empath rating XCV.

Civilis Indicina, occupation – Royal Advisor on matters of policy, 91 years old at time of exile, empath rating XC.

Regnare Ammonitum, occupation – Royal Advisor on matters of state, 141 years old at time of exile, empath rating XCIX.

Cessatas Libellus, occupation – Court Historian, 258 years old at time of exile, telekinetic rating XXI.

Fidum Cacula, occupation – Court Physician, 174 years old at time of exile, empath rating XCVII.

Timore Pedisecus, occupation – Royal Servant, 276 years old at time of exile, empath rating XXXVI.

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Shawn raised his hand.  “What are those letters that come after the word ‘rating?’  Is that an old system?”

“An excellent question, nephew, an excellent question indeed.” Ars replied.  He leaned back, leaned forward, then back again.  He shook his head.  I think he was disappointed he wasn’t in his swivel chair. “We think it is a numerical system.  Where we have classes and power ratings for each category of magic, they had numbers that stood for the same thing.  The letters are not letters but ancient Latin numerals that stand for numbers in series.”

“I think they’re Roman numerals.” I offered, eager that I had something to add to the discussion. “I had to learn them in bible study.  The letters after Pravus’ name…the ‘C’ is one hundred and the ‘X’ in front of it tells you to subtract ten, so ‘XC’ means ninety.  The next two, ‘IX’ is ten minus one; so those four letters equal ninety-nine.”

I borrowed a pencil and worked out the rest on the conference room table.  “The next guy is eighty-nine, then the admiral is ninety-five, the first advisor is ninety, then another ninety-nine.  Whoa, that next guy, Libellus, he’s only a twenty-one, we’re back up with Cacula at ninety-seven, then we drop way down to thirty-six for Ped…Ped…the fuckin last guy.”

Neb checked her notes as I spoke.  “Those numbers fit what the researchers found.  The little we’ve discovered about Pravus indicates he was very powerful.  Any leader would want to surround himself with powerful people.  The servant and the historian, their power rating wouldn’t matter much to their jobs.  The professional men, all with high numerical ratings, are obviously powerful.  Of course, without a precise understanding of how the ratings were calculated, we don’t really know what the numbers mean as far as magic affinity and subclass.”

“What does that mean?” I asked.

Neb explained further. “We have the magic affinity titles of ‘telekinetic’ or ‘empath’ but we don’t know if the empaths are telepaths, clairvoyants, seers.  Just saying that someone is an empath only tells a very small part of the story.” Neb nodded at me. “I could call you a telekinetic, and that would be an accurate statement, but it wouldn’t come close to describing your true power.”

I put my right thumb in the air to signal that I’d understood Neb’s description of the problem. “Got it.” I agreed.

Neb looked back at the list of names and fell silent.  Shawn entered the conversation with an observation. “I don’t see any family.” He said. “Didn’t the king have a partner, or children?”

Ars steepled his fingers.  “A very good point, nephew, a very good point.  A monarch would have needed an heir.  To be without one at his age would have been cause for great concern amongst his followers and his court.  The lack of spouse is also a surprise.  The king certainly would have had a wife, no matter his sexual preference.  His primary responsibility would have been to continue the dynasty.”

Neb checked her tablet.  “There are other names that seem to have something to do with the royal family or the court, but the census comparisons are inconclusive.  I think we can assume the king was exiled with at least these people.  I doubt many more, but his retinue would have consisted of at least these seven.”

Bem reminded us of his presence.  He rubbed his hands over the table like he was waxing a car hood and voiced some practical concerns.  “They are all men, so assuming they were exiled with just themselves, we won’t have any children to contend with.  We also have to assume these people have not aged since they were exiled.  It’s completely impossible, but the facts as we know them make that assumption a necessity.  If that’s the case, then everyone’s age should be as it’s reported here.  That means the two oldest have the lowest power levels.”

Bem took a breath, seemingly to adjust the point he was trying to make, before he proceeded to make it.  “The oldest shouldn’t be much of a threat.  The head of the armed forces, a general I guess, is over two-hundred.  We could call him a reduced threat.  The doctor, if he’s anything like our doctor, would probably prefer not to fight, but he may be able to handle himself.  The admiral and the two advisors are young enough to fight.  Part of me likes that they’re empaths, while another part is worried.  As the only telekinetic, old Pravus may be the most formidable enemy, or he may be the least threatening of all.”

“What about all the magic they’ve got?” I asked. “The stuff they’ve been stealing, I mean.  Couldn’t they destroy us with that?”

Ars looked me dead in the eye and spoke gravely.  “There are two schools of thought there, young man.  The answer to your question is a cautious ‘maybe.’  Magic is unique, it does not like being stored.  Our bodies retain a certain amount, but the key to health and well-being is flowing magic.  It is very important for all of us to use our power regularly to keep the magic within us fresh.  If Pravus was able to store all the magic he has stolen, and control its discharge, he would be a god.”

‘Fantastic,’ I thought as sarcasm invaded my thoughts in an activation of my defense mechanism, ‘maybe I can kill him by refusing to believe in him.’

Ars leaned back again and became more like himself as he did it.  “We think he, King Pravus that is, has learned to control the barrier.  It is, after all, connected to his life force.  He could not leave it, but he could use it to take his revenge on the world that banished him.  If he is storing the power, he is storing it within the barrier itself.  It is more likely, however, that he has concocted a way to draw ever increasing amounts of magic into the barrier.

“He cannot keep it bottled up, but he can effectively ‘spend’ it.  It is barely possible he could channel the power from the barrier through his body, into powerful acts, but I do not think any human being could control that much magic without self-destructing.”

Ars moved his eyes to me without moving his head.  He eyed me out the side of his face in a gaze that made me uncomfortable with its intensity. “That said, yes indeed, that said, if I had not seen the images Neb included with her reports, Mister Philips and his nine-hundred tons of rock and Mister Philips and his mountain-destroying white magic…” Ars shook his head slowly, like he was trying to convince himself not to think what he was thinking, “if our enemy has devised a way to be even half as powerful as our Mister Philips, we will be at an extreme disadvantage.”

After Ars’ speech, I felt a little like I was at my own funeral.  Shawn was worried.  Even the unflappable Neb, and the teasing Bem were subdued.  No one spoke, everyone retreated into their fears.  My anxiety rose in response to Shawn’s and his rose in response to mine.  ‘We’re gonna worry ourselves to a panic attack if we’re not careful.’ I thought. ‘Gotta do something.’

I slapped the table and shoved myself onto my feet from the confines of the too-small chair.  I paced the narrow end of the room near the door.  “Thanks Ars, great pep talk.  I’m sure we all feel much better about the mission now.  Hey, as long as we’re talking doom and gloom, I think there’s another elephant in the room.” I paused to look up and noticed everyone was staring at me.  I thought about what I’d just said and realized it rhymed. “HA!  I’m a poet.  Anyway, Bem said something about empaths being scary.  Maybe he could elaborate for the uninitiated.”

“I’ll answer that.” Neb clicked her remote control and the screen with the names on it went back to being a wall.  She shoved her rolled sleeves up and they did what they always did.  “Church, how do you feel right now?  Are you happy, sad, angry, worried?”

I stopped pacing to lean against the wall and face Neb. “I’m worried.”

Neb took a long breath, and something in the room shifted.  All the unknowns about the mission thundered to the surface of my mind.  I felt hopeless.  I wanted to roll myself into a ball and stay that way.

As quickly as the terror rose, was as quickly as it left me.  I felt the unknowns shrink in importance until they seemed like nothing more than minor inconveniences for a team of our caliber.  I felt like the sun rising on a new day, almost euphoric.  I wanted to hug Shawn and dance.  Shawn felt the same.  “Neb,” Shawn said and sounded very serious despite the joy he felt, “you made your point.”

The euphoria faded, and I felt like I had before I asked my question.  Neb took her seat at the conference table.  “Apologies, Shawn, I forgot.” She said before she offered an explanation for the roller coaster of emotions I’d experienced.  “I am a Fourth-Class Empath with an ‘A’ rating.  My power allows me to broadcast whatever emotions I wish to an individual or to a group.  I can make an enemy force feel like the battle is hopeless, or I can make my forces as happy to go into battle as they’d be going to an orgy.  That’s why empaths are dangerous.”

I scrubbed my face with my palms.  “Thanks for that, Neb.” I used as much sarcasm as my voice would carry. “Just so you know, my default emotion is anxiety, so…yeah…no help needed there.  Why didn’t you tell us before?”

“I never tell people I’m training.  If I need to reinforce them or if I have to take them down a peg, I don’t want them to know it’s my power.”

“Makes sense.” I agreed with a mental shrug.  I was ready to move on to a new topic when a thought struck me and stopped me in my metal tracks. “Wait…wait a goddamned minute,” I stood off the wall and pointed at her, “did you…are you why climbing got fun?”

“I did some of it,” Neb admitted, “you did the rest.  I know you feel manipulated, and you were, but would you rather the training was a chore?  Soldiers who find training rewarding do better than the ones that just muddle through.  I didn’t do much with you.  I made you stop hating the work.  You found the fun on your own.”

I wanted to be pissed, and a part of me was, but I saw the value in what she’d done.  I added a physical shrug to the mental one.  “I guess I get it.  I’d like to tell you not to do it again, but I won’t.  The work did get a lot easier when I stopped dreading it.  What else did you do?”

Neb looked away and rubbed her right hand up and down her left forearm.  It was obvious she didn’t want to say, but I was adamant that I wanted to know.  “I may have given you a confidence boost when I asked you to use your magic.”

I remembered the swelling of confidence I’d felt when I was working on pulling the poplar tree from the ground, and again before I destroyed the quarry.  It made sense that both of those boosts came from Neb.  I wanted to be angry that she’d interfered, but I knew I wouldn’t have succeeded either time if not for her influence.  I decided to accept the help she’d given me and appreciate it, rather than blame her for it.

Shawn asked.  “Did you help me stay under control when Church fell through the quarry floor?”

Neb looked Shawn hard in the eye and shook her head.  “You did that on your own.”

Shawn’s pride swelled with that admission.  So did mine.  He was stronger than he thought.

I was happy for Shawn but there was more to discuss.  After Neb’s reveal, I wanted everyone’s cards on the table.  I thought that was only fair.  I assumed that Neb and Bem had both read my file.  The professional members of the team both knew all about me, but I knew very little about them.  I offered my hand across the table to Neb like I wanted to shake her hand.  “Church Philips, forty years old, telekinesis and white magic,” as an afterthought, I added, “recovering alcoholic and former smoker.  Nice to meet you.”

Neb shook my hand uncertainly.  I dropped her hand and offered mine to Bem.  He seemed to understand what I was getting at.  He grinned up at me and tilted his head at Neb.  “Introduce yourself.” He suggested to her.

Neb did as Bem said, but obviously didn’t understand why she was doing it. “Warrant Officer Neb Torolus, one-hundred-ten years old, Fourth-Class Empath, ‘A’ rating, former member of the Protectorate police force, current member Protectorate armed forces.”

I appreciated the information Neb offered.  Her age surprised me, but I suppose it shouldn’t have.  She looked to be in her middle thirties, but hard, hardened by life and intense discipline.  Since Neb had told me what I wanted to know, I turned my attention to the last team member that I seemed to know nothing about. “Well, Bem?”  I asked.

Instead of following the model of introducing himself to the group, Bem clapped his hands in front of his face.  “Toss me a nut.”

I launched one in his direction.  It arced towards his waiting hands but stopped short of them.  The nut flew around the room, did some figure eights and other aerobatics, then landed in his waiting palm.  Bem moved his hand in a small circle to send the nut bumping across the unevenness of his palm in a motion that approximated that of his hand.  He introduced himself but didn’t use the same order that Neb or I had.

“Bem Custos, seventy-three, special forces, Fifth-Class Telekinetic, ‘CC’ rating.  I can move things I can see, maybe as many as ten at a time, but can’t handle much weight.  One ten-pound object or several smaller ones is about my limit.  I use it for fighting hand-to-hand.  Think of how distracting it would be to an opponent to be tapped on the shoulder in the middle of a fight.” He tossed the nut into the air and caught it with his power.  “I’ll show you the difference between us.” He pointed at the nut. “I’ll hold onto it as hard as I can.  You take it from me.”

I nudged the nut with my power to get an idea of the force of his hold, but I didn’t feel much.  I pulled the nut from him.  The resistance of his magic was like pulling a fallen leaf from a spider web.  “That’s it?” I asked.

Bem smirked.  “That’s what he said!”

I snickered at Bem’s mild penis size joke and was glad I knew more about my teammates.  I resolved to ask more questions when I met people in the future.  On Earth, a person’s appearance would normally get me close to their age, and a few questions about what they did for a living and a two-minute conversation would be enough introduction for me.  Solum added layers of complexity that I never had to consider on Earth.  Now I had to ask about magic type and power level, age because appearances meant nothing, and as I was in the middle of an effort to save the world, military background instead of job title.

“Moving on.” Neb’s voice overrode Bem’s humor and ended my session of ‘getting to know you.’  She took the meeting back. “We have a great deal to do this week.  Every morning starting tomorrow, Church and Shawn, you’re on the wall from seven-thirty to eleven-thirty.  I want Church getting up-and-down the intermediate section in no more than twice the time it took me.  At eleven-thirty, you clean up and get lunch on your way here.”

Bem stood and took up issuing the direction.  “At twelve-thirty, we’ll have hand-to-hand training and sparring.  We’re going to be fighting with weapons, firearms similar to the projectile weapons you were issued.  These will match those in weight and feel but will discharge a mild stun.  I’ll say it again, we do not have the time to make you soldiers.  I’m going to teach you as much as I can in the short time we have.  At four, we’ll have a short break, then we’ll spend two hours on weaponizing you magic.”

Shawn immediately shut down, obstinance radiated from him.  Bem seemed to sense it as strongly as I did.  “Shawn, this is not an option.  I know you don’t like it, and I am genuinely sorry, but you need to be able to protect yourself and us.  If we can keep the dirty work between Neb and I, fine, but if we can’t, you need to be able to do what needs to be done.  No argument, please.”

Shawn sagged visibly, but his obstinance gave way to resignation.  “No argument.” He whispered to the room.

“Thank you.  Now, unless anyone has anything else, we need to get started.”

No one had anything.  Ars said a voluble goodbye.  The remaining four of us went next door to the dojo room to start work.

*          *          *          *

The next eight days passed in a blur of intense training.  Each workday was ten-or-twelve-hours long to help us increase our skills as quickly as possible.  My climbing was the first hurdle cleared.  It only took two more sessions on the wall for me to get within Neb’s prescribed time limit.  Shawn and I still started each day climbing, but the subsequent sessions were about honing the skills I’d learned instead of trying to develop them.  I continued to improve, and eventually got good enough that Shawn introduced me to the advanced section of the wall.

Combat was another story.  My improved physical condition made movement easier, but no amount of medical magic was going to cure my size or lack of grace.  After another catastrophic attempt at landing a hit on Bem in the dojo room, I got him to move our sparring venue to an empty office.  The padded floor of the dojo was too soft.  It was like fighting with my feet in mashed potatoes.  I did a little better once I had a solid floor under me.  It also helped when Bem allowed me to wear my recently issued tactical boots.  Even with this help though, my improvement was evolutionary, not revolutionary.

Still, Bem and I fought on.  He wanted me to get better and I needed to get better, but the sparring sessions weren’t helping.  Bem seemed to recognize this.  He also seemed to grow tired of landing hits whenever he felt like it while I used way too much energy to kick my own ass.  He tried a new strategy.

Bem went on the offensive and taught me some basic blocking techniques.  The blocking he taught me was both hand-to-hand and hand-to-practice rifle.  Bem also gave me some tips on reading the moves of an opponent; how the drop of a shoulder precedes a punch, or a shift of the hips can telegraph a kick.  With Bem on permanent offense and me on permanent defense, I didn’t have to split my attention between blocking his advances and looking for a non-existent opening to clock him.  I could focus just on blocking and my record improved.

By the weekend, I’d gotten good enough to not get my ass handed to me every time.  Bem was far from satisfied, but he acknowledged I could probably defend myself against an untrained or unconditioned opponent.  Only two of the men exiled with Pravus were likely to have had military training and one was two-hundred-and-thirty years old.  They’d had fifteen-hundred years to train, but it seemed reasonably unlikely that they had.

The simple reality of the situation, as Bem described it, was that if our battle got to the point that I was fighting hand-to-hand, the mission was doomed.  Bem’s explained that, as I was the most important person, and my magic was supposed to save the world, if the mission went far enough sideways that I was put in a position of defending myself with my physical strength instead of my magic or my weapons, that would be the ultimate disaster.  If the mission devolved to that point, it would likely end in disaster and death for all of us.

I needed to train for the just-in-case scenario, but if the mission went the way it was supposed to, I should never need to rely on that training.  I considered that a good thing, because I was certain that if I found myself in a situation where my life depended on my physical fighting prowess, I was as good as dead.

To that end, Neb and I worked on weaponizing my magic.  That was easier than fighting and even kind of fun.  We focused on my white magic because it was basically a very accurate laser cannon.  It was a laser cannon that was guided by my brain instead of my ability to aim at a target.  The magic went where I intended it to go, not where I pointed, so while I could hit the target with my rifle most of the time, I could land a bull’s eye with my white magic every single time.  Neb and I used the firing range to sharpen my skills and to develop offensive strategies for the white magic.

Neb had an idea for a burst of white magic that she eventually termed a ‘stinger.’  It was kind of like a ‘magic bullet,’ and could be any power level.  At low power, the magic would hurt without causing injury.  At high power, they would easily kill an individual target.  We also discussed the possibility, if faced with a group of enemies, of using an indiscriminate discharge of high power like I’d used to wreck the quarry.  A big discharge like that would vaporize everything and everyone it touched.  Neb called that one my ‘magic eraser.’  I had a fit of the giggles when she said it and had to explain about the Earth cleaning product of the same name.  Neb surprised me by enjoying the joke almost as much as I had.

Once Neb and I had my white magic strategy more-or-less settled, we spent some time on my telekinesis.  I learned that I could put boxes around people to immobilize them and block their magic.  We did some experiments and found out I could also squeeze or crush the contents of one of my magic boxes.  Neb had watermelons brought in for that purpose.  I admit to gleefully smashing them between the walls of my magic box until I realized the watermelons were a stand-in for a person.  Then I felt ill.

Neb and I came up with one more technique that Neb called my ‘invisible cannon.’  For this we devised a telekinetic projectile.  I imagined a cylinder of solid steel, four inches in diameter and six inches long, and created it from telekinetic energy.  I could ‘fire’ these cylinders with enough impact to knock a man down, force the air from his lungs, and likely break some ribs.  It wouldn’t kill him, but he wouldn’t be getting back up too quickly either.  If absolutely necessary, I could aim at someone’s head and be fairly certain the impact would kill them.

The telekinetic projectiles were kind of a rabbit hole in that there was very little likelihood that I would ever use them.  It was far more likely that I would either stun or kill our enemies with my white magic or immobilize them with a telekinetic box.  Still, having one more weapon in the arsenal wasn’t a bad thing.  I liked that, between Bem’s physical training and Neb’s magic training, I had the ability to defend myself and the team.  I liked that I had the option to use non-lethal force but also had the power to kill if necessary.  I worried that I’d know when to use which.

Neb had a serious talk with me, kind of like the talk Bem had with Shawn, about when lethal force was necessary and erring on the side of caution.  ‘Caution’ being if in doubt, shoot to kill.  She and I were sitting in the observation room of the dojo while Shawn and Bem had a sparring session.  “Make no mistake,” Neb warned me, “our enemy is a real enemy, and they will kill us without hesitation.  You need to be ready to do what needs to be done.”

“Is there any way to be sure I’ll do the right thing?” I asked.

Neb lifted her arm toward the glass.  “When you go into battle, you think of him.  Is he important enough to kill for?”

I looked toward Shawn.  He made fighting look like ballet.  His raven hair tied in a loose ponytail to keep it out of his face, the blue t-shirt, soaked with the sweat of exertion and clinging to his defined torso, the tapered pants hinting at his muscled legs, and the set expression of a mind bent to a task.  All at once he was the man I loved and the body I yearned for.  As I watched him, Shawn faltered.  He miss-read a feinted punch for a real one and shifted himself off balance just in time for a kick to knock him on his ass.  Bem pounced on him and froze in an incomplete finishing move.

Bem got up and helped Shawn to his feet.  Shawn scowled at me, hands on his hips and as close to angry as he ever got.  “If you can’t keep your mind off my body, I won’t let you watch these matches anymore.” He scolded, his voice coming to me muffled by the glass.  He shook his head and squared off with Bem.

I turned back to Neb.  “Yeah, he’s worth it.”

Neb already knew how I’d answer.  She’d asked the question as a lead-in to some advice.  “Church, don’t save the world.  It’s too big and impersonal.  Save him.  As long as you think of this as the mission to save Shawn, you’ll do what needs to be done.”

I didn’t admit that I already felt that way.  I rubbed my neck and tried to put my thoughts on anything but Shawn.  My watch found its way into my hand.  I started to ask Neb a question I’d been chewing on for a while but didn’t know how to ask without offending her.  I decided the answer was worth the risk.  “Can I ask you…I assume from what you’ve said that you know the answer to this…but…you don’t have to answer if it’s too personal…but…”

Neb finished the question I’d been dancing around. “What’s it like to kill someone?”

“Yeah.”

Neb’s expression grew shallow and blank.  Her face reminded me of the one that Bem had worn when he’d told Shawn to surrender his innocence.  I supposed that look was something shared by military professionals who had seen more than their share of terrible things. “I’ll tell you,” Neb said in a hollow voice that matched her expression, “but I warn you, it won’t help.  Taking the life of another human being isn’t something you can prepare yourself to do.  You train to protect yourself and rely on that training to carry you through.  As much as you hope you never need it, you know at some point, you won’t have a choice.  That’s how it was with me anyway.

“I was twenty-three, not that many years out of the academy, a child really.  My partner and I responded to a silent alarm at a luxury goods shop.  There was a robbery in progress.  I covered the back door while my partner went in the front.  A suspect, a man my age, an attractive man with auburn hair and pretty green eyes, charged through the door.  I aimed my weapon at him, identified myself, and told him to freeze.  He pointed a gun at me, an old-style projectile weapon.  I didn’t hesitate…I fired.”

Neb stopped to clear her throat.  Her cold, hollow tone grew soft and thoughtful.  “The weapons we were using at the time were like hot lasers, they penetrated and cauterized but didn’t knock down.  The look on his face…he didn’t understand what happened, why he couldn’t breathe.  My shot had seared his left lung and destroyed the blood vessels from his heart.

“He crumpled to the ground.  I kicked his gun from his hand and called out to my partner.  He came out, checked on me, and called into the station for back-up and emergency medical attention.  It was too late for that.  The boy was dying, and he knew it.  He mouthed that he was sorry and started to cry.  As an act of mercy, I used my magic to fill him with joy.  He smiled, and he died.  Twenty years old, dead in an alley behind a shop.”

Neb hugged herself and rubbed her hands up and down her upper arms like she was cold.  “That was eighty-seven years ago last May.  I see his face still.  I see it right now as clearly as I saw it then.  I see the moment that life left his body.”  Neb’s eyes looked toward me, but they didn’t see.  I could have sunk into the floor, and she wouldn’t have noticed, so focused was she on the past.

She came back to the present with a jerk.  “There were more, after that.  I won’t say how many.  There were enough that I don’t remember them all.  After the first, it gets easier.  It’s easier when they’re older, ugly, debauched, repeat offenders, violent people.  I think the first one haunts everyone, but mine especially because it was such a waste.  If I met him in a club, I would have taken him home.  Instead, I met him in an alley and took his life.  I know, in that moment, it was him or me.  I’m not sorry for what I did, but I deeply regret that it happened.”

Neb had surprised me again, with the tender words about a man she’d killed in the line of duty.  I was starting to find out that there was an awful lot to her, an awful lot of personality inside the military strategist whose experience was on the field of battle.  What we saw on the surface wasn’t even the tip of the iceberg.  I apologized for dredging up what I assumed was better left buried.  “I’m sorry I brought it up.”

“Don’t be.  It was a good reminder for me of how green you and Shawn are.  There’s a lot to what we’re getting ready to do.  It’s intimidating.”

“Yeah.  I’m nervous, so is Shawn.”

“That’s good.” Neb said, in what I took to be a sentence of praise. “It shows you take this seriously.  I’d be worried if you weren’t nervous.  You’ll do fine.  I think Shawn will be OK, but honestly, I hope we don’t have to find out.  He’s physically more capable than you, but…he’s very innocent.  You are not innocent and that works in your favor.  Put your faith in Bem and me to clear the way, watch out for Shawn, and be ready to do whatever it is you need to do when it’s time to do it.  Then we’ll come back and collect our pay.”

“It sounds so simple when you say it.” I observed.

“Much of it is simple.  It’s the part that isn’t we need to watch for.”

*          *          *          *

One of the things that wasn’t simple turned out to be the effort of weaponizing Shawn’s magic.  He didn’t exactly refuse, but he resisted.  Shawn’s version of resistance was different than mine.  He didn’t dig his heels in, or actively thwart Bem’s efforts to make his healing magic into a weapon, but he passively resisted.  He dragged his feet during talks on the subject.  He avoided explaining how his magic worked and didn’t offer any helpful suggestions.  I was impressed at how slow he made things go without resorting to direct action.

The main problem with using Shawn’s power as a weapon, was that his magic required physical contact, preferably skin to skin.  There were things he could do through clothes, but they were more difficult and not very effective.  Shawn had limited his talks with Bem to these difficulties and seemed to hope Bem would give up on the idea.  I doubted a man like Bem would give up on anything, so I pressed Shawn on the details when we were alone.

I was able to find out that, weaponizing medical magic was something everyone already knew how to do.  There were nuances to the process, differences because everyone’s magic was a little different from everyone else’s, but the basics were long established.  The trouble that Shawn had, and that Bem was trying to push him through, was the destructiveness of what resulted.

If Shawn could make contact with an opponent, even for a second, he could cause a ton of tissue damage.  He’d explained it to me using my lungs as an example.  “The first thing I had to do was break down your old lungs to make the material available for the new.  It’s part of what your body would do naturally with dead tissue.  The body breaks the tissue down so it can dispose of it, but it absorbs whatever is usable before it processes it out.

“I can initiate the disposal process and stop it there.  If I could grab a hand, or connect with a punch, I could break down the tissue I touched.  It would be like pulling a handful of flesh from your body.  It’s very destructive, and very gory, and very much against everything I stand for.”

“Is there another option?” I asked.  We were at home, parked on the couch after a particularly arduous day.  Both of us were so exhausted, we’d decided not to fuck.

“Not really.  My power is for healing, not destroying.  I don’t think I would use it unless I was really outmatched.”

I didn’t like his answer, but I decided not to argue with him.  He worried me because it kept getting clearer that he was ill-suited to any kind of conflict.  He hated to argue, he didn’t like to fight, he abhorred the weapons we were training with.  Even the practice weapons, the stun guns, were too violent for his taste.  I understood.  I didn’t like any of it either, but I saw the value in being prepared to cause maximum damage.  If we had to fight, we should fight with everything we had.  I thought I was willing to do that.  I didn’t think Shawn was.

‘Have to see how he does in the skirmishes.’ I thought. ‘I’d hate to ask him to stay behind after all the work we’ve done.  If we take him with us though, he might become a ball and chain.  It’s WAY too late to think about replacing him.  SHIT!’  I didn’t see a solution, but it wasn’t my place to deal with the problem.  For lack of anything else to do, I let the situation ride and hoped it would work itself out.

I focused on doing what was required of me and seeing that I was available to help Shawn if he needed it.  In that way, the days fell away in a haze of hard work and sweat.  Before we knew it, it was time for our first mock battle.