Well, well, well, as Ars would say, no feedback on the last two chapters. That's disappointing. I was especially proud of the last chapter and hoped to hear your thoughts on it. Oh well. This one is kind of a housekeeping chapter to move the story along, but we do learn some stuff about the enemy and the allies, so take a look and I hope you enjoy.
If you're younger than 18 or find these kinds of stories offensive, please close up now and have a great day! If you are of legal age and are interested, by all means keep going. I'll be glad to have you along for the journey. Please donate to Nifty. This is a great resource for great stories and a useful outlet to authors like me and readers like you.
37
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 and 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.
Veneficus Pravus, occupation Ð Monarch, 175 years old at time of exile, telekinetic rating XCIX.
Exercitus Praefectus, occupation Ð Head of land based armed forces, 230 years old at time of exile, empath rating LXXXIX.
Sal Ductor, occupation Ð Admiral, 128 years old at time of exile, empath rating XCV.
Civilis Indicina, occupation Ð Royal Advisor on matters of policy, 91 years old at time of exile, empath rating XC.
Regnare Ammonitum, occupation Ð Royal Advisor on matters of state, 141 years old at time of exile, empath rating XCIX.
Cessatas Libellus, occupation Ð Court Historian, 258 years old at time of exile, telekinetic rating XXI.
Fidum Cacula, occupation Ð Court Physician, 174 years old at time of exile, empath rating XCVII.
Timore Pedisecus, occupation Ð Royal Servant, 276 years old at time of exile, empath rating XXXVI.
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; one to ten, fifty, a hundred maybe. The researchers are working hard but have not found a translation."
"I think they're Roman numerals." I offered. "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 made some notes as I spoke. "Those numbers would fit. 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."
"I don't see any family." Shawn observed. "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. "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 seemed to take a breath to adjust the point he was trying to make, before proceeding 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, 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 sarcastically, maybe I can kill him by refusing to believe in him.'
Ars leaned back again, becoming more like himself as he did it. "We think he 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."
"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."
I felt like I was at my own funeral after that speech. 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. 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. "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. Then, as quickly as the terror rose, the unknowns shrank 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, sounding very serious despite the joy he felt, "you made your point."
The euphoria faded. I felt like I had before I asked my question. Neb sat at the conference table. "Apologies, Shawn, I forgot." She said before offering 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," she admitted, "you did the rest. I know you feel manipulated, and you were, but would you rather the training was a chore? Soldiers that 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 found myself wanting 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. "You did that on your own."
Shawn's pride swelled with that admission, so did mine. He was stronger than he thought.
There was more to discuss though. After Neb's reveal, I wanted everyone's cards on the table. I thought that was only fair. 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. It 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.
He 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 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 to the point that Shawn started to introduce 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. Getting a solid floor under me and wearing my newly issued boots helped, but not much.
Bem 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. He went on the offensive and taught me some basic blocking techniques, both with my hands and with my practice rifle. He 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. By the weekend, I improved enough to not get my ass handed to me every time.
Bem was far from satisfied, but he acknowledged I could probably defend against an untrained 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.
Weaponizing my magic was easy and kind of fun. The white magic was basically a laser cannon already, and since it went where I told it to go, aiming it was as easy as picking a target to hit. Neb and I worked together at the gun range. She helped me learn to fire bursts she called stingers.' I could make them low-powered enough to hurt without causing injury, or power them up enough to kill selectively. In a real emergency, I could rely on an indiscriminate discharge of power, like I'd used at the quarry. It 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.
We also worked 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 them in the box. 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.
We came up with one more technique that Neb called my invisible cannon.' I imagined a cylinder of solid steel and created an invisible version of one from my telekinetic energy that was four inches in diameter and six inches long. I could fire' these with enough force 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.
I liked that I had the ability to defend myself and the team with non-lethal force but also the power to kill if necessary. I worried about knowing 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. We were sitting in the observation room of the dojo while Shawn and Bem had a sparring session. "Make no mistake," she cautioned, "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 to 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. The man I loved and the body I yearned for. As I watched him, Shawn faltered, 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 mad 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."
She already knew how I'd answer. Asking the question was 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..."
"What's it like to kill someone?" She finished the question I was dancing around.
"Yeah."
"I'll tell you, 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 violet eyes, charged through the door. I aimed 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 normal, business-like 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 to me but 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. There was an awful lot to her. What we saw on the surface wasn't even the tip of the iceberg. I apologized for dredging up what 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. 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."
Weaponizing Shawn's magic became a problem. 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, if Shawn could make contact, 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 from it 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.
The days fell away in a haze of hard work and sweat. Before we knew it, it was time for our first mock battle.