Children of Enochia

by Luke R. Mitchell

  What if the whole world decided it just wasn’t worth fighting over a handful of freaks?

  Sure, maybe a few would recognize how crucial the Shapers could be to detecting and resisting anything like the raknoth invasion in the future, and how much damage we could’ve prevented this time around, if only there’d been more of us, and if the Sanctum hadn’t been busy hunting us like wild hounds. But there were only three raknoth left now, and I’d already given the Legion the cloaks they needed to beat them. My only other function, as envoy to Alton Parker, wasn’t exactly overflowing with usefulness either.

  What if Glenbark decided Elise and I simply weren’t worth the effort anymore?

  With cheery thoughts like that one floating around in my head, it was no comfort at all when we stepped from the wide open shooting gallery outside into Central Command.

  Dillard posted Second Squad outside to bolster the building’s already considerable guard detail, and was arguing with the security head about bringing First Squad inside with us when High General Glenbark herself parted from the perpetual chaos of the wide open operations room and came to meet us in the long entryway.

  I eyed her warily, sure I was probably being paranoid. She looked furious. Or so I imagined she did, at least. Honestly, with Glenbark, I could rarely tell. She was a master of keeping her cool. Even when the scud hit the turbines, it somehow never seemed to fleck on her crisp, dark blue dress tunic and immaculately polished boots, or to ruffle her majestic mane of perfectly straight, golden-blond hair.

  “Stand down, Ordo Durgen,” she said as she approached the security head and Dillard, her voice somehow cutting through their argument and all the chatter without seeming particularly loud. Everyone snapped to attention. She ran an appraising eye across our group, and I couldn’t help but feel she avoided my eyes. Or was that the paranoia talking?

  “We could use as many level heads and loyal trigger fingers as possible right now,” she added, looking to Dillard. “Accompany me to my office, Ordo Dillard. Bring your Hounds.”

  She turned and started back for operations while Dillard was still giving the, “Sir, yes sir.” By the time First Squad was falling in on her flanks, she was already drawing up to one of the operations room consoles, and fixing the suddenly bolt-upright comms specialist there with her most serious gaze.

  “I want General Auckus in my office as soon as humanly possible,” she said, in a tone that was somehow as calm as it was commanding. While the specialist scrambled to follow the order and hail Gregor Auckus over the Haven comms, Glenbark glanced over her shoulder, and finally met my eyes with a gravity that momentarily sucked the wild winds out of my racing thoughts.

  “We all have a lot to talk about.”

  6

  No Such Thing

  In High General Glenbark’s spotless, well-furnished office, the mood was about as somber as the discussion was circuitous. Not that I was of a mind to actually follow everything that was said. My head was still spinning too fast for that.

  You almost might’ve thought it was the first time someone had tried to assassinate me.

  I sat between Elise and Johnny at the long hardwood table in Glenbark’s office, trying to gather my thoughts and actually listen to Glenbark break the situation down with her small council—a pair of captains and one General Marcus Hopper, a strong-jawed man with dark hair and a pleasant enough demeanor beneath his resting frown. Franco was there too, as well as Four and his stone wall of a partner, Eight, who was still recovering from the round of fisticuffs she’d had with one of the Seeker-powered raknoth who’d fled Oasis during the assault.

  Aside from General Hopper, his twitchy servitor, the two captains, and Ordo Dillard, there was a considerable lack of Legion presence in the room, considering the gravity of the topic. Or probably because of that gravity.

  After the High Cleric’s call to arms, who could we really trust? Scud, I wasn’t sure I should even be behind closed doors with Glenbark, considering. Or that I could be reliably sure there was a “we” at all anymore. It was all just more fuel waiting to be cast on the fire. Because that hadn’t just been a few hotheads taking a crack at me out there. This wasn’t just more of the same old routine.

  That had been the opening salvo of a war on all of Shaper kind. That cold truth was settling deeper in my mind with each passing minute, right along with the realization that such a war could quite possibly bring on the collapse of half the planet if the Legion truly intended to defy the High Cleric.

  “The Sanctum simply doesn’t have the jurisdiction to declare any war,” General Hopper was saying, and world implications aside, I couldn’t help but appreciate the indignation in his tone. “And especially not a war to commit genocide for inheriting the wrong, uh”—he glanced at me uncertainly—“traits.”

  To his credit, he genuinely seemed to hope that his word choice was inoffensive. Not that I was emotionally coherent enough to care what he called our gifts. He was a general, and he seemed to be on our side. That was all that mattered right now.

  Well, that, and how many of his fellow generals felt the same way.

  “It doesn’t matter anymore what jurisdiction they have by law,” Glenbark said. “The High Cleric knows that. He struck straight at their hearts today, fed into their deepest fears.”

  “Sir, he freely admitted the Sanctum’s been lying to us for almost a thousand years,” one of the captains said.

  “That only makes his story stronger,” Franco said, stroking absentmindedly at his thin black mustache. “Without admitting some fault of their own, it would’ve simply been name-calling. Name-calling from the man many consider the highest authority on Enochia, mind you. But name-calling nonetheless. Admitting the Sanctum’s own culpability in the matter provides real authenticity. It will only deepen the public fear of Shapers all the more.”

  No one argued. Not really. Just talked their way through a few more circles to the inevitable truth of the situation. I half-listened, head bowed low over the table, the thick smell of the treated hardwood assaulting my nose in mocking waves, as if just to remind me that it couldn’t be troubled to leave me in peace while the world threatened to burn down around us.

  By now, word had probably reached the majority of the base, and I could only imagine there were several thousand conversations currently sparking—some openly in squad barracks, some privately in hushed whispers.

  What’s command gonna say about this?

  I’ve never seen what all the fuss was about Raish anyway.

  Whose side is Glenbark even on, anyway?

  Whose side are WE on?

  I glanced at the door, glad once again for the added protection of Dillard’s Hounds out there. They, at least, were firmly on our side, as seemed to be the case for a good majority of the legionnaires who truly understood the role our “demonic” cloaking fields had played in retaking Oasis. But that was hardly everyone in the Legion.

  Elise’s voice snapped me back to the conversation.

  “What would you have us do, High General?”

  “We should leave,” Four said, when Glenbark didn’t pounce to answer. “All four of us,” he added with a look at me and Eight. “Helping with the raknoth was one thing, but this is different. We just went from being murky gray areas here to being walking targets. Not to mention liabilities for anyone else who’d rather not see us get slugged for breathing.”

  It said something that I found myself wanting to nod along with Four, the Seeker who I’d all-too-recently rather despised for having spent years hunting and killing Shapers for the very Sanctum that’d just publicly marked him for death. I wasn’t sure what it said, exactly. But definitely something.

  “This is all kinds of gropped up,” Johnny muttered.

  That seemed about right.

  “We can’t leave,” Elise said. Then, with a glance at Glenbark, “At least, I don’t think we should. If we run away, where does it end?”

  “With us not getting shot in the back, maybe,” Fou
r said.

  “No,” Glenbark said almost softly, shaking her head. “No, Citizen Fields is right. It doesn’t matter if your being here paints targets on all our heads. Like it or not, this is about more than any one of us now. This is about the freedom of all Enochians, and about who—if anyone—wields the power to threaten that freedom. If the Sanctum says its death to Shapers today, who’s to say it won’t be damnation to cripples, or ebonies, or left-handed redheads tomorrow?”

  “That’s oddly specific,” Johnny mumbled, frowning down at his left hand.

  “Begging your pardon, sir,” one of the captains said, “but don’t you think that’s a large leap? We’re talking about individuals who can control minds without moving a muscle. It’s not exactly the same thing as singling people out for their eye color.”

  There was a lot I wanted to say to that, but didn’t. For whatever reason, I didn’t really feel like I had any right to defend myself here, in this room. Out there, against the Sanctum and the assholes who would’ve punched my teeth in for trying to save them, yes. In here, though, with Glenbark and Dillard and Franco, I was surrounded by people who’d sacrificed their own health and safety to help preserve mine. It was different.

  “I understand what you’re saying, Captain,” Glenbark said, “but it’s not a question of whether I think it’s likely the Sanctum will actually come knocking for my servitor down the road. It’s a question of whether we’re comfortable allowing them to set this kind of precedent unchallenged.”

  “Sounds like a terrible idea to me,” General Hopper said, leaning back in his chair. “Though I can’t say it sounds like a very economical idea to try to stop them either.”

  No one argued with that.

  I sat in the collective silence, turning over Glenbark’s words right until I noticed her sharp gaze settling on me.

  “Citizen Raish, you haven’t said a word in all of this. What are you thinking?”

  Mostly, I was thinking that I was surprised she’d think I had anything insightful to say at all. Between that and the shock of everything else, all I could do was shake my head at first.

  “I don’t wanna die, I guess, for starters,” I finally managed.

  General Hopper and one of the captains smiled a little at that.

  Glenbark just nodded, still serious. “I’m glad to hear that. And?”

  I swallowed. “And, I don’t know. I’d rather not go back into hiding, but I don’t want this planet to tear itself apart because of us, either. Especially not after we’ve all fought so hard to keep it together. And especially not when…”

  “Speak your mind, Haldin,” Glenbark said. “We’re far past polite consideration here.”

  “It’s just that…” I faltered, trying to organize my thoughts. “It’s infuriating, how ready and willing everyone is to call us evil. Never mind that Shapers like me could’ve sniffed out the whole raknoth invasion years ago if they weren’t busy hiding from the Sanctum’s…” I glanced at Four and Eight. “Well, you know. But no. No one will talk about that. They throw up footage of me at the gallows to breed fear of the unknown, and it’s like the whole world’s forgotten that the reason I was up there was because Carlisle and I were the first people who actually tried to stop the raknoth.”

  I looked around the table and was unsurprised to see a mix of sympathetic nods from my friends and unimpressed looks from pretty much everyone else. Yeah, those looks said. The world’s not fair, kid. Get used to it.

  Only Glenbark and Hopper watched impassively, assessing.

  “Look, I understand why the Sanctum is frightened of what we can do,” I continued. “Scud, I’ve spoken with the High Cleric about it. And his personal hatred aside…” I glanced at Elise, and she nodded, squeezing my hand. We’d discussed this several times before. “I’m not blind. I see that Shapers can be dangerous. But they’re twisting facts now, pretending like we’re some kind of unholy raknoth consorts when we’ve really been leading the charge against the bastards all along.”

  By that point, I could’ve gone on for days about the injustices—how no one cared about how much I’d lost in this fight, or how the Sanctum had been keeping a few dozen of these so-called demons locked up in their own White Tower for personal use, or how I’d all but single-handedly been the reason the Legion had managed to retake Oasis and break the hybrid army at all. Luckily, some flutter of good sense—or maybe it was the pressure of Elise’s grip on my hand—told me I’d said what I needed to say, and that the rest was less than useful.

  “It seems to me that we’re looking at an information war,” Franco said. “And we’re looking at it from an inferior position in terms of the most important resource.”

  “Holy righteousness?” I muttered.

  “Authority,” Franco corrected. “In the war of truth—and make no mistake, truth is a war—authority can absolutely conquer facts and good sense. And in the eyes of at least eighty percent of the population, there is no higher authority than the High Cleric of the Sanctum.” He looked at Glenbark. “I clearly can’t tell you how best to handle your military, but I can tell you that superior artillery and fortifications will mean little—will possibly even become a serious hindrance—if you’re truly intent on winning the minds of the people and drawing a line for the Sanctum here.”

  “I’m well aware,” Glenbark said. “What would you suggest we do?”

  Franco considered. “Starting on the defense? I’d humanize our so-called demons. As Haldin points out, the people could use a clear reminder of all the good he and the rest of our friendly Shapers have done. But first we have to humanize them. Especially Haldin. He’s plastered the reels for cycles now, but the world barely knows who he actually is underneath the teenage Legion discharge who’s been at the root of multiple controversies and can accomplish physical feats no normal man could dream of. That’s hardly a character to empathize with.”

  “I told you you needed a publicist, broto,” Johnny murmured beside me.

  I was too busy staring at Franco. “The High Cleric declares open war, and you want me to counter with an interview?”

  “It’s perfect,” Franco said. He looked to Glenbark, who looked to General Hopper, who looked skeptically at me and finally shrugged.

  “He’d better be an Alpha-blessed delight on camera if we actually want it to do any good.”

  For some reason, Four chose that moment to let out a derisive snort.

  “Hey, it’s not like it could do any more harm at this point, right?” Johnny asked. “What?” he immediately added at the array of frowns from around the table. “No such thing as bad reel coverage and all that, right? You know, except for… all those vids of Hal that… landed us right where…” He looked around, scrunching his face. “Yeah, I guess I’ll stop talking now.”

  “I think that’s a wise move, legionnaire,” Hopper said, glancing at his own servitor, who was gaping at Johnny with some combination of horror and reverence.

  “We simply need to see to it that Hal is properly prepared,” Franco said. “And paired with a friendly interviewer, of course.”

  Of course.

  It was just that finding a friendly interviewer—or getting significant coverage at all outside of emergency Legion channels—was probably going to be about as easy as tickling a haga beast’s underbelly and living to tell about it. I was opening my mouth to point that out when Glenbark brought a pause to the discussion with a raised hand, touching lightly at her earpiece with the other.

  “Acknowledged,” she said, trading a look with General Hopper as she listened to some report. “Standby.”

  “He’s here?” Hopper asked, looking none too pleased about it.

  Glenbark’s curt nod only sparked my curiosity. She turned to study our assembly like she was wondering whether or not to call it to an end.

  “This is an internal Legion affair,” Hopper said.

  “True,” Glenbark said. “But I’d say Citizen Raish has the right to face the man who’s tried twice now to
stab him in his sleep.”

  Hopper looked at me and my civilian friends and said nothing. I said nothing right back, pretty sure I knew who they were talking about, but not what. Glenbark was already touching her earpiece, decision made.

  “Send him in. Alone.”

  Seconds later, the door slid open, and my suspicions were confirmed by the balding old man who appeared in the doorway, garbed in Legion general’s tunic, his body as soft as his eyes were hard.

  General Gregor Auckus took in the room with a casual sneer. “Ah, wonderful, the civilian brigade is here. Imagine my surprise. Freya.” He spoke Glenbark’s common name like a curse that somehow marginally seemed to sound like a greeting, then fixed his beady eyes on me. “Demon.”

  I said nothing, unable to imagine how any good could come of it, more concerned with what he was doing here now. Auckus had already taken his first strolling steps into the room before his eyes found General Hopper and narrowed suspiciously.

  “Have a seat, Gregor,” Hopper said. “It’s been too long.”

  For a second, I almost thought Auckus might turn and run. “What is this?” he demanded instead, his glare shifting from Hopper to Glenbark. “Why are they here?”

  “For the truth,” Glenbark said. “Sit, Gregor.”

  Auckus teetered, clearly hesitant to even concede that much to her, but finally he sank into the empty chair at the head of the table, and quickly shifted gears to the task of trying to look like he owned the place.

  Glenbark watched until he was settled, then crossed her hands on the table and spoke plainly. “I won’t mince words, General Auckus. Have you been in contact with Sanctum personnel today?”

  He didn’t look at her, just stared straight at me. “Does it matter what I say?”