by B.J. Keeton
***
“Not with Chuckie. No,” Swinton said. “I won’t. I can’t. He hates me.”
“He doesn’t hate you, Swinton,” said Professor Barts.
“I bet he does. He’s out to get me. Every time we’re on the range or sparring, I have to go to the infirmary for something. Most of the time, it’s his fault.”
“You’ve never been able to prove that, Swinton.”
“Either way, I’m not going.”
“Yes, Swinton, you are. You’re a soldier, and you’re going. That’s your job.”
Swinton turned his back on the professor and peered into the closet. He pulled out the red shirt he always wore under his fatigues when he went through the Instance. It had been his brother James’s, and Swinton always considered it lucky. He tossed the shirt on the bed beside his fatigues.
“What’s so important about this one, professor? Why us?”
“Each member of this team was chosen for a reason, Swinton. Not the least of which was that you’re all ready for your Rites.”
“My Rites? To be a full agent?”
Barts said, “Yes.”
“Would I get a Flameblade then?” Swinton asked.
“You really are single-minded, aren’t you, Swinton?”
“I changed from scholar to soldier just for the chance at a Flameblade, so yeah. I guess I am. Is there a chance?”
“The mission consists of you and your team finding a route from this Instance back to Erlon. We believe that Saryn Bloom is more than adequately equipped for the task. Ceril Bain is the leader—”
“What? Leader? I thought you said Chuckie was going?”
“Chuckie is going,” Professor Barts said, “but he’s not in charge. Ceril Bain is.”
“So I have to take orders from the killer librarian now, too?”
“Yes, you do. Do you have a problem with that?” The professor’s voice was hard. He wasn’t joking around, and Swinton knew it.
“No, sir. I don’t.”
“Good. Now, Ceril Bain is the leader of the team, and his primary directive is to locate any connection this Instance may have to the Untouchable. Any connection he finds will be intelligence we can use to locate the terrorists on Erlon, and Saryn Bloom may be able to use it to complete her objectives. Your job is simple: protect them all and make sure you stay alive to do it.”
“But what does that have to do with the Flameblades?”
“Swinton, there might be one there. We don’t know. It’s an unmapped Instance that may be light-years from where we thought we want to be. We just don’t know. If there is a connection with the Untouchable, then there’s a good chance a Flameblade is around. His followers on Erlon seem to have a ready supply of them.”
“That’s all I needed to hear, sir. I’ll be ready in ten minutes.”
Professor Barts sighed and shook his head. If Swinton noticed the disappointment, he made no indication. Barts said, “Swinton Marelotov, on this mission and this mission alone, you will be authorized to act in the capacity of a fully Rited agent of the Charonic Archive. You will find a bag packed for you that contains supplies in the Instance chamber, and I ask that you stop by the weapons locker and arm yourself with a standard set. You should add to that a nanite sleeve.”
“Oh, wow,” Swinton said. “I’ve hit the big time.”
“This is serious, Swinton.”
“I’m being dead serious. I get a nanite sleeve and there might be a Flameblade somewhere in this Instance? I feel like things are finally coming together for me.”
“Just remember the mission directives, son. I’ve downloaded them into your tablet, and the other members of your team have been informed of them as well. Do you have any questions?”
“No, sir. I think I’m good.”
“Be at the Instance portal in half an hour for final checks. Then you’re off.”
Swinton saluted. “Yes, sir.”
The professor left the room, and Swinton smiled to himself, his mind overtaken by the possibility of finding a Flameblade of his own. He got dressed, beginning with his brother’s red shirt. Before he left his quarters, he balled his fists together and pantomimed a brief sword fight.