“...All three of you were traumatized in those sewers,” Wreg added. He seemed about to go on, then stopped, giving a low snort. “...Well, you and Maygar, anyway. I think Nenz is operating somewhere in his own orbit these days.” He gave Jon a wry smile, although it seemed to come with a bit more effort than usual. He managed to hold Jon’s gaze, to really be looking at him again. “To be fair, I think traumas hit our fearless commander differently. Especially now. He’s thinking about his wife. And his child. The events of those hours hit him differently, because of that... put him in a different kind of danger zone.”
Before he’d thought about the other’s words fully, at least in the conscious part of his mind, Jon let out his own forced-sounding snort. Thinking, he nodded to Wreg’s assessment.
“Yeah,” he said.
His voice still sounded shaky.
He exhaled, then tried to pull more air into his lungs.
“Yeah,” he said again, rubbing the back of his neck.
He didn’t bump Wreg’s arm, though, or try to move out from under his fingers.
For his own part, Wreg didn’t try to put more distance between them, either. Jon could feel his light reacting to the nearness of the other male, mostly by opening more than he’d felt comfortable letting his light open for weeks. As Jon opened, the pain that had murmured in the background since he first got to San Francisco surged briefly back into his awareness.
“Maygar...” Jon blurted. He shifted under Wreg’s touch, in spite of himself. He didn’t move away from him, though. If anything, he moved closer, even as he turned his head, scanning the other seats in the cabin. “Maygar,” he repeated. “Is he––”
“Chinja’s with him,” Wreg reassured him, his eyes following Jon’s towards the other seats. “We saw both of you start to affect one another. We should have foreseen this... before we got this close, I mean...”
“It’s all right,” Jon managed. “I didn’t think...” He stammered again, trying to convey the emotion that stuck in his chest. “Thank you,” he repeated. “...Thanks, Wreg.”
“It wasn’t only me.”
“Thank... all of you, then,” Jon finished lamely.
Again, he found his mind overly focused on Wreg’s nearness, on his hands and light in his, on how close the other seer sat to him. Jon hadn’t let himself get this close to Wreg physically since he’d left New York, apart from when he’d had light sickness and had no choice. He hadn’t let himself be this open around him since then, either. Some part of Jon wanted to apologize for what he’d said to Wreg when they last talked in San Francisco...or maybe to push him away again. He couldn’t decide which of those felt more right, or even which would be more fair to the other seer. As he struggled to think it through, Wreg turned, looking at him.
Briefly, his dark eyes slid down Jon’s body.
“Just breathe,” the seer advised. “Don’t think about me, Jon. I came because your light was closed. The others thought I’d have the best chance of reaching you.”
Jon nodded, but felt his skin flush hotter.
Of course. Infiltrators to the core. They would send Wreg because Wreg was best-situated to succeed. Practical. Efficient.
They were on operation time now, like Revik said.
As soon as the thought hit him, Jon realized he knew the real reason Wreg sat there, in the seat next to him. Revik ordered him here. Revik assessed the situation, decided to intervene, and assigned the seers he thought would have the best chances of success within the timeframe of the op. Jon even understood. They couldn’t be carrying him or Maygar or anyone else once they hit the ground.
Looking away from Wreg’s face, Jon felt that sickness worsen.
Unable to keep his eyes off Wreg entirely now, not with the continued proximity, Jon found himself looking at the other man’s tattooed forearms instead, particularly the one attached to the hand that didn’t happen to be touching him. Wreg’s upper arms and chest, as well as his legs down to the heavy, combat-style boots, were covered in the same black, armored but stretchy material that Jon himself wore. Looking at Wreg in the skin-tight but dense fabric brought back memories that Jon hadn’t let near the conscious areas of his mind in awhile...months, really, since they’d gotten to San Francisco in the first few days of December.
Shifting again in his seat, Jon cleared his throat, forcing his head to turn, away from Wreg, away from the last time he’d let himself look at the seer’s body.
He looked out the window, instead.
He remembered the sound of water rushing through the sewage tunnels, watching Revik getting punched by Ditrini before he––
“Jon,” Wreg said, his voice gentle.
Jon’s vision snapped back into focus.
The sound of the water turned into the drone of the Chinook’s propellers, the denser thrum of its engines at the front of the fuselage.
Jon shook his head, but not at the other seer.
“What if I freak out down there?” he muttered, looking out the window again.
He aimed the words more at himself than Wreg.
“You won’t,” Wreg said, answering him anyway.
“How can you know that?” Jon said.
He turned his head as he asked, once more facing the other seer. As soon as he had, he found himself wishing that he hadn’t...pretty much the instant he met the stillness and depth of Wreg’s returning gaze. The feeling Jon saw in the other man’s eyes paralyzed him briefly. When his pain worsened again in that pause, Jon saw Wreg’s obsidian eyes flinch.
The Chinese seer’s skin flushed a little darker, but Wreg didn’t break their stare, either, or even change expression.
“You’ll be fine, brother,” Wreg assured him. “I promise you, you will. I know you better than you think...” Hesitating, he smiled faintly, but it didn’t touch his eyes, which remained cautious, even distant as he continued to massage Jon’s shoulder. “Trauma doesn’t equate to fear...not exactly,” Wreg added. “We should have Yumi work with you more, when the opportunity presents itself, but it is too late for that on this run. It won’t matter, brother...it really won’t. Not once we land. Trust me on this.”
Jon nodded, feeling his throat tighten as he continued to look at Wreg’s face.
The seer had shaved that morning. He had a bruise on his neck, too, probably from some fight or another, but close enough to something Jon might have given him during sex that Jon’s chest clenched briefly in an irrational wave of jealousy.
Wreg had lost weight since New York. He’d cut his hair shorter, too, and wore it in a clip like the ones Jorag often wore. Jon noticed that Wreg’s cheeks looked thinner, that he had a smudge of dirt or grease on his jaw, just forward of his left ear. He noticed that Wreg smelled just like Jon remembered him smelling, a faint sheen of sweat overpowered by a sweeter musk that somehow reminded Jon of cut grass and trees, maybe because he could picture Wreg being from a place like that. Jon could almost see Wreg there, at the base of those mountains...
That time, it was Wreg who averted his gaze.
The older seer shrugged while Jon watched, mirroring the sentiment with one wave of his muscular hand. As he did it, he seemed to hesitate as to whether to remove the hand that still rested on Jon. After a brief tug of war, he left it there, if only briefly.
Jon didn’t really hear his words for a few seconds.
When he started listening again, Wreg was already midstream.
“...Being connected to Nenzi will help,” Wreg said, that distance back in his voice. “That son of a bitch is focused, I’ll give him that. He’s also a lot more connected to the two of you than maybe you realize. You may not always feel it, but it’s there...the rest of us can see it, and feel it...” He hesitated, as if pushing aside some other reaction, then shrugged. “Use that, Jon, if you need to. Don’t hesitate. Nenzi will pull you and Maygar along when it comes to the emotional stuff, if it really comes to that...”
Hesitating again, Wreg gave Jon another direct look.
“...But it won’t come to that, brother,” he said, his voice firm. “You’ll be fine. Better than fine. You’ll do your job, like the rest of us.”
“How do you know that?” Jon asked again.
His voice came out stronger that time, more insistent. For some reason, it felt important to get a real answer out Wreg, something he could hold on to, maybe.
Wreg only shrugged, however.
A few seconds later, he removed his hand, too.
For the first time Jon had let himself in months, he felt real, physical pain when the Chinese seer separated his light from his. Jon had to fight not to gasp as Wreg rose wordlessly to his feet, giving Jon a last, reassuring pat before he turned to go. Jon only sat there, watching as Wreg moved with his usual grace towards his previous seat at the front of the cabin.
Wreg didn’t look back, not even once.
Feeling a stab of what might have been regret, guilt or even fear, Jon glanced up at the last moment, fighting with what to say, how to thank him before he’d well and truly gone. The moment passed though, and Jon was left there on his own once more, struggling with his mind, with his light, with how he even felt. He ended up only watching as Wreg made his way soundlessly down the aisle of the Chinook to return to the area by the cockpit.
When Wreg lowered his weight fluidly to the seat next to Jax, Jon’s pain abruptly worsened.
THE CHINOOK DESCENDED in a sharp, cleanly-vertical line.
It dropping so suddenly that Jon felt his heart jerk into his throat. He’d been looking out the window without seeing anything since Wreg left him, and now, panic filled his light again as he watched their unhesitating descent. Pulling his attention off the river, Jon forced his eyes straight down, watching the expanse of green growing larger below him.
Central Park.
Fitting somehow, but it also made everything suddenly feel a lot more real.
The hole in the OBE sat right over the North Meadow of the park, which Jon remembered as the place where baseball fields used to live.
He doubted anyone played baseball here anymore, though.
Tall metal poles formed a jagged line all the way around the rim of the meadow. The rec center, or what had been the rec center, had another fence around it, too. Land and air vehicles parked in odd rows along the center’s southern edges, as well as on the western and eastern edges of the meadow itself. Jon realized the poles formed a military enclosure fence, likely covered by another of those killer-grade OBEs. Instead of baseball diamonds rimmed with grass lawns, he saw nothing but dirt, as if all the grass and sod had been ripped out of the ground.
Jon realized suddenly that a lot of those vehicles appeared to be moving.
His eyes followed as more and more of those jeeps and armored cars rushed across the packed dirt towards the landing strip below. They looked like ants riding dune buggies from their still-significant height, but Jon could see the longer protrusions on some of those vehicles, and knew they were weapons. He saw more doors opening in the dirt, too, and realized underground bunkers lived there, probably filled with even more weapons.
Jesus, it was a damned military base.
SCARB maybe. Maybe even Federal.
The Chinook continued to drop, engines whirring. Jon could only watch their steady approach, staring down between his feet as more and more of those black, armored vehicles rushed to greet them on the packed dirt where the bottom of the fuselage aimed.
“We’ve got a welcoming party,” a familiar voice said.
Jon jumped. His eyes jerked up to find Revik standing there, right beside him.
Revik’s words had come through strangely loud and clear, despite the whine of the engines and the deeper thud of the rotors. Jon touched his headpiece in rote, then noticed that Revik was only now fitting his over one ear.
Revik continued to stand there, his posture deceptively casual as he leaned his forearms on two of the seats for balance once he had the headset in place, his legs slightly splayed where he stood in the middle of the aisle. Guns protruded from holsters on both sides of his ribs, as well as on his hips, and he wore full armor, on everything but his actual face.
Jon realized Revik was talking to all of them, not just him, despite how close he stood.
He was addressing the whole team, some thirty-five infiltrators.
That number seemed pitifully small to Jon suddenly, remembering the hundreds he’d just watched massing on the meadow below.
A sharper ping hit his light, forcing Jon’s gaze up again.
Revik wasn’t looking at him, though. His clear eyes continued to scan the group, holding an unnerving focus, just as Wreg had said.
“You know your roles,” the Elaerian said, looking around at each of them once more. “As for the welcoming party, we expected this. Don’t fucking panic. I’ll get us out of it... just make sure you shield me, or this will be over in a hurry.”
He gave Jon a sharper look, as if assessing his mental state. Those clear eyes flickered away then, gazing around at the others.
“Two minutes,” Revik said, as he straightened. “Get in position.” He glanced at Jon again, clicking his fingers. “Jon and Maygar. You’re with me.”
Before Jon could wrap his head around his words, every seer in the cabin began unbuckling seat belts and regaining their feet.
Jon did the same mechanically, holding the back of the seat in front of him as he stood up, checking his guns in rote, as well as the magazines he’d shoved into the pockets of his vest. He wouldn’t be carrying a rifle, unlike most of the others.
He glanced up in time to see Revik fitting an armored helmet around his head, right before he tossed one to Jon, who caught it as much in reflex as intention. Feeling another urging ping from Revik’s light, Jon moved faster, entering the aisle right behind where the seer stood, facing the back of the helicopter, where the hatch door would open once they landed.
Once he stood there, helmet in place and panting, Jon glanced behind him once more.
His eyes tracked through the cabin until he found Maygar’s. Revik’s son stood just behind him, with only Neela standing between the two of them.
Maygar met Jon’s gaze, his face absent its usual scowl. His dark chocolate eyes shone grimly determined instead; he gave Jon an acknowledging nod without changing expression. Something about that nod reminded Jon of everything they’d been training for in the past week, ever since Revik made the decision to come here after Cass.
Reassured by the look he saw on Maygar’s face, Jon nodded back.
As he did, his head finally began to clear. Maybe it was his connection to Maygar, or maybe it had something to do with both of their connections to Revik, but Jon found himself remembering what he was doing here, why he’d come. His eyes scoured through faces again, that time looking for Allie. She stood near where she’d been sitting before, in the very front of the Chinook, sandwiched between Balidor and Yumi. She met Jon’s gaze, too.
Just like he’d done with Maygar, Jon found himself nodding.
She didn’t nod back.
Even so, Jon found himself somewhat reassured by what he saw there, too.
Deliberately, for the first time since the four of them had been linked together, Jon reached his light more deeply into hers. He realized even as he did, that, apart from when the four of them practiced the operational side of those links, Jon had been avoiding her entirely, even more than he had Maygar and Revik. Once he let that avoidance go, Jon felt a sense of purpose that he hadn’t felt since all of this first started.
He ran over the bare bones of the matrix they created as a unit, then, once he had all of the major connections down, he reached for the individual structures in Allie’s light. Only after he had a hold of hers, and knew his way between them and the light source that would be channeled to him via Balidor, did Jon focus on building the shield.
That part happened so easily, Jon doubted his perceptions at first.
He sent the impulse to Allie, and almost before he’d
finished imparting it into her light, he felt an egg-shaped oval of light erupt like a dense but transparent blanket around Revik.
That light swiftly strengthened, filling every angle and structure Revik carried around his aleimic form with hot-white particles. The shield expanded seconds later, still focusing mainly on Revik, but enveloping Maygar, Jon and the rest of them in gently flowing waves. It hid Revik, Jon and Maygar from view of the surrounding construct, as well, which Jon realized now that he could feel all around them like a suffocating fog.
Jon waited, unmoving until he saw that light cover every inch of Revik’s structure, especially those pieces he used to operate the telekinesis.
Only then, when he felt reasonably sure the shield was as strong as it would get, did Jon ping Balidor, asking him to test what he could feel.
What seemed like only an instant later, both Balidor and Wreg gave him satisfied pings in return. Jon waited for them to check it a second time, and a third, which they did, pinging him the same affirmative notes with even shorter gaps than before.
Only then did Jon search for those same connecting points between himself and Maygar and Revik, structures he now knew better than his own. The four of them, with help from Wreg, Yumi and Balidor, had determined the exact route for the strongest means of piggybacking those links after hours of mapping and remapping the different threads.
Now Jon retraced those steps with a sureness he hoped had a basis in reality and didn’t stem from some kind of deluded overconfidence, overcompensating for his panic of before.
Within a few more seconds, he felt like he’d done as much as he could.
Revik glanced back as Jon thought it, giving him a slight nod.
So he felt it, too. Good.
Still, Jon wouldn’t have said he relaxed exactly.
The ground appeared to be only a dozen feet away now. Jon could see small cyclones of dust under the fuselage, growing larger as they got kicked up higher from the propellers’ whirring blades. Jon could now see actual expressions on the faces of some of the soldiers looking up. They watched the Chinook descend, automatic rifles aimed skyward and tracking them down as they approached. Most of those men and women stood and crouched next to much larger-looking armored jeeps and Humvees, parked in a ragged circle around their landing spot in the southwest corner of the meadow. Swallowing, Jon jerked his attention off them, too.
Allie's War Season Four Page 24