Blue Shadow

by Brad Magnarella

  “Don’t forget,” I said now, my voice low with warning. “I still have right of refusal.”

  It was an amendment I had added to the contract, basically stipulating that if an assignment placed civilians at risk or seemed generally sketchy, I had the authority to call it off.

  “I wouldn’t want it any other way,” Purdy answered with a smile. “Legion is a segment of Centurion’s business model now. A growing one, we hope. Its reputation will mean everything. Why do you think I was so anxious to appoint you its captain? You’re a soldier’s soldier, a man with a reputation for completing his mission, not to mention a spotless record.”

  “I thought it was my good looks,” I muttered.

  Purdy chuckled and slapped my knee. “You let us take care of that.”

  We passed through another security gate and entered the Legion compound. Unlike the main campus, the compound was plain—no grass, trees, or walkways. The various metal buildings, which were the same color as the surrounding sand, looked bereft of people. But as the SUV cruised around a circular drive, a young woman emerged from a large dome-shaped building in the compound’s center.

  “And here’s the lovely Sarah McKinnon,” Purdy said as Rusty pulled the SUV to a stop in front of her. “Legion’s program manager and one of the sharpest associates in Centurion.”

  Sarah wore gray slacks, her arms folded tightly around a clipboard pressed to the front of a stiff white blouse. Her brunette hair was in a ponytail, and as she waited for us to emerge, she brushed her bangs from the top of a pair of thick glasses. I tried to read her face but it was as flat as a mannequin’s.

  “Sarah is going to show you around, get you oriented, and then it’ll be time to meet your new team.”

  “When can I start training them?”

  “Everything starts today, Captain Wolfe.”

  I nodded and opened the car door. When he made no move to get out on his side, I said, “You’re not coming?”

  “My part in the first act is done. You’ll be working with Sarah now. Anything Legion requires from Centurion or vice versa will flow through her—with your input, of course. If you feel you need to talk to someone outside the program, you have my contact info.”

  “Is she above me?” That was something we needed to be clear on from the get go. Nothing would complicate the program faster than confusion about who was in charge.

  “You’ll be reporting to her, yes, but I want the relationship to be collaborative rather than hierarchical. You each have your own sets of expertise.”

  I cocked my head toward the window. “And she understands this?”

  “She does.”

  When I got out and closed the door, I heard the window power down behind me.

  “We must put all preconceptions aside and be flexible,” Purdy called. “I told Sarah the same thing.”

  He dispensed the advice in a way that suggested he was referring to something specific. But when I turned, the SUV was already pulling away, the window sliding back up over his smiling face.

  3

  The smoothness of Sarah’s face contrasted with her rigid bearing, making her age hard to gauge, but she couldn’t have been older than thirty. She moved her clipboard to her left hand as I approached, her expression unchanging. “Captain Wolfe,” she said, thrusting her right hand forward, “I’m Sarah McKinnon, Program Manager at Legion.”

  “Good to meet you,” I said.

  Like her speech, her grip was cold and clipped, lasting for no more than a second. “You can dispense with the helmet. You won’t need it here.”

  I hesitated, remembering Rusty’s reaction, but then did as she said. Warm desert air buffeted my sweat-damp hair as I lifted the helmet off. Squinting, I pulled a pair of polarized sports goggles from a pocket and donned them, the elastic band cinching my head.

  As the world turned tea colored, I watched for Sarah’s reaction to my wolfish appearance. Nothing. No tension around her eyes, no alteration of her breathing, no change in her plain-soaped scent. She simply gave a small nod, as though checking a box, then turned and started into a fast walk toward the building she’d appeared from, ponytail lashing side to side.

  I glanced around the dusty compound, which reminded me of some of the bases we’d operated out of in Central Asia. This one had more training elements. Beyond several outbuildings were a long shooting range and a battle-simulation area, complete with mock houses. I nodded, automatically setting up exercises in my mind. The facilities looked more than adequate. Off to the right, several vehicles were parked in a line beside an empty helipad, though none of them appeared military grade.

  “I understand we’re starting with a tour?” I said, catching up to Sarah.

  “There’ll be time for that later. The team’s waiting in the conference room. We have a lot of material to cover.”

  Her clipboard was loaded with folders, and she braced it to her front as she reached for the heavy door. But before she could pull it open, I reached forward and pinned it closed.

  “Since you and I are going to be working together, I’d like to know a bit about you before meeting the team.” I also wanted to get a better gauge of her perception of me. Purdy had given me his assurance that we would be equals, but she wasn’t treating me like one. “If you don’t mind,” I added.

  Sarah gave the door another determined tug before turning toward me. I expected a face etched with frustration lines, but her expression remained eerily flat. Beyond her glasses, chestnut-colored eyes appraised me.

  “What do you want to know?”

  “Your background, for starters. I’m assuming you know mine.”

  “I’m a medical doctor. MD from Stanford. Internship at UC San Francisco. Trauma and pathology residencies at Johns Hopkins and Harvard, respectively. I enlisted the day after I finished my final residency. Completed my basic at Fort Sill and was deployed a month later.

  Military? That was a surprise. “Why enlist instead of going into practice?”

  “Because there was a need. I managed the main field hospital for the 915th in Baghlan Province, Waristan.”

  There was something familiar about that particular hospital. Then it hit me. “You were overrun by the enemy.”

  “We managed to hold them off until we were exfilled, but yes, they overran the base and hospital.” She said it very matter-of-factly, no suggestion that the harrowing event had left a mark. Neither had she cited any accolades, though I knew for a fact the medical team had been officially commended for ensuring the patients made it out safely that night. Several on the team had even manned heavy machine guns. Something told me she’d been one of them.

  “So why leave the military?”

  “Centurion United made me an offer.”

  “Better compensation?” I asked, testing her.

  If my pointed question perturbed her, she didn’t show it. “No more than I could have made in private practice or research. There was a need for someone with my special qualifications.”

  That pat answer again: a need. “To kill monsters?”

  For the first time Sarah’s eyes shifted slightly as though she had glimpsed something in her mind and then immediately looked away. “To protect the innocent against beings we’re only beginning to understand.”

  I nodded, feeling like I’d finally struck something human. Her words cast me back to the summer morning when I was twelve and Billy and I had gone to fish at Mission Creek. Three teenaged boys showed up. Following an exchange of words, the leader stabbed Billy in the throat. The boys then took turns sucking his blood. I’d sat there, frozen, only moving after they’d left, but I wasn’t able to bring help in time. Billy died from blood loss, the boys disappeared, and the police declared them cultists. According to Purdy, though, the boys had been a breed of vampire.

  “Was that all?” Sarah asked.

  I returned from my memory of Billy’s death to find her staring at me. Her credentials were impressive, and her military background assured me we’d be speak
ing the same language. I even liked her directness. But there was still the matter of our working relationship.

  “Purdy says we’ll be collaborating in a fifty-fifty partnership,” I said.

  Her gaze remained fixed on mine, her expression unchanging. It was the look of someone of such high intelligence that her eyes had become instruments for absorbing data rather than conveying emotion or empathy.

  “If you have a different understanding,” I went on, “it would be better for us to work that out now. I don’t want any conflicts over who’s in charge cropping up later. Especially mid mission.”

  “That’s my understanding as well,” she replied with a touch of impatience but no apparent bitterness. A promising sign. She adjusted her glasses and seized the door handle again. “Like I said, the team’s waiting, and we have a lot of material to cover.”

  “Right.” I released the door so she could open it.

  Pushing my goggles up to my brow, I followed her into the dome-shaped building. A short corridor led to a larger circular corridor. Closed doors indicated rooms around the building’s periphery, but our destination appeared to be a room in the center.

  Sarah crossed the circular corridor and opened another metal door. Maybe to address any lingering concerns I had about the command structure—or maybe just to make sure I wouldn’t pin the door closed again—she stepped aside, allowing me to enter first. The round room was brightly lit and more modern-looking than what I’d seen so far. A screen comprising three large LCD panels, currently dark, curved around the wall, while a large table with built-in chairs occupied the room’s center. Three of the chairs facing us were occupied.

  My new team? I thought in concern as I looked around the table. I had been expecting at least ten members. I’d also been expecting bulky soldiers with square jaws and brush cuts. Not the motley crew looking back at me now.

  “How’s it going, brother?” Beyond a cloud of smoke, a young black man with braided hair grinned and raised his hand. Maybe it was the darkness of his face, but his teeth and the whites of his eyes looked preternaturally bright, much like the designer sweatshirt he wore. He flicked the ashes from the end of a thick cigar into a tray. “Them’s some serious chompers.”

  I realized my lips had peeled back in reaction to the rank smell of the stogie, and I forced them back over my teeth. “I’m Captain Jason Wolfe,” I said stiffly. “And you are?”

  “I am Yoofi from the Congo,” he responded in a strong accent. “Yoofi Adjaye.” For no reason that I could tell, he broke into a fit of giggling. An open metal flask sat near his elbow, and my nose picked up a scent of sweet alcohol—brandy, maybe. What in the hell was this? Didn’t Purdy say the training would begin today?

  “Were you a member of the Congolese Armed Forces?” I asked.

  “Armed Forces?” This made him laugh harder. “I never even held a gun.”

  “What’s your expertise, then?” I felt my hackles rising. “What are you doing here?”

  “I am a priest. I come because Centurion ask.”

  “A priest?”

  “That’s right, brother. I have a direct line to the big man.” He took a sip from his flask followed by several puffs, giggling as a fresh cloud of smoke enveloped his head. “Or one of them, anyways.”

  I shot Sarah an exasperated look, but she was standing to one side as though giving me space to get to know my team. I turned to the woman two seats over from Yoofi. A head taller than the African, she wore a red turtleneck and sat erect, head poised on a lithe neck. Long black hair matched a pair of narrow eyes that stared at me with an intensity bordering on hostile.

  “Are you a priest too?” I asked.

  Yoofi giggled, but the woman’s mouth remained turned down at the corners as she replied, “No.”

  “All right, why don’t we start with your name and where you’re from.”

  “Takara. Japan.”

  “Military experience?”

  She sneered as though the question was beneath her.

  “Takara is an expert in the art of ninjitsu,” Sarah answered for her. “Her skills are highly sought after in her country.”

  Ninjitsu? I thought. She’s a ninja? “And what brings you here?” I asked.

  “That’s my business.”

  My jaw clenched, but she had a point. I was trying to assess whether my teammates were just here for the money or whether they were motivated in ways that could help us cohere as a unit. But would I have disclosed my real reason for signing onto Centurion to someone I’d just met? My burning need to become human again, to begin my life with Daniela?

  I gave a small nod and turned to the hulking man sitting at the far end of the table in black fatigues. Finally, I thought, a soldier. But before I could address him, every muscle in my body stiffened.

  Though he was wearing a skull cap, I now recognized the lumpy contours of his head and his dead blue eyes. His name was Olaf. Along with a Centurion associate named Baine, he had been involved in the bombing of the Kabadi’s warrior class in Wakhjir Province.

  He was the reason I’d been transformed into the Blue Wolf.

  4

  I stared at Olaf, pulse pounding in my head. The large man looked back at me in complete disinterest. I wondered if he even knew who I was. But I remembered everything about the day we visited the Kabadi’s compound: his disappearing to mark the infirmary with infrared lights, the deep shudder of the earth and the cries of the people as the bomb impacted minutes later, the old woman etching the mark of the wolf into my cheek…

  A rumbling grew in my chest as I tugged off my gloves. In a jagged flash, I saw myself leaping onto the table and removing Olaf’s head with my talons.

  “Is something the matter?”

  Sarah’s voice and cold grip on my arm brought me back. I turned to find her looking up at me with clinical eyes.

  “We need to talk,” I growled. “Now.”

  I took a final look at Olaf, who had no idea how close he’d just come to a messy end, before turning and pushing open the door. Sarah joined me in the corridor. “What is it?” she asked.

  I paced back and forth, breaths cycling harshly through my muzzle as I tried to talk my beast nature back down. The Blue Wolf was a manifestation of the essential qualities of the Great Wolf, protector of the Kabadi people. And the Blue Wolf had just come face to face with the man who’d aided in eliminating an entire generation of warriors—the Great Wolf’s children, basically. It was only by the will of Jason Wolfe that Olaf was still breathing.

  “Get rid of him,” I said when I could talk.

  “Who?”

  “Olaf. I’m not asking. Get rid of him.”

  “But he’s a member of the team.”

  “Not this team.” I wheeled on her. “Never this team. There’s no way in hell I’m working with him. He’s a monster, a mass murderer.” I wiped my muzzle with a sleeve. Purdy had told me Olaf was being handled internally, but placing him in Legion didn’t handle shit. Why in the hell would he do that? And why wouldn’t he tell me? Then I remembered his parting words:

  Put all preconceptions aside and be flexible.

  He’d been smiling when he said that. Was this some kind of a joke to him?

  Sarah took a folder from her clipboard, opened it, and began leafing through the pages. “You’re referring to the incident in Wakhjir Province,” she said, stopping on a page and reading it over. “He was operating under orders.”

  “So were the Nazi SS,” I snarled. “That doesn’t change anything. It was his choice to carry them out.”

  “It wasn’t his choice, actually.”

  “The hell are you talking about?”

  “Olaf Kowalski is a non-living specimen.”

  “That doesn’t mean anything to me.”

  “Perhaps a brief explanation of his background will—”

  “I don’t want any explanation of his background. I want him the hell out of here!”

  But Sarah was already consulting another page in
the folder. “Olaf joined Centurion four years ago. While on assignment in Southeast Asia, he stepped on a landmine that dismembered him from the waist down and blew off his left hand and lower jaw. He and his parts were transferred to a Centurion hospital. In addition to surgery, the doctors began him on a tissue-regeneration regimen under development at our bioengineering division. Olaf’s condition worsened that night, and he was ultimately pronounced dead. Twenty-four hours later, he recovered fully.”

  I stopped pacing. “The doctors resuscitated him?”

  “No. He awoke in the hospital morgue.”

  “The morgue?”

  “His tissue had fully regenerated. The only evidence of trauma was the network of scars where his parts had been reattached and his wounds stitched closed. He was hypothermic but breathing.”

  I thought back to the firefight with the Mujahideen when Olaf had been blasted by an RPG round. His left arm was nearly severed at the elbow, but he had fought on. By the next morning all of his wounds had healed, even his dangling arm. Whatever Centurion had given him must have endowed him with regenerative abilities not unlike my own.

  “So he’s a fast healer,” I said. “But I’m still not clear on where the ‘non-living’ part comes in. You said he was breathing.”

  “His vital signs were present, but critically low. An EKG showed minimal brain activity. An intriguing case. He shouldn’t have been alive, and yet he wasn’t dead. Hence the term ‘non-living.’”

  I snorted. “He was alive enough to direct a bomb strike.”

  “He was programmed to direct a bomb strike,” Sarah corrected me, raising her voice to talk over my next interjection. “Olaf retained the instincts for survival and basic decision-making. He also retained his training as a soldier. Whatever had been drilled into him prior to his stepping on the landmine, he continued to possess. But a section of his parietal cortex was almost entirely devoid of processing power. The parietal cortex of course being the area involved in free will.”