Shield

by Rachael Craw

  I feel a barb in only a year but focus on Lane and Jamie. Neither of them appears offended.

  “It is not a slight on the boys’ abilities,” Ethan explains. “It is simple fact. Immature signals are unlikely to identify a Stray without close physical proximity. That proximity is unlikely to occur before the blocker wears off.”

  I remember the warnings Miriam and Jamie gave me when I was bound to Kitty about the impossibility of a Shield saving their first Spark for this very reason. But I also remember the astonishment in their faces when I sensed the Stray from a distance. My mind ticks over the details, the limited options of the Initiative, wondering at the variables, the enormity of the endeavour. What are the chances that anything will happen the way Ethan hopes? What are the chances anything will happen at all? The scope of the task eclipses our resources to the point of being laughable. I imagine Knox in his office, sneering and rolling his eyes.

  Worse yet, since Helena’s memory slapped me sideways I finally understand the hostility of the wider community of Shields. If it wasn’t for Aiden, would I still feel the same way? Would I have willingly aligned myself with the Initiative knowing what I know now?

  The choices of the rest of the team seem newly astonishing to me. Courageous. Dangerous. Even if Davis’s involvement is driven by an ulterior motive, he has more guts than I’d ever given him credit for. Jamie, I get – his burden of guilt’s almost as heavy as mine. He’s looking to make things right. Helena might simply be here for her father but I could only guess what it cost her emotionally, mentally. Lane doesn’t appear to have a screw loose. How many Sparks has he lost? How is he able to compartmentalise everything? And Ethan, who’s seen so much, lost so much, spent his life in search of a cure … obsessed.

  I hug my waist as Ethan talks. Is there really any courage in my involvement? Ignorance, yes. Arrogance, definitely. Spite, revenge, entitlement … the pathetic need to impress Ethan, to buy his approval, earn his love. Most of all wasn’t I just looking for validation? Irrefutable proof that my fight for Aiden had counted for something – that everything I lost wasn’t for nothing? How can I sit on the bench when I can contribute something the others don’t have?

  “What about me?”

  Ethan cuts short. I’ve interrupted him. He doesn’t reply. Instead, he looks down, the tips of his fingers drum a gentle irregular beat on the tabletop. I feel the others not looking at me. Wow, I’m really that high maintenance.

  I strive for an even voice – no harping. “My signal is fully matured. None of you can Transfer without touch. Ethan is the only one who can Harvest. I do both – remotely. That means my sensitivity is better than all of yours, which means I’m the most likely candidate for early detection … your best chance for pulling this off before the blocker wears off … your best chance for securing a live test subject.”

  In unison, Ethan, Jamie and Davis knot their arms across their chests with borderline comic timing. Offensive as hell. Their individual claims on me – real or imagined – make them a sudden if not unexpectedly united front. It calls for an expletive-laden rant about over-protective sexist bullshit and systemic-patriarchal oppression. Heroically, I bite my tongue and make do with a stiff-jawed, “You know I’m right.”

  Juno fields this one. “Technically true but practically untenable. You may be out of agreement with Knox–”

  “Out of agreement?” I can’t control the height of my eyebrows.

  Juno purses her lips. “Knox may have crossed the line but that does not give you licence to ignore the Executive Council who will not allow an untrained Asset into the field for combative duty.”

  “It’s a waste of time and resources.”

  “You are Warden material, Evangeline – or more, given time and training. Possibly the most powerful third-generation telepath this organisation has encountered. We have not begun to explore your potential or even considered the applications for your gifts. You are simply too valuable.”

  I give her a dead-eyed look. “You and I both know I will never be a Warden. You can’t sit there and pretend my life is more valuable than five trained Shields.”

  Awkward silence, because that’s the kind we do best.

  “The protocol stands.” She returns her attention to Ethan. “I think you should consider my offer. Even two extra agents will improve your situation. If the Stray is onsite and any of your active team are injured you’ll need backup to handle an extraction. You know Knox won’t send anyone.”

  Ethan keeps his face impassive and chooses his words with care. “It is already a delicate operation without adding civilians to the protocol.”

  Jamie, Davis and Lane nod and grunt.

  “I have been working with the CIA deployment for several months,” Juno says. “They are professional, discreet and capable of following orders.”

  “I’m not babysitting a bunch of civs,” Davis says.

  “If one of us Sparks and they get in the way–” Lane finishes his thought with a tight shake of the head.

  “More trouble than it’s worth,” Jamie mutters.

  Juno glowers.

  Ethan leans both hands on the table, his tone polite but unwavering. “I understand the Executive desires to comply with the demands of the government, to integrate more civilian agents …”

  “However?”

  “However … this is our first assignment. We are inventing new protocol as we go. It seems unwise to add uncertainty to uncertainty.”

  “It is the closed-minded arrogance of those who consider their genetic advantages as evidence of superiority that keeps this organisation from evolving into what it could be.”

  “Which is what?” I blurt. “Superhero camp?”

  “A vital resource for the common good,” Juno says, and though she doesn’t raise her voice there is a ringing conviction to her words that silences the muttering of the group.

  It makes me wonder again, what her endgame is? She’s happy for Ethan to bear the brunt of the resistance while she gets to keep her hands clean and a cosy seat on the Executive Council. The urge to probe her signal is hard to resist but she’s all shuttered windows and locked doors. I could break in but what would it accomplish beyond annoying her?

  Ethan straightens, judging it safe to press on with the briefing. I sit brooding and churning inside. I try to concentrate as he explains how the Stray will be transported to the facility, followed by the extraction of the Spark. There are pre-existing protocols for the field team to remember in addition to the plans of the Initiative. Jamie, Davis and Lane listen, riveted, occasionally asking for clarification. Helena sits coolly, an edge to her jaw, a hint of frustration and shame. There’s nothing worse than feeling useless and having everyone treat you like damaged goods. Clearly, it grates her like it grates me to sit here while the men take care of business. Her eyes flicker towards me and I wait for her to look away but she holds my gaze, unwavering. For a moment something passes between us … an acknowledgement or agreement, a complicated peace.

  PRESSURE

  We step out of the freight elevator on level two, my head woozy from the long ascent and close quarters with six active signals. My joints slide and clunk in their sockets as I follow Ethan and the others up the huge empty corridor. I picture Knox standing on the metal walkway above the Nexus, surveying a bank of screens, watching my tracker signal blip through the schematics of the compound. Has he deployed a team to collect me? Not wanting to appear skittish, I keep pace with the others, eyes down.

  The floor is marked with broken yellow lines, the corridor wide enough for delivery vehicles, and leads directly to an open storage facility, the “Supply Room”. More like a football field-sized warehouse with packed ceiling-height shelves running in six long rows down its length. Everything from wet-weather gear to tents, food to ammunition, surveillance equipment to surgical supplies catalogued with military precision. Forklifts wait between each row behind three counters where a handful of agents look up from their work as we enter the wa
rehouse. A booming rumble echoes from the ceiling. High above our heads, massive industrial air-conditioning vents ensure the warehouse is kept cool and dry. It must be the pits working in that kind of noise and I look to see who has drawn the short straw of Supply Room duty.

  There are eight or nine agents that I can see, all of them wearing ear protection and high-visibility vests. A jolt of recognition takes me out of step. On the far left, the Amazon woman with the halo of curls, Stephanie, stares back at me from behind one of the wide counters. Her small friend from the showers stands beside her, Razor-bob. I consider bolting back up the corridor.

  Juno gives Ethan a sharp look and squares her shoulders. “I’ll handle this.” Authority marks her stride as she makes her way across the wide space and the agents stand at attention. Ethan hangs back and we hang back with him.

  Davis nudges Ethan. “Um … sir.”

  “Not good,” Jamie mutters.

  Ethan darts a Reaper look at me.

  Lane sucks air through his teeth.

  “What?” I picture an ambush – Knox leaping from the high shelves with a team of agents to claim me.

  Jamie blocks my view. “Nothing.”

  Helena clicks her tongue then turns to me calmly. “Benjamin is here. If you would prefer to return to the lower barracks I can accompany you.”

  “Benjamin …”

  Jamie bites at the inside of his cheek. “You don’t have to see him.”

  “I don’t – I don’t care.” Then why the sudden vacuum in my head, the flash of goosebumps up my arms and neck, the plummet in my stomach? “It’s fine. I’m fine. Really.” Then I spot him standing at the head of the first row of supply equipment, lanyard, tablet, stylus. He’s pulled his ear protection off, his expression frozen in a look of shock, his dark eyes locked on mine.

  “I said, I’m fi–” My body doesn’t care that I no longer blame him. No amount of it’s not his fault braces me for the fist of memory. Aiden’s head rocks backwards, a burst of red from his temple as the bullet rips through his brain. The warm spray of my brother’s blood spatters my face. He falls and falls and I can’t save him.

  Around me, gasps and soft cries of dismay then Jamie’s signal eclipses the torrent, the heat of his hands press either side of my face. “Hey. It’s all right. You’re here. That’s over. You don’t have to see Benjamin. He won’t come near you.”

  “What the hell,” Lane groans, clasping his head. “Was – was that the brother?”

  “Lane,” Helena snaps but she looks rattled … appalled.

  Ethan presses the side of his fist to his mouth, eyes desolate.

  I Transferred?

  They saw it?

  They all saw it.

  The terrible pressure in my head and chest warn me my body’s not done reacting. Please, don’t let me blow here. Not with Stephanie and Razor-bob on the other side of the room. But the stabbing note hollows the centre of my skull, Jamie’s signal amplifying the upwards whine and if I don’t do something … I step back. “Davis. I need Davis.”

  Jamie blinks like I’ve poked him in the eye.

  The air distorts around me. Pallets of bottled water rattle on the metal shelves beside us. “Quickly, please.”

  Jamie swivels on his heel at the same time as Ethan. They grab Davis roughly by the arms and haul him towards me.

  Davis snaps his eyelids open and closed. “What am I supposed to do?”

  “Help her,” Jamie says.

  “Hold her.” Ethan braces like he’s about to throw himself on a live bomb. “Like you have done before.”

  “I didn’t know what I was doing then, either,” Davis hisses.

  I clasp him, tight around the bicep. He winces but doesn’t pull away. “Sorry, I just need …” The pressure in my chest is almost excruciating. Davis clamps his hand around my upper arm and his signal meets mine. The relief is immediate, a valve release, syphoning the voltage out of my spine. I groan and blow through my lips while Davis holds his breath, worry drawing hard lines around his eyes and mouth. The pressure begins to lift and I lean against his shoulder, weak with relief.

  Jamie looks on, his body rigid, arms stiff at his sides.

  Ethan gestures at the supply shelves. “Jamie, perhaps you could have a word to Benjamin – take him out the back.”

  He gives a brusque nod and stalks away.

  Gradually, the shelves stop rattling and the air no longer warps in my peripheral vision. “Thanks,” I murmur.

  Davis gives nothing away, his blue eyes skating over my face.

  “Heads up,” Lane says.

  On the other side of the room Counsellor Thurston has her hands raised like she’s about to conduct a choir but the agents look surly and uncooperative. Thankfully, none of them appear to have noticed my episode and I’m grateful for the cover of the booming vents high above our heads.

  With an air of finality, Juno drops her arms and gestures at the exit. The agents file out from behind the counters, making their way across the floor. I straighten up, not wanting to draw attention. Davis turns to see what’s going on, keeping close enough so that our arms still touch.

  The open hostility on the faces of the departing agents matches the threat in the bandwidth. Worse yet, I sense it’s not just directed at me. They despise all of us, even Ethan. Somehow this upsets me the most, the thought of Ethan losing his good name in the organisation. As she passes, Stephanie glares only at me and I have no doubt that if we were alone she’d attack me.

  “Knox has put the word out,” Juno says as she comes towards us. “All agents are permitted to act according to their conscience. No one on duty within the compound is required to assist the Initiative.”

  “They have permission to walk?” Lane gapes at the departing backs of the Supply Room attendants. “That’s – that’s …” He fails to land a word bad enough.

  “Easier for everyone.” Ethan squares his shoulders. “At least this way we can be sure our equipment is not tampered with. Davis, Lane, bring up a supply list for a three-day urban assignment for six operatives. I will operate the forklift and we can get the hell out of here.”

  PROOF

  Davis drives the pallet lifter up the long slope from the freight elevators to the transport bay, our gear stacked high. We’re taking two vans. One with supplies and a medical unit for bringing the Stray back to the compound. The other is the comms unit, where I’ll be holed up with Helena, watching her operate the switchboard while I chew my nails and stare at tiny screens. Davis doesn’t look at me. I don’t look at him. I squirm inside the bulky coat Ethan has made me wear and itch at the woolly cap pulled low over my ears. Knox-camo in case he’s on the prowl.

  A tap on my elbow takes me out of step. Lane. He gives me a significant look. I let the others move ahead without me, bracing for what might come. I’m not going to apologise again for my involuntary KMT. Let him have his say and be done with it.

  He waves his hands at the pallet of supplies and the team in general. “I’m in this thing, okay?”

  “Excuse me?”

  He gives a sharp sigh and rolls his eyes up as though I’m the one forcing him to have an uncomfortable conversation. “You think I’m not in but … I’m in.”

  “Okay.”

  “Look,” he whispers. “We’ve all had a taste of PTSD, right? But … that was hard to see.”

  “It was an involuntary reaction, Lane. Are you familiar with the term ‘involuntary’?”

  He holds his hands up and makes a little space between us. “I’m not saying that it was deliberate. You’re not hearing me.”

  “Then spit it out.”

  “I’m the ring-in. I’m not like you guys – all Justice League, Fight the Power and down with President Snow.” He points at Jamie up ahead, Davis, me. “But … I hear what you’re saying.”

  I ball my fists. “I’m not saying anything.”

  “It could easily have been me or any of us, right? One wrong chromosome and I could be Aiden. One strand
of DNA. It’s all … bullshit.” He gestures at Davis as though borrowing the term.

  I stare straight ahead, getting hotter and hotter in my coat.

  “I’m not saying I’m not torn,” he says. “This whole situation goes against the grain but I don’t want you to have the wrong idea–”

  “I get it. Okay? I do.” I squeeze his arm and pick up my pace to catch up to the others. It’s not that I don’t appreciate Lane’s show of kindness, but it only highlights my own uncertainty about what we’re about to attempt.

  Ethan and Juno lead the way. Helena and Jamie follow, also not talking and not looking at each other. I keep wondering what Jamie said to Benjamin, what Benjamin said to him. Davis keeps the pallet lifter close to them and I stay in step beside him, my insides considering emergency evacuation from my body. I expect at any moment for a shout to go up, for bodies to rush at me, pin me to the floor, drag me away to face Knox.

  The transport bay heaves with Supply Protection teams waiting for deployment. Juno leaves us and heads to the dispatch office. A huge screen sits above the counters with a scrolling list of Wardens and districts. We’ll get first dibs. I don’t know whether to be grateful we won’t have to wait for hours in the transport bay with throngs of restless Shields or scared witless about the incoming call.

  There are twenty-odd vans that I can see in this deployment alone. Ethan has the vehicle registrations on his tablet. We follow him down the bustling rank as he looks for the right license plates. At first no one pays us any attention. We’re dressed the same as them, we have a pallet of supplies, we’re busy and purposeful like everyone else, but as we weave our way through the crowds, the double takes start. Eyes follow our movements and the volume dips around us. My insides shrink with each turned head and muttered comment.