by Martha Carr
The major general didn’t move to pick up her pen, but Cheyenne was too engulfed in the ideas she’d been mulling over for weeks to care.
“Okay, first of all, whoever had the dumbass idea to only bring on Earthborn magicals as agents should be fired. Unless it was Les Thomas. Then you’ve already covered that.”
“So, you see an issue with employing magicals as operatives and reservation guards.”
“And you don’t?” Cheyenne let out a bitter laugh. “Seriously, I bet it was Thomas’ idea. How the hell are Earthborn magicals who’ve never made the crossing and never stepped foot in Ambar’ogúl supposed to know how to deal with refugees when they show up on the reservations? They’re not. The only thing they can do that human agents can’t is throw spells in between fellfire shots and trick the O’gúleesh into thinking they have support and someone who understands what they’re going through when they end up Earthside.”
Colonel McMillen cocked his head. “And you’re suggesting what? That we offer these refugee magicals some sort of counseling?”
“What? That’s not even remotely related to what I said.” The drow set her hands on the table and leaned forward. “But now that you mention, that wouldn’t be a bad idea. What I’m saying is that you need magical agents who’ve been Earthside long enough to know how things work here but who haven’t been human-washed.”
“Human-washed?”
Lieutenant Colonel Oppenhaur leaned across the table toward his colleagues and muttered, “Like brainwashed, right?”
“Or whitewashed.” Mr. Weber stroked his chin. “Perhaps greenwashed.”
Van Lurig frowned and shook her head. “Well, we don’t do that.”
“Hey, it doesn’t matter what you call it,” Cheyenne cut in, startling the board members out of their little huddle. “The point is, your Earthborn magicals are seriously underequipped when it comes to handling any refugees who might make trouble when they come across, or connecting with them in any way other than also being magicals. They especially don’t have what it takes to handle what was happening with Les Thomas. You didn’t even know what the Bull’s Head is. Your agents sure as shit didn’t. And unless you’re ready to start handing out those fell lasers Todd was spewing around the place—”
“No!” Mr. Weber shouted. Then he cleared his throat, sat back in his chair, and tugged the lapel of his sports jacket. “No, that model hasn’t been cleared for field use yet.”
“Then you’re gonna need to up the game with something else,” Cheyenne growled, “Because the way things are now, your agents can’t take down those machines if they get into the wrong hands. They were clueless when a rogue magical snuck onto Rez 38 pretending to be one of them and opened the gates to smuggle all that black-magic shit into Virginia. You know, the stuff they were selling to kids. They have no idea what to do when it comes to O’gúl magic and all the crazy shit those refugees bring with them across the Border. Trust me, it’s a lot. And they’re useless when it comes to connecting with the refugees. You know, like explaining the differences between what was normal in Ambar’ogúl but will get them into trouble if they try it Earthside. Which is also a serious problem.”
She took a deep breath and glanced at each of the board member’s frowning faces. “Stupid stuff too. Like a family of trolls making an entire basket of underwear that looks more like leftover scraps from a boho-chic store and handing it off as a thank you gift.”
Sir grunted and looked slowly up at her.
“Just as an example.” Cheyenne shook her head. “But your whole system is fucked. You’re paying attention to the wrong things. Detaining and threatening when you should be teaching. The refugees come here for good reasons, and no one’s bothering to help them learn what living Earthside really means. You give them a cookie-cutter box as a house, feed them sometimes, stick them in your system, then throw them out and let them fend for themselves. Trust me, if you spent some time listening to these magicals and then working with them to show them what’s up on this side, you wouldn’t have to fund nearly as many agents or secret ops to pick up the messes they make over here. And yeah, I’m saying that is your fault.
“And for fuck’s sake, your agents need to know what they’re dealing with. I mean, yeah. They can fire fell weapons and beat the shit out of angry magicals breaking any number of laws because that’s the only way they’ve figured out on their own how to get what they want. But what happens when hardcore magical shit hits the fan, huh? Your teams are useless. They can’t cast spells, they don’t know anything about dangerous magic other than how to clean up after it, and they have absolutely no idea what’s happening on the other side to cause these problems in the first place. So yeah, if you wanna keep your high-ranking human officials from hating magicals and buying O’gúl tech from even worse magical assholes because it seems like the only way to keep everybody in line, you need a complete overhaul. From the bottom up.”
Breathing heavily, Cheyenne thumped back in her chair and folded her arms. The movement shot sharp pain through her shoulders, and she gritted her teeth.
The conference room fell deathly silent as the board members and Sir stared at the drow halfling who’d said more in the last five minutes than she’d said to all of them combined over the last two months.
Standing against the left-hand wall with her hands clasped behind her back, Sheila snorted and dipped her head.
Van Lurig looked at the ogre and raised an eyebrow. “You’re obviously amused by this summary.”
Sheila glanced briefly at the major general and didn’t wipe the small smile off her dark-gray lips. “Permission to speak freely, sir?”
“Go ahead.”
Nodding at Cheyenne, Sheila stared at the table as her smile widened. “I don’t think anyone’s had the balls to say all that out loud.”
“I see.” The major general looked slowly at Cheyenne again and reached for her pen. “Is there anything else you would like to get off your chest, Cheyenne?”
The drow unfolded her arms, gritting her teeth against her aching shoulders, and gripped the armrests instead. “Not at the moment. Should I call your secretary if anything else comes to mind?”
Sheila barked a laugh, immediately cut it off, and cleared her throat.
“That won’t be necessary. You already have my email address.” Van Lurig glanced at the three other board members, who returned her gaze with varying degrees of shock. The woman nodded and glanced down at her notes to scribble something else in the margins. “Thank you for your time, Cheyenne. That will be all for now. Please wait outside for a moment longer while we discuss your suggestions.”
“Sure.” With a final warning glance at Sir, Cheyenne pushed out of the chair and headed for the door. She was not sure that had been the best way to lay it all out there, but they’d asked.
Rhynehart was still sitting in the chair on the end when she stepped into the wide hallway and closed the door behind her. He looked at her with a raised eyebrow. “How did it go?”
Cheyenne cocked her head. “Let’s say it was more than any of us expected.”
The uncomfortably hard chair creaked when she sat. Rhynehart folded his arms and leaned his head back against the wall. “I guess it could be worse.”
“If they don’t pull their heads out of their asses and start taking all this seriously, it will be.” They sat in silence for a moment longer, and Cheyenne’s breathing finally settled down into something resembling normal. “You hear about half the agents downstairs who think the drow halfling’s trying to stage a coup and take over the FRoE from the inside?”
“Tate mentioned something about that, yeah.”
“It’s not true.” Though if anyone heard me running my mouth in there, they’d say I proved their point.
“Trust me, Cheyenne. I may be unemployed, but I can still tell the difference between someone who wants nothing to do with this organization and someone who’s trying to weasel their way in to take control.” Rhynehart shot her a side
long glance. “Earthside, at least.”
“Yeah, one coup was enough.” She closed her eyes and took another slow, steady breath. “If I wanted to be drow Leader of the FRoE, I would’ve done it already. This is nothing compared to the Heart.”
“The what?”
“Never mind.” Not like he’d understand a single thing I could say about dethroning Ba’rael the Spider. “So, what happens next?”
“No clue.” Rhynehart shifted in his equally uncomfortable chair. “At the very least, though, it’s nice to know we have a team of agents who were there with us the other night. They have our backs. And now the board’s heard the same story at least three times. They’ll come around.”
Cheyenne squinted at him. “You’re trying to get your job back, aren’t you?”
He shrugged. “Well, it’s either that or take up watercolor painting. Only one of those has a stable future.”
She snorted. “Of getting paid or of not getting killed?”
“Very funny.”
Chapter Sixty-Two
They waited in that hallway for another thirty minutes before the door opened again. Major General Van Lurig, the other board members, and Sir filtered out of the conference room in quick succession. Van Lurig had ditched her notes and stopped along the wall, nodding at Sir. “Now would be the appropriate time, Major.”
Sir scowled and cleared his throat. “Yeah, all right.”
“Excuse me?”
“Yes, sir.” The major ran his fingers over his mustache and sniffed. When he turned to Cheyenne, he could only look at the wall behind her head instead of her face. “Cheyenne. I want to apologize for putting my insecurities above the best interests of this organization and its operatives. You handed over all the information I needed to make an informed decision, and I made the wrong one. I stood behind Colonel Thomas and failed to act until the last minute. Almost cost you your life. So please accept my apology.”
Is he for real right now? Cheyenne’s eyes had grown so wide, they started burning before she realized she should probably blink. “Yeah, but then you saved my life. So, apology accepted, I guess.”
“Anyway.” Sir’s eye twitched, then he cleared his throat and pivoted one step to the former agent. “Captain Rhynehart, I apologize for not saying anything when you were removed from duty with no actionable evidence to support it. I know you’ve put this organization before everything else for the last thirteen years, and as your commanding officer, I failed to speak up on your behalf. So please accept my apology.”
Rhynehart shook his head. “Not yet.”
“What?” The crimson flush finally made a comeback on the major’s cheeks and up the sides of his neck. “Why the hell not?”
Van Lurig lifted her chin. “Major.”
Sir looked like he was ready to explode, and he forced his clenched fists open at his sides. “Why?”
Rhynehart shrugged. “You left something out.”
Sir’s jaw muscles worked as he took a slow, heavy breath. “Fine. Sorry I shot you.” He pointed sharply at the agent. “But you know why I did it.”
“Major Carson,” Van Lurig said calmly. “We discussed this. An apology does not include a rebuttal.”
A slow, tense hiss escaped the major’s clenched teeth.
Rhynehart shrugged. “Apology accepted.”
“Fucking great.” Sir spun around and stormed past the board members down the hall. They followed him swiftly without another word before disappearing around the corner.
Cheyenne stared after Sir, expecting him to turn around and offer some kind of quick jab or at least a scowl. He didn’t. “What the hell just happened?”
Rhynehart rubbed his mouth and stared at the end of the now-empty hall with her. “Pigs’ll start flying now, I bet.”
Sheila stepped into the hall with a small smile and jerked her chin up at the drow and the ex-operative. “You’re gonna want to head after them.”
Rhynehart frowned. “Any specific reason?”
“You think they tell me shit?” The ogre woman shook her head. “All I know is they want you both downstairs in the common room with everyone else. Kinda my job to get you down there.”
When she gestured down the hall, Cheyenne and Rhynehart both stood and headed after the board members. The drow looked over her shoulder at the ogre woman lumbering slowly behind her. “Did you know he was gonna do that?”
“Make an apology?” Sheila shrugged. “They pay me to follow orders, not listen in on private conversations.”
She said it blandly, but Cheyenne didn’t miss the small smile flickering on the corners of the agent’s lips. “Yeah, you knew.”
“So, you do know why we’re being ushered down to the common room,” Rhynehart added.
“That’s beyond both our paygrades.”
“Shit.”
They had to wait for the elevator to come back up to the top floor before they stepped inside for the awkwardly silent ride down to the ground floor. By the time they made it to the east wing, across the empty lobby, and down the short hall, the common room was packed to the brim with agents. All the seats around the row of tables were taken, as well as the armchairs scattered around and the couch in front of the fireplace. The rest of them had to stand, talking to their neighbors in low voices about what the hell was going on.
“Hey, Cheyenne.” Tate nodded at her and squeezed his way through the gathered agents to head her off while Rhynehart and Sheila made their way to the far side of the common room to join the board members and Sir. “What’s going on?”
“No clue.” She glanced at his leg. “How’re the wounds?”
“Oh. You know.” The troll man rubbed his bald, tattooed purple head and shrugged. “Doin’ all right.”
“Good. Ember knows what she’s doing.”
He cleared his throat. “Yep. You should keep her around. But for real, though. Yurik said they called you in for a debriefing. Is that true?”
“Yeah.” She stuck her hands into the pockets of her trenchcoat and stared at the board members muttering to each other. Helen the secretary appeared seemingly from nowhere and hurried to Major General Van Lurig to hand over a large tablet in a heavy-duty protective case. “Debriefing that turned into a consulting session, apparently.”
Tate wrinkled his nose. “What’d you wanna consult the board about?”
“I didn’t. They asked for my opinion.”
“What the fuck about?”
A crackle of static rose through the speakers dotting the common room’s ceiling as Van Lurig placed a Bluetooth headset on her ear. She tapped it once. “How’s the sound?”
Her secretary glanced at the ceiling and nodded curtly before muttering something in reply.
“And the live broadcast is all set up? And we’re recording from where? Oh, I see it there in the back. Thank you, Helen.”
The woman stepped aside in her smart, slightly too-small pantsuit and smoothed the sides of her blazer. Her gaze swept across the crowded common room, stopped for a second on Cheyenne, then kept moving.
Cheyenne leaned toward Tate without taking her eyes off the board members. “Maybe I’m wrong, but I get the feeling this doesn’t happen very often.”
“Try never.” The troll man folded his arms. “This is fucking weird.”
A few agents grumbled and stumbled aside as Bhandi pushed her way through, followed by Yurik. The troll woman glared across the room and cracked her knuckles. “What the fuck is this?”
“How should I know?”
Yurik nodded at Cheyenne. “You know anything?”
She shot him a sidelong glance and shook her head. “I don’t even work here.”
“Shit.” The muscular goblin shoved his hands into his pockets and frowned. “Already doesn’t look good.”
Van Lurig cleared her throat, and the sound was amplified at high volume through the speakers. “Start the broadcast.”
A soft beep came from the wall behind Cheyenne. She turned slightly to see two s
mall round cameras mounted on the wall, capturing the meeting and Major General Van Lurig’s speech from different angles. Broadcast to where?
“This is Major General Van Lurig with an urgent announcement for every agent, officer, reservation guard, and the Chateau D’rahl personnel. By now, I’m sure most of you have caught wind of no doubt disturbing news regarding certain events two nights ago in Westphalia. Now you’ll hear it straight from me, with my fellow commanding officers and board members at my side in full support of delivering this message.
“Colonel Les Thomas was apprehended at approximately oh-one-hundred hours Tuesday morning after a confrontation with a rogue band of magicals who circumvented the Border reservations, the intake into our registered migrant system, and detection by our top teams for quite some time. It has come to our attention that Colonel Thomas had been in contact with this group for the last five years at least, funding a private operation through a combination of FRoE resources and his own to aid these rebels in smuggling illicit supplies across the Border. These supplies were intended to be weaponized as a safeguard against magicals, both refugees and Earthborn, at an undisclosed time in the immediate future. We can only assume Colonel Thomas believed this would aid the organization’s founding purpose, but I want to make it perfectly clear that he was mistaken.”
The woman paused for added effect, sweeping her gaze across the crowded room and making a point of staring straight at each of the cameras in turn.
Cheyenne raised her eyebrows. Points for public speaking, at least. She’s good.
“She’s putting it all out there?” Tate whispered. “Not a good look for the board.”
“Man, who gives a fuck about the board?” Bhandi spat. “They couldn’t see the traitor sitting at the same fucking table with them.”
“Just saying.”
Clasping her hands behind her back, Van Lurig glanced down at her feet for a moment, then lifted her chin even higher than before. “The FRoE was founded on the principles of protection and security, first and foremost. For this country, this world, and yes, for magicals seeking a new life Earthside as well. I’d be bullshitting all of you if I said we have executed these principles with flawless adherence to the safety and wellbeing of everyone who crosses through Earth’s Border portals, the Earthborn magicals such as yourselves, and the human civilians who come in contact with them. This incident with Colonel Thomas has brought to light a number of this organization’s shortcomings, and we intend to change that.