Sons (Book 2) (24 page)

Then I watched as the guy logged in successfully then committed a few commands similar to what Peter did.  Then he was logged off again, much to his annoyance.  The second man took up his task and started similar work, only to find himself logged out a minute later.  Glancing over at Peter, I saw the line “kill user bates -9” on his screen and realized he was playing “Cat and Mouse” with these guys, delaying them.  He got two and a half minutes out of it, too.

The first man inhaled, about to speak and raise a warning.  I pushed into him and did the first thing that came to my mind: Tower of Babel.  I made him forget how to speak.  I induced aphasia.  Bates turned to look at him, concerned at first, then began to stand and raise the warning again.  So I induced aphasia in him as well.  He fell back into his chair, confused.  They stared at each other for a moment.  The third man on their side turned and whispered questions at Bates that I couldn’t hear over the tapping and mumbling of the other side of the tent.  Peter held up two fingers, staring at his computer intently.  Bates just looked at him dumbly, neither understanding him nor able to explain that to him.

Peter tapped a series of commands quickly on his keyboard as the drama in front of us got more active.  The third man’s computer crashed.  Across the aisle, one by one, the others were kicked off their computers as well.  They all attempted to log in again, regained their original points of interest, and got thrown off again.

“Got it,” Peter muttered, then type another series of commands.  “Kill those now, please.”  He pointed vaguely at the machines I was protecting.  A tiny wave of gravity through the center of them did the trick, shearing through the electronics and Mylar sheeting inside.  The electromagnetic upheaval destroyed any disks.  Probably toasted our cell phones, too.  Maybe not.

Peter got what he wanted, now it was my turn.  I brought my attention onto the two men at the table and dropped the last four computer techs into the aphasia bubble.  We stood as one, Jimmy falling to the back of the tent while I went to the front, Peter right behind me.  I clamped a Stone shield around the interior of the tent just as Jimmy grabbed the sentry from behind, shocking me by snapping the man’s neck quickly and efficiently, then dragging him inside the tent.  Jimmy’s first kill.  I wanted to be outraged at him, for him, anything—but somehow, I doubted this was the only death that would occur tonight.

Sinking my mind into the oldest man’s, I found myself with more knowledge than I wanted and not nearly enough at the same time.  This man has serious issues with rationalizing his morality.  His life was one violent episode after another, separated by drunken excursions into torrid romances and sexual liaisons with women other than his wife.  All the while, decrying the moral backdrop of America in the eyes of the world.  Flag-waver and family man, screwing both over every chance he got.

The Major across the table from him had more control of himself, at least.  He had fewer moral constraints but greater sexual appetites.  His saving grace, though, was he was usually surrounded by men who would gladly take care of his sexual appetites, all very QT.  All he had to do was find them at whatever camp or base he was on.  And his aide was always available.  Always.

Damn, both these men were messed up in the head, pulling out of their minds as I reached the table.  It had taken seconds to come to that realization.  Orienting on the map, I tapped it in the upper corner, in the northeast.

“It’s right there, gentlemen,” I said politely, then stood back, waiting.

“You finally got a pic—” the Major gasped, looking up at me and realized I didn’t have a face.  He reached for his sidearm, but the holster was empty.  He turned to look down and noticed Peter for the first time.  And his gun, which Peter was pointing at him, not terribly seriously considering how limply he held it.

“Who are you?  How did you get in here?” the General demanded of me, ignoring Peter and his gun for the moment.  He was unaware that I sat in his mind, hearing his thoughts as he fought to control his anger and frustration.  He felt out of control suddenly, totally aware that one man was missing and six more looked like blithering idiots drooling on themselves behind us.  Peter’s veil of our faces scared the crap out of him!

“Your fairy godfather?” I suggested to the General.  He didn’t believe me.  “We got in here by walking, well, running.  And that wouldn’t be a smart idea, Major.”

Of course, he didn’t listen to my warning and tried to jump Peter anyway.  It was all rightward motion as he grabbed at the gun with his right hand while trying for a left hook simultaneously.  It was a severely stupid move, brought on no doubt by Peter’s lackadaisical handling of the handgun.  The swing carried his weight completely to one side, unbalancing him.  The gun disappeared immediately and Peter dipped his shoulder down, carrying his weight around the Major.  Stomping down hard on the ground behind the Major’s leg, Peter caught his arm and shoulder and shoved, physically and magically, hard.  The Major’s inertia arrested, changed direction, and slammed into the ground.  Peter barely exerted any energy in the exchange.

“I did warn him,” I told the General politely.  “Now what do we do with you?”

“You don’t do anything with me, boy!” growled the General.  “Now who the hell are you?  Guards!”

“Oh, no one can hear you in here, Troy,” I said calmly, using his first name rattled him.  I ran a spike through the radios, just to make sure they couldn’t transmit.  Just because I didn’t see the operators doing that didn’t mean they were incapable of it.  That did gain their attention, though.  “As for who I am, I’m the kid whose house you’re trying to find and blow up.  Why exactly are you trying to do that, General Pennington?”

“What?” he asked, confused by the question.  That really irritated me.

“What confused you there, Troy?” I asked seriously, showing my anger.  I felt Peter’s guise fall under the heat.  The General finally met my gaze.  He didn’t like it.

“You’re the Devil himself,” he gasped.

“You’ve been upgraded,” Peter chortled.  “Not long ago you were merely demon-spawn, remember?”

“He
is
a general, so I suppose he can do field promotions,” I said to Peter with a wry grin.  To the General, I wasn’t so kind.  “You realize that what you’re doing is treasonous, don’t you, General Pennington?” 

“That’s a mighty poisonous word from your kind,” General Pennington said, crossing his arms on his chest.  He was trying to close me out.  I almost giggled.

“Hmm.  Well, let’s look at the facts as I see them,” I said.  “You are Brigadier General Troy Pennington.  You have US Army troops with you primed to attack my home.  A United States General using Army forces to attack with prejudice American citizens on US soil?  Which part of that is
not
treasonous?”

“I know what you’re trying to do, boy,” he growled.  He was trying to be a pit bull, fierce and wild in the corner.  “You can’t intimidate me with words.”

“Why do you think I’m trying to intimidate you?” I asked him.  “And why do you think naming your crime is intimidation?”

“Your kind survive on intimidation and threat,” he said with confidence now.  “You twist our words and our thoughts around and try to take over the world, this country.  You’ve even got your own government set up.  Who among us sounds more treasonous?”

I chuckled.  “I don’t want to take over anything.  No one in my family does.  No one I know does.  They all have their hands full running their own lives as it is, but I suppose there are people out there who do.  And, General, I answer to the same government that you do.  We are both subject to the same laws, the same restrictions, and the same enforcement of those laws.  Many of those you’ve chosen to ignore today, even the Constitutional ones.  You know, that big one, the one about billeting soldiers on your land against your will?”

“We have permission to be here,” the General said.  “Should that issue ever come up.  It won’t.”

“Oh, that’s what this is,” I said in mock surprise.  “You’re stalling, hoping for a rescue.  Sorry to disillusion you, General, but nobody knows we’re here yet.  Soon enough, though.” 

There was a loud crack of plastic breaking and metal bending from the back of the tent.  Pennington’s head shot up and around at the noise, but Peter and I ignored it.

“Oops,” Jimmy said shyly behind us.  “Broke it.  Sorry.”  He snapped one of the rear terminals in half, almost straight down the middle.  He still held the left side in his hand.  Moving to the next one, he said, “Ours aren’t this fragile.  You may want to contract to different manufacturers next time.  See?”  The second terminal fell to pieces in his twisting hands, the long sleeves covering the effort he put into it well.

“Stop that, boy!  You’re destroying government property!” yelled the General.  “Captain Dwer, stop him!”  When Dwer made no response, Pennington unclenched his arms and moved around the table, confused that his officers were ignoring him.  He was at arm’s reach of me now and he thought he could use that.

“They can’t understand you, General,” I said casually.  “They can’t understand anything right now.  Ever hear of the Tower of Babel?”  I grinned at him, big.

Now
, he thought.  I read it in his mind.  He wasn’t as careless as the Major.  Swinging hard with his right, he backhanded me, turning in to the left to follow through to plant his left foot and gain momentum for the left jab in the gut that should have followed back into the table.  A green and black gauntlet caught his right inches from my face and forced his momentum to pivot him around to meet my right fist.  I punched him solidly in the center of his chest, knocking the breath out of him.  He froze in place, heaving in fear and lack of air.  More because my right was also wrapped around the hilt of the Day and it shined brightly in his face as he tried to pull away from me.  I didn’t let go of his arm and held the Sword against his chest, leaning up toward his head.  Its keen edge was barely an inch from his face.

“Now
this
is intimidation, General,” I said to the huffing man rather gleefully.  “I believe you’re done here, General.  You have two options and neither of them is good for you: you continue to fight with me and you and your men die tonight, or you and your men sit on your hands until real authorities get here to arrest you and you cooperate to the fullest.  Your choice.”

He was trying to see the Sword at his throat so I let him back away some.  “I’m dead either way it goes, boy,” he growled.

“Probably,” I agreed.  “The question before you is how many of your men do you want to go down with you?  How many of your countrymen’s lives are you willing to waste?”

He hesitated again, considering his options.  I was already shaking my head slowly, the stress was too much for him and he was making bad decisions.  Twisting his right arm back, trying to get out of my grasp, he yelled, “Go back to Hell, you—” but that was as far as he got before the Day sliced through his neck.  The head made a sickening thud on the ground.  I released his arm immediately, but his body remained standing for a moment longer, the muscles in his legs and arms still processing the impulses to pull away from me.

Blood from the General’s neck shot out at first then slowed as his heart finally stopped receiving the signals to squeeze and release.  The still groggy Major watched the entire exchange and was scuttling away from the body, not fast but he tried.  The Sword wasn’t stained but I wiped it on the General as if it were, just for effect.  The radioman and woman and the driver were still watching.  So were the computer techs.  I dropped the aphasia as I slid the Day into its scabbard and melted the mask.

“Major, with the General’s timely demise, who is the field commander?” I asked.

“I am, sir,” the Major said, staring at the General’s twitching, sagging body.

“Then I posit the same offer, Major,” I said turning to face him.  Peter kicked him lightly in the side.

“You might want to pay attention to the guy in green,” Peter said softly.

He glanced up at me from the ground, then down to the Sword at my side.

“We surrender,” he said softly.

I smiled at him, gratefully.  “Thank you, Major.  I prefer not to kill people.  It keeps me up at night.  Now, would you like to see a bit of real magic?”

“What?” the Major said, his fear jumping through the roof.  “What are you going to do?”

“You didn’t think I was just going to take your word, did you?” I asked him.  “I’m going to enforce it.  With magic, of course.”

One of the techs started praying to Jesus, praying for his soul.  I scowled at him and said, “Hypocrite.”  I spooled the energy for the compulsion from a battery.  The spell was very similar to a geas.  The main difference being it didn’t link to the soul so it didn’t link them to me at all.  That made it possible to break a compulsion.  Possible, though, was a relative term.

Sending my senses out over the land again, I found each and every soldier and soldier-wannabe and cast the spell forward, linking it directly into their brains between their logical and emotional minds, right at the crux of their soul.  It was a very strong spell.  They wouldn’t even consider trying to have it removed.

I sat back for a moment and watched as all four hundred and eighteen men and twenty-eight women abruptly changed their thought processes.  While it was a major change in thinking, there wasn’t a fantastic change in activity.  The sleeping men and women tossed and turned in their cots and beds and the daily chores of communal camp living continued.  The kitchens were still preparing for breakfast.  Sentries still patrolled the perimeter.  But a flow of men to the center of the camp, to this tent, had begun.