Balance - Book 2 by Marc Dickason
CHAPTER 23
The child was young Ken Bosworth. Previously he had mourned a dog named Buddy. Now his name was Perry Chesterfield. And besides having a Spirit level that came dangerously close to equalling that of a Class 3 Enforcer, he appeared to be normal in all other respects. In the operations tent sitting amiably in a chair and surrounded by many twitchy Specialists, you were dared to believe him instrumental in delivering widespread chaos. In fact he looked a touch bored.
I stood outside the tent with Gill. The two of us watched as the crowd dispersed to their vehicles. The second Caster was now long lost in the crowd.
“At Little Dreamers?” Gill confirmed.
“Yes, sir. At that time he was Ken.”
“You’re certain it’s the same child?”
“Certain.”
“Twisted bastards,” he muttered, heading back into the tent, “Using children.”
I followed him. Young Ken Bosworth, Perry Chesterfield, looked up at our entrance.
“Now Perry, listen to me,” Gill said, “What were you doing with a gun?”
“Just playing around,” the boy replied, disinterested, “Hey, what’s this?”
He took a communication radio from the table. In response every man in the room tensed. As if somehow the child could transform simple electronics into high explosives.
“It’s a radio,” Gill replied, “Don’t touch.” He extracted it from the boy’s hands. “I want you to think very hard, young man. The spell you just performed. Where did you learn it?”
“What spell?”
“You just performed a very dangerous spell. Where did you learn it?”
“I don’t know any magic. How does it work?” He was looking at the radio again.
I watched the scene unfold, fascinated. A thought gently slithered into my mind. What more information was there in the boy’s little brown head? Since the last time I had gone creeping around?
“Where do you live?” Gill was asking. Frustration rose in his voice. “Where are your mother and father?”
“I don’t have a father. I live with my mother.”
“And what’s her name?”
“Barbara Starling.”
My heart lurched. Mother of Franco Starling.
“And where…”
“This is hopeless,” Delaney offered from near the back of the tent, “The boy is a mess. We’re wasting time.”
Gill glanced up. “Yes. Prepare him. Let’s take a look around inside.”
“Prepare me for what?” the boy asked.
Glances were exchanged and a Specialist stepped forward. “I can do it, Commander Gill.”
“Go ahead.”
Seconds later a new figure stepped through the tent flap; a Senior Enforcer. Her face was anxious.
“Commander Gill?”
“Is it important?”
“Yes, sir. We have reports coming in. Unrest is breaking out. There has been a call for all available units.”
His eyes widened. “Where?”
She swallowed. “Everywhere, sir. It’s being called an uprising”
“Jesus Christ,” he growled, “Half the God damned D.O.M is out here.” He pulled a radio from his belt and twisted a knob. “Enforcers, this is Gill. Every man and woman back to your respective D.O.M. I repeat; get back to your D.O.M. There has been a call for all available units.” He turned to me and the other Specialists. “Someone is going to have to get this boy to safety. Highest priority. Whatever he knows we need to know. ASAP.”
I felt my hand rise into the air. “I’ll take him, sir.”
“Alright, Clarence. Don’t let the boy out of your sight. Take someone competent with you. Your mentor, what was his name?”
“Kingston.”
“Is he here?”
“Not sure, sir.”
He spoke into the radio. “Kingston, come back.”
“Kingston here.”
“Get up to the tent.” He pocketed the radio and looked around. “The rest of you. You’re under no obligation to help with this situation. I realise you’re all here to help with the operation and no more. But I request now; we need every pair of hands. Will you help us?’
The Specialists nodded.
“Thank you. Then I request you all to return to the D.O.M and await deployment.”
The Specialists exited into the noise that still churned outside. Gill turned now to Perry.
“You’re going with Jet, Perry. Understand?”
The boy shrugged. “Okay. Can I use the radio?”
I absently took the radio from my belt, turned it off and handed it to him. His eyes glowed.
“Keep me updated, Clarence,” Gill said to me, “Report in every ten minutes. That boy is essential. After you’ve delivered him we’ll need you out there.”
“I understand, Sir.”
“Good. Get going.”
Gill exited and moments later Benny entered. His uniform hung open and eyes were ringed.
“Looks like you had some trouble out there,” I said.
“Few frisky civilians,” he muttered. “What's happening?”
“We’re taking this kid to the D.O.M.”
“Who is he? Little Dreamers?”
“Yes. He’s our caster.”
“Uh huh.” He sighed and looked at Perry. The boy was still playing with the radio. “You our Caster, young man?”
“No, not me. I’m allowed to play with the radio. That guy said I could.”
“Don’t break it. It’s expensive.” Benny turned back to me. “I heard it’s going postal in the city.”
“It is.”
He sighed. His face sank. “Then let’s get moving.”
The child was young Ken Bosworth. Previously he had mourned a dog named Buddy. Now his name was Perry Chesterfield. And besides having a Spirit level that came dangerously close to equalling that of a Class 3 Enforcer, he appeared to be normal in all other respects. In the operations tent sitting amiably in a chair and surrounded by many twitchy Specialists, you were dared to believe him instrumental in delivering widespread chaos. In fact he looked a touch bored.
I stood outside the tent with Gill. The two of us watched as the crowd dispersed to their vehicles. The second Caster was now long lost in the crowd.
“At Little Dreamers?” Gill confirmed.
“Yes, sir. At that time he was Ken.”
“You’re certain it’s the same child?”
“Certain.”
“Twisted bastards,” he muttered, heading back into the tent, “Using children.”
I followed him. Young Ken Bosworth, Perry Chesterfield, looked up at our entrance.
“Now Perry, listen to me,” Gill said, “What were you doing with a gun?”
“Just playing around,” the boy replied, disinterested, “Hey, what’s this?”
He took a communication radio from the table. In response every man in the room tensed. As if somehow the child could transform simple electronics into high explosives.
“It’s a radio,” Gill replied, “Don’t touch.” He extracted it from the boy’s hands. “I want you to think very hard, young man. The spell you just performed. Where did you learn it?”
“What spell?”
“You just performed a very dangerous spell. Where did you learn it?”
“I don’t know any magic. How does it work?” He was looking at the radio again.
I watched the scene unfold, fascinated. A thought gently slithered into my mind. What more information was there in the boy’s little brown head? Since the last time I had gone creeping around?
“Where do you live?” Gill was asking. Frustration rose in his voice. “Where are your mother and father?”
“I don’t have a father. I live with my mother.”
“And what’s her name?”
“Barbara Starling.”
My heart lurched. Mother of Franco Starling.
“And where…”
“This is hopeless,” Delaney offered from near the back of the tent, “The boy is a mess. We’re wasting time.”
Gill glanced up. “Yes. Prepare him. Let’s take a look around inside.”
“Prepare me for what?” the boy asked.
Glances were exchanged and a Specialist stepped forward. “I can do it, Commander Gill.”
“Go ahead.”
Seconds later a new figure stepped through the tent flap; a Senior Enforcer. Her face was anxious.
“Commander Gill?”
“Is it important?”
“Yes, sir. We have reports coming in. Unrest is breaking out. There has been a call for all available units.”
His eyes widened. “Where?”
She swallowed. “Everywhere, sir. It’s being called an uprising”
“Jesus Christ,” he growled, “Half the God damned D.O.M is out here.” He pulled a radio from his belt and twisted a knob. “Enforcers, this is Gill. Every man and woman back to your respective D.O.M. I repeat; get back to your D.O.M. There has been a call for all available units.” He turned to me and the other Specialists. “Someone is going to have to get this boy to safety. Highest priority. Whatever he knows we need to know. ASAP.”
I felt my hand rise into the air. “I’ll take him, sir.”
“Alright, Clarence. Don’t let the boy out of your sight. Take someone competent with you. Your mentor, what was his name?”
“Kingston.”
“Is he here?”
“Not sure, sir.”
He spoke into the radio. “Kingston, come back.”
“Kingston here.”
“Get up to the tent.” He pocketed the radio and looked around. “The rest of you. You’re under no obligation to help with this situation. I realise you’re all here to help with the operation and no more. But I request now; we need every pair of hands. Will you help us?’
The Specialists nodded.
“Thank you. Then I request you all to return to the D.O.M and await deployment.”
The Specialists exited into the noise that still churned outside. Gill turned now to Perry.
“You’re going with Jet, Perry. Understand?”
The boy shrugged. “Okay. Can I use the radio?”
I absently took the radio from my belt, turned it off and handed it to him. His eyes glowed.
“Keep me updated, Clarence,” Gill said to me, “Report in every ten minutes. That boy is essential. After you’ve delivered him we’ll need you out there.”
“I understand, Sir.”
“Good. Get going.”
Gill exited and moments later Benny entered. His uniform hung open and eyes were ringed.
“Looks like you had some trouble out there,” I said.
“Few frisky civilians,” he muttered. “What's happening?”
“We’re taking this kid to the D.O.M.”
“Who is he? Little Dreamers?”
“Yes. He’s our caster.”
“Uh huh.” He sighed and looked at Perry. The boy was still playing with the radio. “You our Caster, young man?”
“No, not me. I’m allowed to play with the radio. That guy said I could.”
“Don’t break it. It’s expensive.” Benny turned back to me. “I heard it’s going postal in the city.”
“It is.”
He sighed. His face sank. “Then let’s get moving.”