BLUEMANTLE by Karen Langston (if you give a mouse a cookie read aloud TXT) 📕

to create an atmosphere too heavy to bear. Throughout the entire journey, Dent only witnessed one moment of seeing. A small child had stood and stared, pointing as they passed, too young to feel afraid.

The truck veered left, joining a concrete track that led to a sports field in Glos. The state-owned facility had been commandeered by Special Forces, and an all-unit base was in the throes of being erected. The truck pulled up and the Allears disembarked to join colleagues already on site. Dent left his unit and marched towards the Operations Control tent that dominated the centre of the field.

At the awning’s threshold, he hesitated. Ever since he had received orders to mobilise, he’d felt burdened by a spectral dread that haunted his consciousness. It struck him as akin to muffled background noise picked up by a field radio or ghosting on a monitor when the signal carried interference. It both came from him and not. He took a moment, trying to shake the feeling before facing the confrontation he knew was about to come.

Wulfwin denied him the opportunity. “Lore,” he called from inside the tent. “I see you. Get your arse in here.”

Dent exhaled slowly, pushed his shoulders back and stepped into the shade of the tent. He marched over to Wulfwin, who stood before a bank of radios and their trembling operatives.

“Just having a pep talk,” said Wulfwin. “Want to make sure they fully understand the consequence of fucking this up.” He glared at the operatives, who stared at their screens, faces either flushed red or bloodless pale. He turned back to Dent. “Come with me.”

He led Dent over to a makeshift cubicle, formed of six-foot high partition screens on all sides and a small opening in one corner. Inside the cubicle was a desk and two chairs. They sat down opposite each other. “Your turn,” said Wulfwin.

Dent looked squarely at Wulfwin. The routine felt familiar – a display of feathers he had yet to be intimidated by. He knew his responsibility, felt passionately the desire to fulfil it with success to spare. He even suspected success meant as much to him as it did to Wulfwin, albeit for different reasons. Maintaining eye contact, he waited calmly for the inevitable.

“This has come sooner than expected. Your fresh blood ain’t ready. Disappointing how your previous failure still hangs around like a bad smell. Tell me there’s good news regarding your last batch of graduates.”

“They all passed the final assessment. Fully qualified and eager to enter the field, sir.”

“That’s a relief. For you, I mean. For me, I know what’s riding on this. And you really don’t want to be fucking this up again because of a lack of resources.”

“I am confident the Allears will deliver all that is required of them.”

“You’d better be right. ’Cos I’m telling you now, Lore, with the intel we have aside, the Deaf Squad still rely on the Allears. That kills me every time, but that’s the way it is.”

“We won’t let the Authority down, sir.”

“Yes, of course. Your textbook loyalty. Stuck record. Makes it sound… I don’t know… Like you’re spouting the bullshit you think I want to hear. Is that it, Lore? Are you taking the piss?”

“No, sir.” Dent willed his conviction to generate passion. Instead, the ghosting flickered again. He forced it back, stared harder at Wulfwin and said in slow, deliberate words, “Success means everything. The Allears will not fail.”

Wulfwin sat back, hands clasped behind his head, smiling. “You intrigue me, Lore. I don’t know why. Blix appears to doubt you, questions your loyalty. But I’ve backed you up. Stuck my neck out. Do you know why?”

“Because of my performance?”

“Ha! I like that. But no. It’s because I see a little of me in you. Despite your infuriating lack of passion, your slab-of-meat expression, I can see something else, something beneath all that. Something we might have in common.”

Dent glared at him, tense now, trembling inside. His breath quickened as he held back the fury that had risen so suddenly from his gut. He struggled to swallow, forcing down the vile pill Wulfwin had just fed him. In all his years of abuse, he felt this was, by far, the most offensive thing Wulfwin had ever said to him.

Utterly oblivious, Wulfwin stood up and gestured for Dent to do likewise. “Come on. Enough. We have a raid to prepare for. This time we’re gonna win, Lore. We’re gonna get those damn Music Makers. The curtain’s about to come down on those fuckers and they don’t even know it.”

–

All day, the Glos base was a frenetic field of activity. Military vehicles arrived in constant convoy. By mid-afternoon, all Deaf Squad units were on site, dressed in full combat gear and readied for action. The Allears had dispersed, strategically spread across the north-west corner of the city. Whisper dishes were manned by teams of three; all other units were scattergun spread, achieving maximum coverage. Special Forces cadets had erected a temporary detention centre on the playing field: ten cubicles made of steel fence panels, each one capable of holding fifty detainees. Beside it, a generator the size of an Ops truck electrified the perimeter panels.

Governor Blix sat on the back seat of her state vehicle. She had instructed her driver to take the direct route to Glos, avoiding the swarming masses that she imagined now filled the city centre. Parked up outside the Operations Control tent, she prolonged the moment with its precious relief of air-conditioning and tinted glass.

When it felt too conspicuous to delay any longer, Blix opened the passenger door and stepped out. She smoothed down her sharp grey suit and lightly touched her immaculate silver bun. Lips tight and eyes set in a determined stare, she walked towards the tent.

Wulfwin emerged from the shadows of the tent’s interior. He had seen the vehicle arrive and had been waiting for her. “Governor Blix,” he said, with a lacklustre salute.

“Chief of Command. The latest,” she barked, slipping back into