Chapter 111. A Medal and a Choice
Five in the morning. The screen of my smartphone lit up the darkness of the hotel room with a brief vibration. I did not startle awake. I simply opened my eyes and read the notification.
The Corps' Finance Department had acted with surprising efficiency. The case concerning my actions inside the portal had been closed, and a direct deposit had hit my account immediately: fifty thousand dollars as the base rate for the operation itself, plus another hundred and fifty thousand for individual performance.
Two hundred thousand. The number on the screen was impressive, but my inner accountant immediately kicked in with some cold calculations. If the government was willing to shell out that kind of money for every Awakener deployment, the risks involved had to justify the price tag. Still, at that rate, just four or five successful operations would be enough to forget about money problems forever.
The first thing I did was open my banking app and pay off the mortgage on my Los Angeles apartment. One tap. No thirty years of interest, no monthly statements, no hidden fees. When the payment went through, an unfamiliar lightness settled in my chest. It was not euphoria, but genuine physical relief, the kind I had not felt since I was maybe twelve, when, after months of saving my lunch money, I had finally dumped a bag of loose change onto a store counter and walked out with my new graphics card. I still had a couple of formalities to take care of with the bank and some paperwork to sign, but those were minor details I could deal with once I got home.
After a quick breakfast, I waited until eight in the morning, when Washington began showing its first signs of life, then headed to a specialty military uniform store.
Technically, I had been ordered to purchase a second lieutenant's uniform immediately after graduating from training camp. But, to be honest, I had promptly put it off. Everyone I knew in the Corps, Danny, Selina, Sam, had insisted they had worn their dress uniforms maybe twice during their entire service, and even then, only for some ceremonial box-checking. The nature of the Awakener corps meant you could pretty much ignore strict regulations as long as you kept doing your job inside the portals. Nobody marched in formation on the parade ground, and most people's insignia bars and rank patches sat gathering dust in their lockers.
Today, however, I had been scheduled for a ceremony. Captain Hawk had made it clear yesterday that I was to arrive at the meeting point in full dress uniform to receive a medal. He had not said which award it would be.
Fortunately, the first major Army store downtown had a set in my size. I changed right there.
Looking at my reflection in the full-length fitting-room mirror, I felt strangely conflicted. The dark-blue jacket fit me perfectly, making my shoulders look broader, while the clean second lieutenant's insignia gave me a more composed and imposing appearance. Maybe my masculine vanity liked the look, but my inner voice soberly reminded me that this was not me. Six months ago, my greatest military secret had been my latest quarterly tax filing, and my only weapon was a stapler heavy enough to crush a stack of papers. I felt as though I had put on someone else's costume, albeit one tailored perfectly to fit me.
At exactly ten, I was standing at the designated intersection in downtown Washington.
A dress uniform on a weekday attracted far too much unwanted attention. Women walking past kept glancing at me, sizing up the fit of my jacket, while some seven-year-old boy walking beside his mother suddenly straightened up and gave me an awkward, painfully earnest salute. I answered with a brief, restrained wave. The whole public spectacle was more tiring and irritating than flattering to my ego.
Ten minutes late, a massive Hummer with heavily tinted windows rolled silently up to the curb. Even with the doors closed, I could smell the lingering stench of cigar smoke.
The rear window lowered with a quiet hum. A satisfied face emerged from the darkness of the cabin, a chewed-up cigar clenched between its teeth. Colonel Leon Stewart. Leader of an elite reconnaissance unit and my direct commander during the last deployment. I had not expected our next meeting to happen so soon.
"Ross, what the hell are you, some kind of lady?" he rasped, blowing a thick cloud of smoke straight into my face. "Why the fuck are you standing there waiting for somebody to open the door for you? Get your ass inside. We're already late, and the old bastard's waiting for us."
The moment I got my legs into the cabin and slammed the door, the SUV took off. Leon, in flagrant violation of every rule of military dress, looked like a man who had escaped from his own wedding. He had casually tossed his dress jacket, complete with a colonel's eagles, across his lap, unbuttoned the top of his shirt, and left his tie hanging loose around his neck. An unfamiliar guy who looked about twenty was behind the wheel. He was wearing a dress uniform too, but his was neatly buttoned, with captain's insignia gleaming on his shoulders. The guy had neatly trimmed short sideburns and an almost unnervingly blank expression.
"Anyway, this is Hawk," Leon said, casually waving his cigar toward the driver's seat. "The same guy you were talking to on the phone yesterday."
"Nice to meet you, sir," the driver said, giving me a quick glance in the rearview mirror.
"Likewise," I replied, keeping my skepticism to myself.
The difference in age and rank was impossible to miss. This kid looked like he had barely finished high school, still called me sir, and yet he was already wearing captain's insignia and serving in military police? There were only two possibilities: either he had a powerful daddy with connections at the Pentagon, or he was an Awakener with a highly specialized profile.
I discreetly activated [Analysis]. The mental interface instantly unfolded before my eyes, displaying a series of dry lines of data that confirmed my second guess.
Name: James Hawk
Age: 19
Profession: Investigator
Phobia: Toothache
S-Power: 389 / 389 [Control Level: Low]
Special Skills: [Ancient Puzzle]
[Ancient Puzzle: A mental-type superpower that allows its user to reconstruct a complete picture of past events from fragments of information]
Race: Human (Homo Sapiens)
Attributes:
Strength: 4
Endurance: 5
Agility: 4
Current Effects: Mild nicotine poisoning.
The data put everything into place. It was now clear how a green kid with the physical stats of an average office drone had managed to make captain. With an ability like that, he did not need to run around with a rifle or conduct an in-depth investigation. He was essentially a perfect information reader. All he had to do was piece together a couple of facts from the reports, and he could reconstruct the events inside a portal down to the smallest detail.
Yesterday's phone call, with its leading questions that had seemed so pointless at the time, looked completely different now. Hawk had simply needed one more piece to complete his puzzle.
He probably already knew everything the warlord Loza'an had told me. But I was not concerned in the slightest. The first thing I had done was report everything to Selina, who outranked me. I had fulfilled my obligations under the chain of command completely. Whatever military police chose to do after that was none of my concern.
"Leon, stop smoking. Our driver is already feeling sick." I gave Hawk a brief nod. The kid behind the wheel had gone noticeably pale, his fingers clenched around the steering wheel, while the draft coming through the cracked windows only spread the cigar smoke throughout the cabin.
"God, it's rough riding with athletes and delicate little flowers," Leon sighed heavily and took another drag, the tip of his cigar glowing red. "Hold on, Ross. You don't just toss a good cigar out the window like a cigarette butt in a toilet. You savor it."
He took three more deep, leisurely drags, working the tobacco almost all the way down to the band, and only then tossed the smoldering stub out the window. The oncoming airflow immediately caught it and carried it onto the asphalt. Leon did not reach for another cigar. In the rearview mirror, I caught a glimpse of wild, almost childlike gratitude flashing through Hawk's eyes. The kid, naturally, had never dared tell a colonel to stop smoking himself.
"So where are we headed?" I asked, studying the familiar interchanges outside the window. "Judging by the route... the Pentagon?"
"Kid, did you seriously not tell him anything?" Leon knitted his thick eyebrows together and glared at the back of the driver's head.
"Uh... I think it slipped my mind," James said, tiny beads of sweat appearing on his forehead. "I'm sorry, sir."
"They keep recruiting schoolkids into the Army, and then I have to wipe their noses for them." Leon spat out the window. "Anyway, Tom. For that tactical maneuver and all the other heroic bullshit, they gave you a Bronze Star with Valor. The Corps' old man himself, General Crowley, is presenting the medal. His old ass never leaves his office at the Pentagon, so we have to go to him. Christ, like I don't have anything better to do."
"Why do you have to go? Did they drag you into the ceremony too?"
"Fuck that. I've already got three of those things gathering dust in my dresser," Leon snorted. "I was the senior officer on that deployment. Regulations say I have to be there for the ceremony. Boosting morale, setting an example for the troops, and all the other bullshit headquarters loves."
"I am positively consumed by guilt over the inconvenience," I said in a perfectly even voice, feeling not the slightest bit guilty. "Tell me about the Bronze Star. I know the standard benefits for regular Army personnel, but how does it work within the Corps?"
"The main difference is the secrecy." Leon pulled his jacket up from his lap and pointed at the tiny bronze V on the ribbon. "You can wear it openly. But for civilians and soldiers who aren't cleared for Corps business, you need a cover story ready. Say you got it for counterterrorism, and keep your mouth shut. No need to spread panic among ordinary people by talking about portals."
I nodded silently, taking note of the instructions. In the mirror, I could see Hawk's ears practically perk up as he absorbed every word the colonel said.
"As for the perks," Leon tossed the jacket back onto his lap, "you get an increased pension multiplier, lifetime care at the restricted hospital for senior personnel, and the right to a free college education at any state university. I'd think hard about that last one if I were you. They say you're a quick study. Get yourself a degree, and headquarters will slap a few more stars on your shoulders, along with a bigger paycheck."
"Any specific recommendations on what field to choose?"
"Jesus, Ross, do I look like some fucking Harvard dean to you?" He frowned. "Pick any degree that makes the bureaucrats drool, knock out all the requirements early, get the diploma, and collect the pay bump. Forget the rest of the bullshit."
I made a mental note: immediately after the ceremony, access the databases and review the list of military specialties with the highest priority for advancement.
"And one more thing." Leon leaned forward and looked me directly in the eyes, his expression suddenly turning much more serious. "The biggest perk of that little medal is the right to choose where you serve. Every department in the Corps is open to you now, Ross. I know you've got a thing going with that big-assed Langstrom bitch. And don't bother furrowing your brow and wondering how I know. I'm in intelligence. I know everything I'm supposed to know."
I stared at his smug, shameless face without feeling embarrassed or angry. My pulse remained perfectly normal, and my biochemistry was within normal parameters. But purely rationally, I did develop an urge to punch him in the jaw.
"You can transfer to the engineering division right now and spend the rest of your days hiding under Selina's tits," Leon narrowed his eyes, openly trying to provoke me. "Or you can join reconnaissance. I've seen you in action, Ross. You've got a cool head and a level judgment. Every recon soldier ends up leading a team sooner or later. That's what you should be doing: leading those kids and bringing them home alive. What do you say, accountant?"
"I'd say you're crossing a line," I replied calmly, without changing my tone or taking my eyes off him. "You know perfectly well about my relationship with Selina, yet you continue deliberately insulting her. I consider that a personal attack. Apologize."
"Oh-ho-ho, look at our little clerk finding his voice!" Leon's grin widened even further, and his eyes lit up with the excitement of a reckless adrenaline junkie. "And how are you going to make me? You gonna try to beat my ass?"
"I don't need disciplinary action for assaulting a superior officer." I allowed myself the faintest smile. "I'll file an official request for a sparring match. Then, right in front of your entire unit, I'll make you squeal like a stuck pig. I've got the highest level of Krav Maga, Colonel. But you already know that, don't you? You know everything, after all."
A heavy silence instantly filled the Hummer's cabin. Captain Hawk in the front seemed to stop breathing altogether, hunching his shoulders and practically becoming part of the interior.
Leon still wore the same feral grin, but a single bead of sweat slowly rolled down his left temple. He could not quite hide the tension underneath it. I felt completely ordinary, as though we were discussing a delayed shipment of office supplies rather than a fistfight with a special forces colonel.
"Ross, you've actually got some balls!" Leon suddenly burst out laughing and smacked me hard on the shoulder. "All right, all right. We're good. You have my apology. I won't mess with your girl anymore."
"Apology accepted."
"So what about reconnaissance? You just shut me down in my own damn vehicle. You've got a natural talent for cutting through bullshit."
"I'll think about it," I replied curtly. "After the ceremony."