Chapter 61 – Pivot Points

  Cole rolled over as the sun shining through the slit in his blinds managed to perfectly lock onto his eyes, seemingly no matter how he moved. He groaned and sat up, wondering if someone was grinding coffee downstairs before realizing the noise was coming from Roxy facedown on the bed beside him. He should have been surprised that a tiny human could make such a noise, but for weighing in at a buck twenty-five soaking wet, the woman ate, lifted, and apparently snored far above her stature. But she snorted and rolled onto her back in the warm spot he had just vacated, pulling down the sheets and reminding him that she was so worth it.

  “MMmm,” she mumbled, and then flinched as she fell afoul of the same errant sunbeam he had. She slapped a hand over her face, but the damage was done. She looked up at him as he pulled on a pair of shorts. “What’re you doooooing?”

  “Going for a run before it gets hot,” said Cole. “Want to come with?”

  Roxy rolled face-down again. “Ugh, you’re one of those people.”

  Cole opened his mouth to point out the obvious and quickly realized that way lay strife. He pulled on a shirt instead. Downstairs, he spied a bleary-eyed Howie already awake and in the kitchen, putting a coffee pod in the brewer beneath a sign left by the previous owner that read home is where the beans are. Howie waved and yawned.

  “Anything in the fridge off-limits?” he asked.

  “Have at,” said Cole, pulling on his running shoes. It was still surreal. If he wasn’t on patrol, he’d be getting out for formation PT. Which he didn’t mind, unless it was hotter than hell, but now he might never have PT again. Or formation again. No staff sergeants, no first sergeants, no company commanders or sand-crusted billets. No one-star would ever again bump his entire squad off a Blackhawk just to fly to a meeting that should have been a teleconference.

  His LF attunement had upended the entire chain of military command and instead put him near the top. There was now Director Bricker and the voice-of, Ms. Mary. There were the senior Kickers who could request but couldn’t order. Hell, even Jefferson, his boss in the armory, wasn’t really his boss. Jeff was there to support him and the other Kickers. Sophie was his handler, and while she had authority, it was his authority. And she knew how to leverage it in ways he could only envy.

  He hit the dirt driveway, started up his music, and then started warming up with a jog. After a half-mile, he hit the country road, turned up the volume, and increased his pace. The sun was just rising on his back, having only slightly crept up over the horizon before ambushing him in bed. Some of the night bugs were still flitting through the air and cars were few and far between. This wasn’t exactly the sticks, but his nearest neighbor was almost two miles away. Might as well take a peek. When Cole reached the farmhouse, this one with actual fields and fencing, the new neighbor was tossing baling wire down from the bed of a pickup. The man looked up, jumped, clutched his chest, and then waved Cole over.

  Cole hopped the fence and jogged up, pulling out his earbuds.

  “Son, you just took a year off my life, and the Lord knows I ain’t got that many left to begin with.” He held out his hand. “Todd Tillerman. I’m guessing that was you moved into the Waynes’ old place?”

  “Yessir,” said Cole, taking his hand. Todd had a grip like iron wrapped in worn leather. “Beg pardon for the jump scare.”

  Todd waved him off. “Ah… what’s a few more gray hairs? You’re military too, I expect.”

  A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

  “Yessir.”

  “Well, thank you for your service, son.”

  Cole, never really knowing what to say to that, simply said “Thank you,” with as little awkwardness as he could manage. He knew soldiers that reveled in the praise and gratitude but he’d never been one of them. Accepting the praise always felt, well, dishonest somehow. But, hey, lots of places offered discounts with a military ID. He eyed the wire still in the truck bed. At least labor was always honest. “Need a hand?”

  “Nah,” Todd stretched and put his hands at the small of his back, forcing an audible pop that was equal parts alarming and impressive. “I’m ‘bout finished. Today’s gonna be a shade work day, I’m thinkin’. You need anything, don’t hesitate to call on us.”

  “Likewise,” said Cole. “But I’d best be getting back.”

  “Be safe!” Todd called as he headed back off the property. Tomorrow he’d run the other direction, maybe meet the other neighbor, too.

  Running back unfortunately meant the sun was in his eyes, this time, so he put on extra speed to minimize the glare on his route back east, pushing his pace up until the asphalt flew by and the trees blurred. He huffed and puffed, and to his surprise, actually had to stop himself from slipping into the meditative fugue for class evolution.

  Better be careful with that, he decided. Considering time seemed to flow differently while meditating, it seemed like it would be pretty easy to dehydrate himself to the point of heat casualty if he did it while running—if a car didn’t run him over first.

  Half a mile from his drive, his phone chirped and he saw that Sophie had messaged him. He slowed to a cool-down pace and read the message.

  I have prospective missions for you when ready. No rush. None of them are happening for at least 10 days.

  Cole texted back.

  Can you come to the house? Most of the team is here already.

  The reply came immediately.

  On my way.

  Cole shot Besson a message as well as he walked the half-mile dirt drive to his house. He stretched outside for a few minutes before heading in to the smell of coffee and frying bacon. He ducked his head into the kitchen where there was now a pan full of bacon, another of scrambled eggs, and baked pancakes coming out of the oven.

  “I, uh,” said Howie, holding the sheet. He’d found a camo-patterned apron somewhere that said God bless this mess in Army-stencil font, solidifying the retired general as the ultimate dad humorist. “Made a bit of a spread. Don’t worry, I’ll clean it up.”

  Nona was already up and eating. She met Cole’s eyes but didn’t offer any kind of greeting. He passed Roxy on the stairs, rubbing a towel over her hair and following her nose toward the kitchen.

  “That smells amazing,” she said.

  “Save me some,” said Cole.

  “No.”

  Roxy had made a bit of a mess of his bathroom, but the water came out instantly piping hot, and Cole jumped in and let the water scour his sweat and road dust, sighing and leaning his forearms against the cool tiles. Was this his life, now? He squeezed the dog-tags swinging against his chest. So much had pivoted so quickly. All of it based on his LF-attunement—something he had no control over. It was even more surreal than being automatically thanked for some nebulous concept of service that civilians paid lip-service to, despite the fact that Kickers were out there actually helping people. And in a country of over three-hundred million people, maybe a few hundred or a couple thousand max even knew it was happening.

  He dried off, dressed, and headed downstairs where Roxy was trying her best to make good on her threat, but Cole’s quick hands managed to pull some bacon out of the pan and scoop some eggs onto a plate before drizzling both with hot sauce and dashing them with pepper.

  Sophie knocked about twenty minutes later, and Besson was with her.

  “Hi Sophie! Hi Besson! Where’s Nutmeg?” asked Roxy.

  “Outside,” said Besson.

  Sophie had a courier pouch for classified documents with her, but she pulled out a tablet marked with top-secret stickers.

  “General Wayne had a high-side hookup installed in his armory during the pandemic, so we can use the screen in there—unless you prefer a tiny tablet screen?” She waved the tablet.

  Cole gestured to the stairs, and they followed Sophie down where she punched in the key code for the armory.

  “Phones out here, please,” she said. They dropped their cell phones on the workbench while she punched a code into a second secure door.

  “I wondered what this was,” said Cole as he followed his squire in. “And why there was a cipher lock. You didn’t give me the code for it.”

  “It’s not terribly exciting,” she admitted, and Cole had to agree. It was a small conference room with a single mid-sized screen and teleconference equipment. An American flag hung on the wall, and an Air Force emblem had been stenciled on the wall.

  “You knew what you were doing when you gave me this place,” said Cole.

  Sophie shot him a sly smile.