Chương 5: Department of Otherword Rescue

"Do you prefer Amos or Sergeant Colton?"

"Cole, actually. The guys on my track and field team started calling me that, and it stuck ever since." Cole sat back in the chair, tucking the pen into his uniform sleeve. He felt a bit naked without his armor, but Bricker had been right. Hearing his granddad's 2-pack a day voice grinding over the phone line from Georgia had done more than any amount of safety blankets or bottled waters to convince him that he was, indeed, out of danger.

Director Bricker picked up the signed non-disclosure agreement and blew on the ink to dry it before setting it in his outbox.

"Now that the government horse-shit is out of the way, let me fill in the blanks for you. Since you've got eyes and a brain, you've probably figured out that other worlds exist than our own. And since you saw our emblem on the first floor, and read Department of Otherworld Rescue on it, you can surmise that we have means of going to said other worlds.

We have teams and individuals, all of them highly specialized, whose sole purpose in life is to jump through portals to LF worlds and pull people like you, that is, people unceremoniously and involuntarily plucked from Earth, out of the fire and bring them back here for reintegration." Cole took sip of his coffee, which was cheap, burnt, and stale—just the way he was used to.

"Slow down. LF worlds. What are those?"

"Lewis Field worlds. Worlds under the demesne of a governing body—not like a government, unless the government was an omniscient, omnipresent being with total control over everything that happened within its borders. And don't get me started on that little big-brother rabbit hole." Bricker shook his head.

"No, Lewis Fields are monitored and enforced rules that overwrite what we would call physics. Sometimes by local deities, sometimes by an esoteric, formless system, that manages magic, monsters, and measures out rewards."

"And there's a lot of these worlds?" asked Cole.

"Hundreds that we've catalogued so far. And we can only log the ones that reach out and touch us. Sometimes that's in the form of a random crossover. More often, it's intentional. See, Earth is alone in the sense that it's got no Lewis Field—at least, not anymore. Plenty of myths and legends of monsters and dragons and what-not in our past. Stories from antiquity of heroes capable of super-human feats.

But since no one in living memory has ever seen the bones of a dragon or encountered a werewolf, they're dismissed as myths. But LF Monsters don't leave bones. You saw that, didn't you?" Cole thought back to the four-armed creature pinned beneath the tire of his M-ATV.

"I think so, yeah. It started… melting…" something else occurred to him.

"What did you mean when you said they contact us intentionally?" Bricker leaned back in his chair, half-smile tugging up the corner of his mouth as he idly drummed his fingers on the second, much thicker packet on his desk.

"Well, that's where we come in. See, we may not have a permanent Lewis Field anymore. But some individuals can still attune to them." Bricker held his thumb and index finger about an inch apart.

"Tiny portion of the population. We're talking percent of a percent. But scale the population up to eight billion and that's still a lot of people. Now these other worlds that reach out to us? They're not nice places. Monsters, demons, sentient plagues. You name it they've got it. So they reach out in desperation, and they call these individuals—these kids— to them. See, usually it happens in the first four to seven years after puberty hits.

And these otherworld summoners are much better at finding attuned individuals than we are." Cole tilted his head.

"How does that help them?"

"Being bathed in a foreign LF field makes attuned Earth humans capable of some pretty amazing things. Things these otherworlds drool over—if they can survive. Usually? They don't. Sometimes these worlds get a moonshot, but how is some kid who can't even pass history class supposed to fight a demon king at the head of an army of horrors? They shouldn't have to. And that's why we send DOR Kickers to go get them.

Then, in a few years, when Little Timmy is not only not dead, but is all grown up and a consenting adult with some relevant training, Uncle Sam offers him the chance to pay it forward. It's dangerous work. But it's work that needs doing. Because at the end of the day, these fucking assholes are abducting children and forcing them to fight wars. Our children. Our sons, daughters, brothers, sisters. Treating Earth's high schools like rent-a-hero warehouses."

Bricker leaned forward and started to stab the top of his desk with an index finger, punctuating his words so forcefully Cole was surprised the director didn't dent his desk.

"And they can't. God damn. Have 'em." Support creative writers by reading their stories on Royal Road, not stolen versions. The director's stoic, genial mask slipped a bit, letting Cole see a hint of the fire that lay beneath. But he quickly composed himself and spun the packet around.

"Your turnaround is a bit quicker than usual. But you've also already got combat experience, leadership experience, survival and evasion training, weapons training, the whole shebang: everything we look for in an ideal candidate for a DOR Kicker. Most importantly, you're already attuned." Bricker reached into his pocket and pulled something out, flicking it over to Cole. Cole snatched it out of the air, and looked at the familiar, blue-tipped 5. 56 round that must have come out of the magazine he'd found.

As soon as it touched the casing, it started to glow with a faint blue light.

"You killed one, didn't you?"

"Yeah," said Cole.

"Yeah, we did. Took three mags, half a belt of 7. 62 from the 240 on the Oshkosh, and it still didn't die until we crushed it under the tire and I blew the top of its spine out." Bricker nodded along.

"I'm not surprised. Those are tough bastards from a nasty little world—Kevlesh—one we're still trying to get a kid out of. It's considered too dangerous for all but a handful of our most experienced Kickers. The fact you managed to kill one yourself with mundane equipment is really quite amazing. And the Goddess of Kevlesh apparently agreed, because she gave you that bullet, and probably a little extra on the side. You feel anything after? Like you'd just dunked yourself in an ice bath?"

"Yeah," said Cole, remembering the cold flash that he'd put down to nerves.

"Yeah, I did."

"Figured as much. And I'll bet if we take you down to the lab and into the LF Field there, we'd be able to get some hard numbers on how much you improved. So we're going to skip a few hurdles, and I'm going to ask you to join our little team." Bricker slid the packet over for Cole to take. Hesitantly, Cole picked it up and started reading the first page. It looked a lot like his recruitment paperwork for the Army, only with a lot of terms and names that looked more like they should have been in Lord of the Rings.

He looked up at Bricker.

"I just re-upped with the Army. I've still got three more years on my contract." The director waved the concern off.

"Not an issue. Assignment here is just a permanent change of station as far as DoD personnel are concerned. Several of our Kickers are active duty. A handful of soldiers, some marines, and a pair of sailors. Soon to be three, hopefully." He tapped his chin.

"No airmen, though. You'll even accrue rank while you're here and get automatic advancement when you reach time-in-rate. Hell, you can even go back to the Airborne when you're finished." Cole poked the elephant in the room.

"And if I said no…?" he asked.

"Well then you'll be going back to the Airborne a whole lot sooner. I'm sure your unit will be glad to have you and I'll wish you a long, uneventful, monster-free career." Bricker raised a conspiratorial eyebrow.

"We're a volunteer force, son. Our whole mandate is preventing the exploitation of unwilling participants. I hope you weren't expecting a black bag and a bullet to the head if you had the audacity to exercise your right to refuse."

"What about Gillis and Brennan?"

"We'll check them for attunement as well, but my guess is that neither of them are LF keyed, or the reward for that demon would have been split. And they also would have walked out of the transit pit instead of being wheeled." Bricker checked his watch and pushed his chair back, prompting Cole to stand as well.

"Shit, I'm late for the Kevlesh debrief. Look, Cole. I'm not asking you to decide right now. You've just been through a traumatic combat event with an enemy you were never trained to fight. Take a day. Hell, take a week if you want. Talk to some of the other recruits. Talk to the shrink, if you want. Go out in town and get a steak. Just swing by the armory and check your firearms in before you go to billeting or they'll pitch a fit."

"Sure," said Cole. He grabbed his vest and helmet before drawing his rifle sling over top. Bricker extended his hand. Cole took it.

"One last thing, sir," said Cole, still holding the handshake.

"Shoot."

"When I was younger, my folks and my older brother were in a wreck." Bricker's stare flattened.

"And?"

"They recovered my parents. My brother Ryan's body was never found. He would have been sixteen. Is it possible…?" The director was quiet for a moment. His hand twitched, and Cole released his grip and Bricker smoothed his suit jacket.

"I started this department fifteen years ago. Even then, it was another three years before we could accurately track abductions. We don't have any tracking data before that, so I can't say one way or the other. LF attunement isn't hereditary. But the chances of being attuned are markedly higher if a sibling is attuned. I don't want to give you false hope. Want my advice? You laid your brother to rest and made peace with that. Let him rest." Bricker followed him out.

"Remember how you got in?"

"Well enough," said Cole. He called up the elevator.

"Good man. Read that contract. Think on it," said Bricker. He offered a quick salute and ducked back into his office, closing the door. Cole stepped into the elevator and punched the first floor. He leaned back against the wall and puffed out a deep breath. God, what a mad world. Worlds, apparently. Magic and monsters and Lewis Fields, oh my. But if there was a chance, even the slightest, percent of a percentest chance that Ryan was out there somewhere… if there was any sign.

Hell, even demons better get out of his way. The elevator dinged on the first floor, and a thought occurred to Cole. How did he know the wreck predated the records?