Champion: Chapter 3

“These terrorist sects are getting bolder.”

Champion was barely listening to the Commander. He had been the source of most of the data for this speech. This small room collection of players – a select investigative team where he was the newest member. Only a year ago he’d been promoted to Major in the Agent chapter – a goal he’d been pursuing since his second year of training school, when he’d first learned his sister was seduced by the rebel terrorist group that called themselves Contesters.

His mentor, Maddox, had helped solidify his acceptance after his father died. It was a dream of his father’s really, for Champion to get into the elite military school that output some of the most effective and successful officers in the force. It was an honor to graduate from the Central Academy. An even greater one to graduate from the agent focus – it certainly wasn’t for the weak.

If Champion was honest with himself, he wouldn’t have made it through without his sister’s letters. Adalane wrote him a letter every week after he joined school. He could only remember a handful of times when he didn’t get a letter from her – only for the next week to have two.

It took him a while to figure out how the letters were getting to him, several months. At first, he assumed they came through the regular post. But a few weeks into school, he learned that he had a mailbox assigned to him – and the letters always arrived at his dorm door.

The mystery of it was the first thing at the school that actually interested him. Something to explore, to solve, and learn. Something other than the unpredictable early morning ambushes, rigorous interrogation conditioning sessions, and dull academics. The school part of the academy was mostly stuff he’d already learned.

Equipment and weapons recognition, handling, use cases – mostly boring and relatively easy. People skills and human behavior – Maddox had taught him a lot in the years that he’d been assigned to protect their home. Some of these skills had even been useful with his parents giving him more control over his own space at home. Basic medical care – his mother had showed him all of this and more. Not so much on purpose, but by necessity and exposure fixing up his injuries and his sister’s too before she had run away. History and hierarchy – from his father, incessantly.

His favorites he’d learned either from Adalane herself or from the stuff she brought him. Biology, geology, geometry, astronomy, climate and meteorology, anatomy. How things worked. And how to hide things – from his parents, and occasionally from Maddox. He’d learned some tricks on his own, sure. But it was Adalane who taught him the best places to hide things were in plain sight.

He used to hide her letters in the sleeve covers of his books in his dorm the first two years. Once he figured out that they were coming in through a non-sanctioned route, he followed his instinct to keep them to himself. The students that lasted through the first two years chose their focus. Maddox shared with him that Adalane had been identified as the driver of a car with a known Contester in tow, Cole Wright.

Champion couldn’t believe it at first. Her letters hadn’t seemed any different, nor did she stop writing to him. But Maddox had proof: a street surveillance photo. It looked just like Adalane behind  the wheel, and in the seat beside her and man he’d never seen before but a face he never forgot.

Champion had to find out for himself if it was true. So he chose the focus that would give him the best chance to find out: Agency.

Now he spent his days hunting the sects and Cole Wright. Discovering their hideouts, field interrogations, thwarting their efforts – and looking for Adalane.

His promotion had gained him the access he needed to really dig in on the effort. After he graduated, the letters stopped. The last one he got he carried with him, tucked into the interior pocket of his uniform jacket. The biggest regret he had was that he never figured out how to consistently respond to Adalane’s letters. The only times he had gotten to respond was when she would come see him in person. Rare occasions. Once on a solo wilderness outing, another on a weekend excursion, but never on campus.

The conversation in front of him regained his attention.

“Major Bannor, you believe you’ve identified a pattern for Wright?”

Champion nodded. He was by far the youngest man in the room at only 25, the fastest, the healthiest, and even the biggest by a fair margin. He shared the lowest rank with ten others in the group of 12.

“Cole Wright does the same run every 19 days. In the last year, he’s done it twice on day 20 instead, and one time on day 21. All three times there was extreme weather. Not once has it been less than 19 days.”

“Ok, Major. Walk us through his route. We’ll be crashing his party on the next run.”