Layla shook her head. “No, that will not work. He has no standing among her men to make such an accusation. Unless he is perceived to be drawing them to his side, she will not attack. Tell him to find another way.”
At that moment, the entire plan went to hell. One of the terrorists pulled off his mask and started screaming at his leader. Layla was the first to recover from her surprise. “Scott, tell Nicholas to silence this man! His rebellion will draw her anger like a lightning rod. Nicholas must be the target of her attack, not one of her own!”
Rory gulped as he ran the latest projection. “Thirty percent and degrading.”
Take opened his mouth to say something as Medusa pointed her shotgun at Jeremy, but choked as Nick stepped in front of the blast and fell in a bloody heap
“God damn it! It doesn’t work if he gets shot while interfering in a human conflict. The treaty doesn’t cover protecting humans from other humans! We can’t use—”
Nick stood again, the entire front of his shirt bright red and dripping as he threw a burst of power at the bomb, which erupted in smoke as its electronics fried.
“Fuck,” Takeshi said quietly.
“Probability of success: one hundred percent,” Rory said into the silence. “New projection: probability of class-one Armistice breach now eighty percent and increasing.”
On the screen, Nick leapt into the air, hovering above the stage as he began casting a spell.
“Ninety percent and increasing,” said Rory. He shook himself free of his Gift. “Scott, Ana, you have to stop him. Using combat magic on humans is a death sentence!”
“It’s too late,” answered Ana. “The casting has already gone past failsafe. If we interrupt it now, the collapsing waveform will kill everyone in the room.”
Rory stared at the cocoon of power surrounding Nick. “Ana, please! You have to do something—”
Nick’s spell exploded in a sphere of brilliant white light, and the armed men collapsed in its wake. Rory slumped in despair, dropping into his chair. “Oh, God.”
“Anaba,” Layla said with cold fury. “Take Nicholas into custody or contain him as best you can until we can send you reinforcements.”
“I’ll take care of it,” Scott said, out loud.
“That’s not necessary,” said Ana. “Let me—son of a bitch!”
“Ana, what’s wrong?” asked Takeshi.
“Scott cast a composite ward over the center of the theater, including the stage. It’s keyed to his link, so only members of his dyad can cross it.”
“Are you certain?” asked Layla. “Surely you can overpower a shield cast by a Sentinel other than Fire.”
“Normally, yes, but this casting is designed to channel the strength of his Gift to best effect. I should know: I helped him create the spellform. It will take me at least ten minutes to cut through, if Scott doesn’t dismiss it first.”
Layla threw up her hands in disgust. “Then Scott will simply allow Nicholas to escape!”
“No, he won’t,” said Take.
Layla frowned. “Meaning what?”
“Scott Phillips believes in the rule of law,” Rory said woodenly. “He will do everything he can to give Nick an out, but in the end, he will do exactly what he thinks is just.”
Layla took a step toward the screen and watched intently as Scott appeared on the stage. “Are you saying he would actually place his dyad brother on trial for a capital crime?”
Takeshi took his seat at the table again, pouring himself a cup of jasmine tea. “Sentinels have honor, too, Layla,” he said. “It’s out of our hands now.”
“Good luck, Nicholas,” Rory said, wearily tracing with his fingers the table’s inlaid seal of the Triumvirate. “You’re going to need it.”
Two hours after public exposure
A soft chime interrupted Layla’s private thoughts, signaling the completion of their latest AI simulation.
Rory dropped into his seat next to Takeshi and they looked up to the virtual screen that floated above the conference table. “Play final conclusions,” said Take.
The voice of the master AI spoke from above them as the data played out on the screen. “Probability of war with the human race reaches thirty percent within twelve months after public exposure. Probability of war increases exponentially thereafter to approach unity within less than twenty-four months of initial exposure. Probability of short-term conventional victory, based on available data, is seventy-five percent. Probability of formation of a secondary front involving the Court of Shadows approaches ninety percent. Probability of offensive deployment of non-conventional weapons of mass destruction approaches unity within six months of start of hostilities. Probability of long-term victory is ten percent under most favorable conditions. Probability of long-term stalemate with global escalation is seventy percent.”
“Define the most favorable conditions for victory,” Layla said, not turning around.
“Successful withdrawal of all surviving segments of the Armistice population to off-world locations, followed by orbital bombardment of the planetary surface by high-energy kinetic projectiles and accompanying gravity pulse deployment against strategic military command centers.”
Rory slumped in his chair. “Jesus. That is the best plan you can come up with?”
“No other options allow for greater than fifty percent long-term survival of the Armistice population once hostilities begin.”
Takeshi folded his arms and stared grimly at the others. “Then we’re stuck with the original projection. We have to derail the movement toward war until the humans realize they can’t win either.”
Layla sighed as she spun away from the window and sat in her chair. “The original projection was based on an aggressive information campaign to diffuse racial tension and xenophobia by educating humanity about the society of the Free People,” she said, clasping her hands together on the table. “Nicholas has laid a good foundation today, but the rest will require a great deal of planning and luck. We can only do so much in preparation. The final effort cannot be done by committee. The humans will need a recognizable leader, a focal point to coax them into cooperating.
“Now that we are exposed, we must act quickly to put a sympathetic face to our people. As much as I hate to say it, by flouting our laws and saving the city, Nicholas may have cast himself as a hero to the humans. We should capitalize on that first impression while there is still time. If the worst befalls us, and war becomes inevitable, we must have a single voice to lead us into battle, or to offer our surrender. He is the only viable candidate for this role.”
“Nick’s not up to that,” Rory said despondently. “He’ll break under the pressure. Hell, he’s been sober for fewer than six months.”
“We can’t coddle him, Rory,” said Takeshi. “He’s already put himself in the line of fire. We have to keep him alive on the front lines for as long as it takes for him to become strong enough to handle what’s coming.” He turned to Layla. “We should start drafting a succession plan, in case we’re not around to pass over power when the shooting starts.”
“It will have to give him sweeping authority if he is to act in a crisis and we are eliminated,” said Layla.
Rory sighed. “The Armageddon Protocols were designed to allow any one of us to take full executive authority if the other two were killed or incapacitated in battle. I say we just modify them to allow a designate to take command if we’re destroyed or under direct threat of being killed during wartime, and we give him the authorization code.”
“That works,” Take said. He looked across the conference table. “Layla?”
“Nicholas Magister Luscian as our last hope?” She rolled her eyes and indulged in a rare moment of vulgarity. “We are so screwed.” She snorted. “Very well, I agree. However, I would strongly recommend against revealing our intent to Nicholas before the time comes, or he will become too timid to be of use.”
“I can’t argue with that,” said Takeshi. “You said it yourself, Rory. He won’t be abl
e to handle it if we tell him. Maybe you’re right and he’ll turn his life around after today. But for now, we need to keep him in the dark.”
Rory seemed about to disagree, but finally shook his head. “I know you’re right,” he said, “both of you. It will hurt to have to lie to him.”
“This is necessary for our survival,” Layla insisted. “You must isolate yourself from your feelings for him.”
“I can’t argue with that, either,” said Takeshi. “On that note, I suggest we adjourn. It’s going to be a long night.”
PART II
TRUTH
CHAPTER 6
Marina District, San Francisco, California; Five hours after public exposure
Tobias Jameson fumbled for the remote and turned off the video feed, silencing the news anchor’s confused commentary. His thoughts were a maelstrom of questions and fears. What the hell just happened? Nothing made sense. The world was tilting off its axis. It had to be some kind of stunt, didn’t it? It couldn’t have been real. He’d watched the events play out on the award show just as everyone else had, tuning in after the news brief about the terrorist threat had broken on every channel, and he’d stayed glued to the set until the broadcast had finally been cut off while the Special Forces soldiers were carting the unconscious bodies off the stage.
Afterward, he’d made the rounds of the news programs for a couple of hours. They were pretty much still chasing their tails. No one understood what had happened or what to make of it. The only thing Toby knew for sure was that his brother had been on tour with his band, the Journeymen, in Australia as late as that morning. Nick had called from Melbourne just after their concert, and Toby had heard the screams of the crowd in the background. There was no way Nick could have been in Los Angeles not even six hours later. Teleportation doesn’t exist. It can’t exist.
Toby stood and paced around his apartment, pausing occasionally to look at the framed photos of his family that adorned the walls and noted how rarely the images contained the four of them together. Nick and Toby’s performing careers, not to mention Faith’s busy medical practice, tended to keep them apart.
Another image popped into his mind before he could suppress it: Nick yelling at Scott and the terrorist, showing visible fangs and claws. Somehow, his voice was an entire octave lower than it should have been. Toby pushed the memory from his mind. He didn’t know what was going on, but that was not his brother. His thoughts marched in circles as he wandered through the empty apartment, looking for answers.
His cell phone rang, and he answered it quickly. “Nick? Is that you?”
“Toby.” His brother sounded exhausted. “Did you see the broadcast?”
“Yes, I saw it! Who was that? They looked just like you guys! What’s going on?”
“Toby, do you trust me?”
“What?” Toby was shocked. “Of course.”
“Someone is coming to get you. Go with him.”
Toby took the phone away from his ear and stared at it in disbelief. Nick had actually hung up on him. At that moment, the doorbell rang. Toby walked to the door and disarmed the security system. The front office should have called the apartment before letting in any unknown visitors, so whoever it was must have been on his list of trusted friends. When Toby opened the door, he was surprised to see a man he didn’t recognize at all. About Toby’s age, he was dressed in a tan suit.
Toby’s fingers quickly moved to rest on the security system’s panic button. “Can I help you?”
“Mr. Jameson? Would you please come with me?”
The man’s tone was pleasant, but Toby knew that didn’t mean anything. He’d seen enough in his life to know that people were capable of anything.
“Do I know you?” asked Toby, ready to slam the door in his face if he tried anything.
“No, sir. My name is Lucas Daviroquir. Your brother asked me to pick you up.”
“You know Nick?” Toby asked, uncertain.
“No, sir. We’ve never met—but I live in this neighborhood as well, so I was the closest person he could find. He asked me to bring you to him.”
Toby looked the other man over again and noticed something he had missed the first time. The man was wearing a metal lapel pin, about an inch and a half across, in the shape of a white circle with the right half filled in. In the center was a silver Maltese cross overlaid with three gold circles—exactly like the symbol on the shirt of the person on TV who had looked so much like Nick. Toby swallowed and let his gaze rise to meet the other man’s eyes.
“It was really him, wasn’t it?”
The other man looked at him sympathetically.
“I think he wants to tell you himself, Toby. We’re already working on finding the rest of your family.”
Toby stepped out of the apartment and pulled the door closed behind him. “Then let’s go.”
“Initiate priority transit for two, relayed through the Anchorpoint master gateway directly to the Citadel.” Lucas reached out his hand and laid it on Toby’s shoulder.
A voice spoke out of the air. “Teleport ready.”
“Execute.”
The world disappeared in white light. When the light faded, they were standing in an open courtyard in the center of an eight-pointed star inlaid on the floor. Surrounding them were low white metal buildings. Narrow pillars stood at each of the eight points of the star, each about six feet high and four inches in diameter. The pillars and the outline of the star design glowed a luminous blue.
Toby looked around in wonder. Crowds of people moved purposefully about their business on all sides, most dressed in simple two-piece outfits of white, gray, or green that resembled surgical scrubs. The rest wore regular clothes, but again, the colors of white, gray, and green predominated. All of them completely ignored Lucas and Toby. There was a curious deadness to the sounds of their footsteps, as if the very air was muffled. Then Toby looked up. The area was brightly lit by overhead floodlights, suspended from an open framework of white metal that curved across the night sky. But what really caught his attention were the stars: there were so many, more than he had ever seen.
“Toby,” said Lucas.
Toby tore his eyes away from the sky to look where Lucas was pointing, at one of a number of slightly raised circular platforms. Each was about six feet across and situated at one of the points of the star.
“This way.”
Not trusting himself to ask any of the questions that threatened to burst from his lip, Toby followed.
When they both stood on the platform he’d indicated, Lucas said, “Initiate transit for two to Tower Alpha Seven, observation level.”
“Teleport ready.”
“Execute,” said Lucas. The world turned white again, and they were standing on a similar platform in the center of a large disk of bright white metal. The smaller platform was surrounded by numerous tables and chairs, all clear as glass except for the white cushions. Overhead, the numberless stars blazed brightly.
Toby barely had time to step off the platform before he heard someone call his name and felt himself wrapped in a tight embrace.
“Mom?” Toby was floored. All of his questions flew out of his head at the sight of her. He pulled back out of her arms. “What’s going on? How did you get here?”
Struggling to hold back tears, Claire Jameson met her younger son’s eyes. She turned to the side so Toby could see past her.
“Your brother brought me.”
Beyond her, Nick stood at the edge of the metal disk, facing away from them. Still dressed exactly as he'd been when Toby had last seen him on television, in a white collarless shirt and white slacks tucked into his boots, he stood with his hands clasped behind his back, staring straight ahead at the stars. Beside Nick, Scott stood next to another man seated in one of the clear chairs. Toby’s eyes widened. It’s the terrorist from the broadcast, Jeremy something or other. Toby turned back to his mother.
“It was real, wasn’t it? All of it.”
“I think so, Tob
y. He said he’d explain everything as soon as we were all here. We’re just waiting for your sister now.”
“They just picked her up in New York City, Mrs. Jameson,” said Lucas, standing beside them. “She’ll be here in a few minutes.”
Toby turned to face him. “You have the same kind of cross Nick wore. Are you a vampire, too?”
Lucas glanced nervously at Nick.
“Mr. Jameson, if I were to answer that question before your brother has a chance to talk to you, he would probably have me killed. If you will excuse me…” He stepped back onto the platform. “Initiate transit for one to Armistice Security garrison, main level.”
“Teleport ready.”
“Execute.” Lucas disappeared in a white haze.
Toby turned back to his mother. “Will you be okay if I go talk to him?”
She nodded. “I’ll wait for Faith and then join you.” She sat down at a nearby table.
Toby squared his shoulders and walked to Nick’s side, his footsteps silent in the heavy air. From the edge of the disk, he could finally see below the level of the sky. The view took his breath away. The black sky had led him to believe it was night, but the vista before him was starkly lit by bright sunlight. They were standing on top of a conical tower of white metal that swept downward to join a network of white buildings interconnected by cylindrical tubes. Clear domes atop the buildings shone in the light, like droplets of dew clinging to a spider’s web. Toby realized they were standing in a similar dome, so transparent that it was invisible from the inside.
Toby lifted his eyes to look beyond the edge of the city. A barren wasteland of tumbled gray and white rock stretched monotonously to the horizon.
“What is this place?” he whispered.
“The Citadel,” Nick said from beside him.
Toby turned to meet his brother’s eyes. “Everything I saw on the broadcast, everything I heard you say—it was all real, wasn’t it?”
“Why don’t you sit down? I’ll explain as soon as Faith gets here.”
“I’ll sit if you answer my question.”
Sunset (Pact Arcanum) Page 5
