by F. C. Reed
Amalia frowned. “Thanial was planned?” She paused in thought. “That seems odd.” Where she felt so strongly attached to him before, now she felt nothing.
“One would think so,” Dorran answered. Amalia waited for more of an explanation, but there came none. “If you are to assist us, you cannot do so alone.”
They walked through a set of nondescript double doors and into a conference room. “We’ve had to wait until all of your aethereal tags were revealed, so we put together a team to aid you until that happened. Without our intervention, you probably would have still been in that containment chamber having fist fights with Cris Cross and making goo-goo eyes at Donovan Romin.”
“I see,” Amalia said, nodding, a little embarrassed.
“That team’s first mission was to extract you from the Reach once out of your containment chamber and all your tags were noted.” Karra took a seat at the table as Dorran called up the holographic display. “Needless to say, they have liberated you. Now you must liberate them.” The display shimmered blue for a moment before a face popped up. It was a face she recognized.
“Sarina?” Amalia chuckled, half amused, half in disbelief.
“Her real name is Cian Bevue. She’s a very skilled marksman with anything that has a scope, a drawstring, or uses bullets,” Dorran said.
The image shifted to another face. “Kellis Nabry is actually a body double named Turino Montal. He is skilled in recon, but also one hells of a pilot. The real Kellis Nabry is dead.”
The image shifted again. “Gina the kitchen master, codename Axara. She’s familiar with demolitions, but is mainly your muscle. Lots of muscle. The kind of muscle that can turn to stone.”
“My A-team, I guess,” Amalia said.
“And you have been acquainted with Zerosa. They have been under strict direction to never drop their covers, although now I think it doesn’t much matter. They are all enemies of the nation-state under the martial rule of Tetra Sesanji. She has given herself the title of Executor, and if she is all that I have come to know of her, then she will never relinquish that power willingly.”
Dorran shut off the holographic display. “Questions,” he said, more a statement of expectation than a solicitation for inquiry.
“We will mull over details of future operations after Zerosa has recovered, which should be a few days. Until then, you would do well to rest up. I will show you to quarters.”
“Wait,” Amalia said, holding out her hands. “Before we do anything else, would someone please, for once and for all, tell me what this infinity particle is and why it’s so important?”
Karra turned to face Amalia. She cocked an eyebrow. “We thought you would be able to tell us.”
Epilogue
“Why is it that every time I make myself known, you are never happy to see me?” he started. “We need to fix what needs to be fixed. We need to collaborate. I will not be shoved away at your convenience.” Bastille smiled a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “For all the good it does us, we still need to think like an innovative system. If you are to benefit from the system, you must sustain and discharge the principles of the system. Otherwise we are to think your membership in the system may end.”
Executor Sesanji stood and squared up to Bastille. “We had a deal to share information,” she said. “You kept the origins of the goldenblood to yourself all this time.”
Bastille smiled again. “All deals have their details to change from time to time. And now, as you can see, the deal has changed. Mirell figured it out, so you should be thanking her. Despite what I did or didn’t reveal, you owe us. And in turn, you owe me.”
“For what?” Executor Sasenji shot back.
“For that throne of broken glass you’re sitting on. Without me, there would be no you. Without the Iron General, there would be no Executor.”
Sesanji clenched her teeth, the fury welling inside her. “You come with blackmail and extortion as a means to—
“You’re welcome,” Bastille said. “But I am a part of the system, just as much as you. I am also a part of the established channel. The aethersphere. The balance. I can’t punish you for your failures, but you are free to punish yourself. You will have your judgment in due course. I am but a courtesy messenger.”
“I don’t need anything from you,” Sesanji spat.
“You don’t now,” Bastille returned. “But you will. In time.” He turned to leave. “And I will not jeopardize my existence because of your stubborn, foolish pride. Get over yourself. The Legion comes, even for you. None of us are outside its reaches.”
The last of his words reverberated in her head as he strode away.
You. Owe. Us.
About the Author
F. C. Reed is an emerging author of what he thinks is really engaging, entertaining science fantasy. This is his first book in the genre, but he is no stranger to writing. There’s an old bookshelf in his closet with unfinished manuscripts dating back to 1997 - handwritten on what is now brittle, yellowing paper in musty old composition notebooks. The Red Lion Chronicles came to him as a fragmented mess of an idea for Nanowrimo 2012 and was subsequently, albeit slowly, pieced together through a marriage, the birth of two children, and two career-altering promotions. He resides in California with his wife, two adorable daughters, and small army of four-legged animals.
