by J. L. Lyon
Gavin sighed, “When you first arrived at my camp here two years ago I didn’t think much of you, Blaine. All I saw was a stupid kid whose father just happened to be one of the richest men in the System. Your rank was just a title to me, your very presence a ruse. But since then you have proven yourself to be a fierce warrior. Beyond my wildest dreams, you have surpassed the greatest leaders and fighters of my time. But now it is time for you to move on.
“The Ruling Council has been presented with an old enemy, and so they will respond with an old weapon. You have been hand-selected by the MWR to take part in the reinstatement of Specter, there to become a member of its First Class…and to begin your own legend.”
It took a moment for the general’s words to sink in. When at last they had, Blaine found himself struggling to remain calm. He nodded, choking back his emotion, “It would be an honor, sir.”
“A Halo is waiting for you back at the command center,” Gavin said. “The MWR has requested that the chosen champions be summoned immediately. I will see to it that all your belongings reach the Blaine mansion within the next few days. Best of luck to you, Colonel—or I suppose, Specter—Blaine.”
With a simple nod, Derek Blaine departed. General Gavin turned to the shattered window at the back of the basilica. Dark days were ahead for the World System, that was certain. But if there was even one more soldier in Specter with Blaine’s talent, woe to any who dared oppose it.
9
WHEN 301 WOKE THE NEXT MORNING, he felt more rested than he had in weeks. His eyes darted from side to side in confusion, not understanding how he could be in such a comfortable and luxurious place. Then the events of the previous day came rushing back, and he sat up straight on the soft bed. The mattress had conformed to his shape, and he fought the temptation to sink back into it.
He stepped onto the carpeted floor and walked to the window, basking in the warmth of a morning sun that he was not supposed to have seen. This time yesterday, he had thought himself a goner. Moving the curtains aside, he beheld the greatness of Napoleon Alexander’s city. Buildings—magnificent in structure and appearance—rose to meet the bright sky. The World System had done much to rebuild what had been destroyed in the great wars.
His eyes traveled around the room to a dresser on the far side, where something that had not been there the night before lay. He stepped forward and ran his fingers over the fine-pressed, navy blue cloth. A rectangular block had been stitched to the front, his designation threaded in silver within. His achievement badges—the very same ones he had been forced to relinquish the day before—were organized right above it. And among the badges and pins, something new stood out. He nearly gasped as he realized the meaning of this new pin—the badge of royalty. Black, threaded with silver and red, the pin was an awesome testament to power, and universally recognized by every soul under the MWR’s control. Possession of this pin gave him a higher rank than the generals of the Great Army.
Just below his designation block, the Specter insignia had been attached: an image of a horizontal Spectral Gladius overlaid with the words PAX SYSTEMA. On the sleeves he found more patches: a crooked gray X, for the World System; a triangle with a number 1 in the center, for his citizenship in Division One; and another silver-threaded block that read Specter First Class. The silver stripes on the shoulders and the sterling Gladius-shaped pin on the collar identified him as a captain—a Specter Captain, with more power than he had ever dreamed he would hold.
He ran his hands over the final object—a brand new weapons belt into which his arsenal had been placed. One slot, however, remained empty.
301 jumped as a loud beeping noise suddenly filled the room. His instinctive programming made his arm shoot out for the sidearm in his weapons belt. He had it aimed and ready to fire before he realized that the sound was just the phone. Feeling foolish but still a little jumpy, he carried the gun with him to the desk a few feet away and pressed the flashing button on the phone, “Yes?”
“Captain?” the voice on the other end asked.
That was the first time anyone had referred to him by his new rank, and he had to admit—he really liked the sound of it. Still feeling a little unsure of himself, 301 merely repeated, “Yes?”
“I trust you slept well,” the voice continued. “I took the liberty of having your new uniform tailored for you overnight based on the fit of your old one. It is the finest, most prestigious look in the System—with the exception of the Ruling Council, of course. If you doubt the breadth of the power you have been granted, you have but to wear the uniform and watch the reactions of those around you. Those who remember Specter have it burned into their minds so vividly that the mere sight of you will strike fear into their hearts.”
301 was unsure what to say, “Thank you…may I ask who this is?”
A chuckle answered him, “I apologize, Specter Captain. This is Scott Sullivan, the Chief Advisor of War.”
“Premier?” 301 asked, mortified. “Sorry, sir…I didn’t realize it was you.”
“I didn’t get the chance to congratulate you yesterday on your victory. I hope you know that if not for your actions in the Hall of Mirrors, Specter would have become nothing more than another unit for Grand Admiral Donalson to botch. You have my thanks for that, and as such the Ruling Council desires to ensure you receive anything you require.”
“Thank you, sir,” 301 replied. “But I am only here to serve in whatever capacity I am able.”
Sullivan went on, “The Council is meeting for breakfast in the Hall of Advisors, and we would like to invite you here to join us. After all, a warrior such as yourself doesn’t pass through the halls of this palace every day. Can you remember how to get here?”
“I believe so, sir,” he replied. “Will I need an escort?”
“No, Specter Captain,” Sullivan said. “You are no longer a prisoner brought here for testimony. You are our honored guest, and it is time you were shown some of the luxury that is now your due. Wear your new uniform when you come, and I assure you: every palace aide and every guard and soldier will be at your disposal. It may take some time to adapt to this new status…but I’m confident you’ll manage.”
301 smiled, “I hope so, sir. I’ll be there in a few moments.”
“We’ll be waiting.”
-X-
The red light went dark as the Premier hung up from his end.
He looked at the other chief advisors sitting around the long table from the vantage point of the head chair, “Remember, gentlemen: today is the first step toward solidifying Specter as our own. I have here,” he produced a thin sheet of paper for each of them, “the final list of trainees that will soon be arriving in Alexandria. These are the ten champions.”
“So which are ours, and which are the MWR’s?” Chief Drake asked, glancing at the names before him.
“Avery, Grayson, Truitt, Browning…and Aurora,” Sullivan said. “Those are our five.”
“Aurora…” Holt said thoughtfully. “Lieutenant Elizabeth Aurora…an interesting choice, Premier. The skills of the other four are well-suited to Specter—and to our efforts—but Aurora is somewhat of a wild card. If I remember correctly, she is one of only ten female officers in the entire Great Army. Accomplished, yes, but deserving of an honor such as this?”
The Premier smiled, “I thought you might have concerns. That is why I brought a copy of her file for your review.” He passed the blue folder over to Holt, who gave him a meaningful glance before examining its contents. He didn’t have to search very far. “Ah, I see. She was raised here in Alexandria, at the Capital Orphanage no less.”
“So she knows the Specter Captain,” Drake observed.
“Yes,” Sullivan nodded. “Lieutenant Aurora is the gateway to the other five. After reviewing her psych profile, we will be able to solidify her loyalty with certain pressures. And then through her, we will gain the Shadow Soldier. If we can convince him, most of the others will follow.”
“Perhaps,” Holt said as he closed Aurora’s file and turned his attention back to the list, “But there is one name here that presents a serious problem.”
“I know,” Sullivan agreed gravely. “And I have a feeling it is no accident. Alexander placed him there as a statement to us, claiming Specter as his own.”
“Well, no matter how lofty our ambitions or optimistic our plans,” Holt shook his head. “We can never hope to gain the loyalty of Derek Blaine.”
“No, we cannot,” the Premier replied. “That is why gaining the loyalty of the Shadow Soldier is so vital—and that effort begins today.”
“I’ve never seen anyone fight like that,” one of the chief advisors commented.
“I have,” Chief Holt said dryly. “Long ago, I witnessed a battle between Silent Thunder and a contingent of the Great Army. Watching him yesterday was like traveling back in time. I know I advocated bringing him on, Premier, but I can’t say I’m entirely comfortable with the situation. We know so little about him—can he really be trusted?”
“Only time will tell for certain,” Sullivan said. “But given his past, his relative detachment from any kind of personal life, and the familiar face we will provide with Elizabeth Aurora, I’d say our chances are above average. And—in the event he declares himself our enemy—he can always be contained.”
“Still, I have my doubts,” Chief Drake said. “The plan is already so fragile.”
“As far as we know, Alexander doesn’t suspect a thing,” the Premier replied. “To him we are nothing more than a charade he must continue in order to maintain his hold on the world. But as we have discussed, the stronger the Great Army becomes the less that charade is needed. Soon the Council will be obsolete.”
“The MWR is a fool if he believes that we will lay down our lives without incident,” Drake said vindictively. “He underestimates us.”
“And let us keep it that way, for now,” Sullivan said. “As long as Alexander thinks he has us right where he wants us, we will be free to act in whatever way we please.”
Holt smiled, “Beginning with today’s little maneuver?”
The Premier nodded, “Yes. And if it works, Specter is as good as ours.”
-X-
As eyes fell on the navy blue and silver uniform passing down the hallways of Napoleon Alexander’s palace, backs stiffened to attention; hands shot upward in salute; fear, respect, and envy radiated from every corner. And with each new footfall 301 could see the truth of Premier Sullivan’s words.
His weapons clicked softly against his hip as he walked confidently toward the elevator. He glanced at the faces of those he passed, drinking in every glare, every blush, and every frightened expression. The uniform’s power was immense indeed, so much that he could almost feel it surging through his body.
The elevator doors opened and he stepped inside. “Specify floor.”
“Crown 119.”
“Authorization required. Please state your name and rank.”
He hesitated, “Specter Captain Three-zero-one Fourteen-A.”
“Voice pattern not recognized. Rank and designation accepted. Initiating retinal scan.” A bright light similar to the flash of a camera lit the elevator briefly, and then went dark. “Identity confirmed. Record voice recognition?”
“Yes.”
“Recorded,” the computer chirped. “Destination approved.” The elevator began to rise. 301 tapped his foot nervously as he waited. Yesterday he had entered the Council chamber sure certain death would follow. Today he would enter it as a colleague, a near equal—perhaps even an heir. And then in a few hours, he would join the greatest soldiers around the world in the most elite special forces unit ever commissioned—and he would do so as their captain and commander.
He forced himself to remain composed as the elevator doors opened and he stepped out. He continued his confident walk past more stiff backs, obligated salutes, and jealous eyes to the door of the Hall of Advisors. The guard nodded at him, “The chief advisors are waiting for you, Specter Captain.” He stepped aside. “You may enter.”
301 pushed open the doors and stood at attention as they closed behind him. The Ruling Council rose to greet him, their demeanor making it immediately clear that this was not a formal event. He wasn’t sure if that made him more nervous or less. The Premier smiled and shook his hand, “Welcome, Specter Captain.” He chuckled, “At ease, my boy. You are among friends here. Please, have a seat.”
He could hardly believe what was happening. He was about to eat breakfast with the chief advisors of the Ruling Council—the most powerful men in the world. After he was seated, the eight members sat as well.
Premier Sullivan pressed a button on the speaker in front of him, “You may begin serving.”
At his word palace aides entered the Hall carrying dishes of steaming breakfast foods, and every man was served with whatever he desired. 301 had never experienced such royal service.
“So tell us, Specter Captain,” Chief Drake began once the meal was underway. “How is it that a man who has never held a Spectral Gladius can fight as though he has been studying the art of it his entire life?”
301’s mind went blank. How could he explain something he didn’t understand himself? He looked around at the other advisors, all of whom were waiting patiently for his answer. “I…”
“Suffice it to say that the captain has no clue how he accomplished the feat in the Hall of Mirrors yesterday,” Sullivan laughed. “Strange things can happen when a man is fighting for survival.”
“Yes,” 301 said, shaking off his uncertainty. “To be honest, Chief Advisors, I don’t remember much of the battle. It was almost as though my body was in the control of another.”
“Instinct,” Chief Holt remarked. “A powerful weapon when all else fails.”
301 nodded, but said nothing. He couldn’t shake the feeling that more than mere instinct had protected him against those soldiers. Every thought, every motion of the blade had been driven by something he did not understand. And then there was the reappearance of that boy. You know what to do, he had whispered. And apparently, he had—but how? He pushed the words from his mind. Surely the boy had been nothing more than a hallucination.
“Your compatriots began to arrive in Alexandria this morning,” Sullivan said. “Word of yesterday’s event has spread quickly, and I believe you can expect to have earned respect from the other trainees before you even meet them.”
“Fear is the more appropriate word,” Drake corrected. “Men are less apt to challenge one who has proven to be a master of battle.”
“Ah, but these are all masters of battle, Chief Advisor,” Holt said. “Truly, it will be the greatest gathering of warriors we have seen in quite some time.”
“One is a woman that I believe you know,” the Premier said. “Lieutenant Elizabeth Aurora.”
301 nearly choked on the milk he was drinking. After he managed to swallow with some difficulty, he asked, “Liz…I mean, Aurora?”
“Yes,” Sullivan nodded. “You do know her, then?”
“I do,” he replied. “We grew up together at the Capital Orphanage. I haven’t seen her in—wow—over a year, I suppose. We went through officer training at the same time as well.”
“Well, you’ll be seeing much more of her soon, I expect,” Sullivan said. “It will be a good time for the two of you to…catch up.”
301 thought he detected a hint of innuendo in the Premier’s tone, but he chose to ignore it. There had been sparks between him and Aurora in the past, he couldn’t deny it. But something had always seemed to get in the way—another man in her eye, another woman in his, or an assignment that took them far from one another, as her last had done. The prospect of seeing her again was both exciting and unnerving.
In many ways she placed him in an impossible predicament. Being one of the few women in the Great Army made her fascinating and gave her the ability to relate to him better than any other woman he
had met. But it was a bit uncomfortable being with a woman who could quite possibly beat him to a pulp if she were angry enough. Although, 301 thought, there is something alluring about that. Her stunning features and perfect form didn’t hurt, either.
After a moment he realized that the chief advisors were staring at him with knowing looks. He had gone silent for longer than he should.
But Sullivan only responded with a smile, “Just remember that as Specters, you are honor-bound to uphold the precepts of the Ruling Council. How you spend your…extracurricular time…is completely up to you.”
“We must warn you,” Chief Advisor Holt’s tone turned dark, “there is one man who will be joining your team of whom you should be wary.”
301 came out of his reverie and gave Holt his full attention, “Who is that?”
“The leader of the final battle in Rome,” Holt replied, glancing briefly in Premier Sullivan’s direction. “Derek Blaine. Colonel Derek Blaine. Have you heard of him?”
301 shook his head, “But I have heard of Walter Blaine, the System’s most honored benefactor during the feudal wars. I didn’t realize he had a son.”
“He’s only a year or two older than you,” the Premier continued. “His time on the front line in Division Nine has given him more opportunities for advancement, so don’t be surprised if he isn’t thrilled that a first lieutenant beat him out of the position of Specter Captain.”
“Though many have attributed his progression through the ranks to his family name,” Drake said snidely. “It’s much easier to get that promotion when your father is one of the most important men in the System. As Chief Holt said, be wary of him; he’ll have his sights set on your position the moment he lays eyes on you.”
Sullivan looked for a moment like he was going to disagree with Drake’s comment, but apparently thought better of it. “Regardless of Blaine, your own progression through our ranks is quite impressive. Your future looks very promising.”
