by J. L. Lyon
“Thank you, sir,” 301 replied. “If you don’t mind my asking: when will we receive our weapons?”
“Your Spectral Gladius, you mean? Difficult to say. It may be a while. Receiving your first Gladius is, traditionally, somewhat of a special event. And since no manufacturer has constructed the weapon in many years, a bit of trial and error might be involved. The Gladius runs on Solithium, making it a very powerful and complicated weapon.”
“Meaning that those rebels you encountered must have some access to the chemical,” Chief Holt said. “We have suspected for a long time that high-ranking officials within the System have been helping the rebellion stay alive. Now it would seem you have delivered proof of that. Part of Specter’s job will be to hunt the suppliers down and cut off those lifelines.”
“The threat posed by the rebellion is just now being fully realized,” the Premier said solemnly. “Our greatest problem is that we don’t know enough about their movements to detect any sort of pattern. They are like phantoms, moving about in our cities unchecked and unseen, waiting for the prime opportunity to strike.”
“The best way to catch one phantom is to send another after it,” Chief Drake said. “That is why the need for Specter’s return has become so great.”
301 looked around the table. All of the Council members had finished eating and were studying him intently, no doubt trying to size him up. Not letting the uncomfortable probing sensation get to him, 301 took it as an opportunity to study each Council member for himself.
He couldn’t help but feel that there was some sort of tension in the air—not necessarily between any of the advisors, but just generally present. Five minutes in the room the day before had proven that Sullivan held absolute authority over the others, but there seemed to be a special ring of trust between the Premier and two of the members: Chief Advisor Holt and Chief Advisor Drake. Whatever the source of the tension in the room, the three of them seemed to be at the center of it.
“Well,” Sullivan said after a time. “We’re glad you could join us this morning, Specter Captain, but I know you have a busy day ahead of you. Specter will assemble in two hours, but if I’m not mistaken…” he turned and looked at the clock. “Something is happening at the royal airstrip in about half an hour that you won’t want to miss.”
301 stood and nodded respectfully, “Thank you for your hospitality, Chief Advisors. I will do my best to ensure that Specter achieves its goal.”
“I’m sure you will. Good day, Specter Captain.”
10
MORNING ON THE ROYAL AIRSTRIP that day was busier than most, with the imminent arrival of ten dignitaries from around the world. At the request of the MWR, these newcomers were to be treated with no less respect than the Ruling Council. But as they emerged from within the planes the soldiers and workers on the runway stared at them in confusion, for the arrivals did not seem to deserve such treatment. Most were little more than first or second-grade officers, and even a few mid-grade enlisted men, with little to no staffs of their own.
But by mid-morning the first exception arrived. A sleek black Halo-4 touched down softly on the runway and a decorated four-star admiral emerged from within. A warrior of medium build and balding white hair, his battle-hardened face had not been seen in Alexandria for quite some time—though he had not been forgotten. As often as the story of Specter’s demise was told, so was it known that only one man in the entire force survived: Admiral James McCall.
“Welcome to Alexandria, Admiral McCall.”
“Colonel Orion,” McCall nodded and came to a stop next to the slightly taller man. “I see Premier Sullivan still has you at his right hand. Well, we can dispense with the pleasantries…I know how we both hate them. What is the status of the ten champions? Have they arrived?”
“We are waiting on the arrival of the final two,” Orion answered. “They should be coming in right behind you. Have you gotten a chance to look at the list?”
“Yes,” McCall said darkly. “Some of the names I know, but others I’m not so certain about. I asked to have their files sent to me, but was told it would have to wait. What’s with all the secrecy?”
“We are living in a different world today than we were two days ago,” Orion replied. “I suppose they didn’t want to risk leaking the names to the public and making the trainees targets before they arrived. But what is it you want to know? Lieutenant Tony Marcus was employed as an assassin in South America. Captain Tyrell is known for his work against the Tripartite rebels in Africa. And then there is Colonel Derek Blaine—”
“Ah, yes,” McCall said with distaste, turning to watch as another Halo landed in the place where his had just taken off. “Son of the System’s richest benefactor, Sir Walter Blaine. I wonder how he was able to progress through the ranks of the Great Army so quickly?”
“General Gavin once thought the same,” Orion replied. “But he grew to acknowledge Blaine as a skilled warrior in his own right. Just hours ago he captured the leader of the Roman Rebellion and ended Domination Crisis Fifteen. He is not the spoiled brat everyone believes him to be.”
McCall grinned, “We shall see, Orion. Very soon, I expect.” For at that moment the door on the side of the Halo opened and a young colonel stepped out, flanked on both sides by an entourage of guards. He turned his attention back to Orion, “But I am much more intrigued by the selection of Specter’s Captain: a first lieutenant from the Fourteenth Army of Alexandria?”
“Yes,” Orion nodded. “A prodigy, for lack of a better word. His past is a bit mysterious, but his allegiance is secure.”
“Who is he, exactly?”
“To be honest, we don’t really know. He came into the System at a very young age…no known guardians, no connections to speak of. His childhood memories were erased by some kind of accident. But the details of the event are not known.”
McCall looked over at Orion, his eyebrows raised, “Details are not known? I’ve seen files on soldiers brought up in the Capital Orphanage, Orion. They are so detailed and mundane you wonder how anyone could glean anything significant from them at all—from changes in food preferences to playground relationships—and you’re telling me they didn’t record an incident that caused one of their children significant memory loss? Do you honestly believe that?”
“The incident has never been questioned,” Orion said. “And I’ve no reason to doubt it.”
The admiral gave a skeptical grunt, “Even if that outrageous story is to be trusted, victims of memory loss have proven unpredictable in their allegiance. What if he remembers something that turns him against the System?”
“Any man can snap and become a defector,” Orion smiled. “The chances of that happening with the Shadow Soldier are just as likely as with any of the other trainees.”
“I would like a recording of yesterday’s event in the Hall of Mirrors available in my room, completely unaltered and in its original form,” McCall said gruffly. “Along with complete files on each of the trainees. Before this is over, I want to know each of them better than they know themselves.” He looked over at Blaine’s entourage, which drew steadily nearer. “What are the plans regarding a new Specter Spire?”
“We are pooling some resources,” Orion replied. “Construction of a new Spire will begin in the morning.”
“What of training facilities?” McCall asked. “And weapons?”
“The Ruling Council will brief you on those details in just under an hour,” Orion said. “But for now, if you don’t mind, I must continue my greeting duties.”
“Just a moment,” McCall held out a hand to stop him. “Why don’t you let me handle this one?”
Orion looked reluctant, but as the admiral outranked him by far, he nodded, “Suit yourself.” He turned and made his way forward to greet the last trainee, whose full-sized jet had just touched down on the runway.
McCall caught the entourage just as they reached the two cars that would taxi them to the main building
of the palace. He stepped into their path, beaming with sarcasm, “Colonel Blaine, how nice of you to join us.” He eyed the guards. “You do realize that you are in one of the most secure locations in the world? Why the royal charade?”
Blaine gave a nod to his guards, who broke their formation and fell back to the second car, leaving him alone with the old admiral. “Forgive me, Admiral McCall. I was under the impression that Alexandria was in a state of emergency.”
“There is no emergency that requires eight men to surround you,” McCall replied. “Are you sure you’re up to this, Blaine? There are no extra guards around a Specter—just you…and your blade.”
“The guards are only ceremonial, Admiral. They returned with me from Rome. I’ll make sure they stay out of the way from now on.”
“You do that,” McCall said harshly, turning his back on the colonel to walk back toward the control tower.
Blaine followed him at a quickened pace, “I know what you’re thinking, Admiral—that I don’t deserve to be here. That the only reason I was chosen for Specter was political, to appease my father. I will be the first to admit that I may not have progressed through the ranks of the Great Army so quickly if not for the name I bear. But I have never expected special treatment, and I have never failed to prove myself to those who think me nothing more than a spoiled kid riding on his father’s success.”
McCall stopped and once again faced the young colonel. “Be careful what you promise, Specter Blaine. It may take more than you are willing to give to prove yourself to me.”
“You will not be disappointed, sir—I swear it.”
At that moment both of their attentions were diverted as a vehicle came to a screeching halt right beside them and a man stepped out—but not just any man. He wore navy blue with silver rank stripes: Captain’s stripes. Blaine’s eyes widened as he saw the young soldier, “Who is that?”
The Specter took no notice of them as he left the car and walked toward the incoming jet, for they were still in their Great Army uniforms. At the moment he outranked them both. The Admiral smiled as he saw Blaine’s jealous expression.
“That,” McCall answered. “Is your competition, Specter Blaine.” He turned and headed for his own vehicle, “I’ll see you in a couple of hours.”
-X-
301 walked slowly toward the 747, a nervous lump rising in his throat as the jet finally came to a stop several yards away. Another man stood on the tarmac, evidently there to welcome each of the trainees upon their arrival. Deciding it would be more inconspicuous for him to greet Aurora along with the man whose job it was to do so, 301 stepped up next to him and waited.
“Specter Captain,” the colonel nodded with a slight smile. “Premier Sullivan told me you might be here for this arrival. It is an honor to meet you.”
“And you, Colonel…”
“Orion,” he held out a hand. “Luke Orion. I am the Premier’s chief of staff.”
301 shook Orion’s hand, but didn’t take his eyes off the 747. After a few moments the door opened and stairs were lowered to the ground. He watched the emptiness of the doorway for what seemed to him like hours, until—at last—she emerged.
Tall and slender, with long blonde hair lifted by the gentle breeze, Elizabeth Aurora was incredibly beautiful, a truth evident in the fact that she drew the eye of every man in her vicinity. The dark green uniform of the Great Army suited her well, but so would the navy blue she was about to exchange it for—so would any color, for that matter.
Aurora paused at the bottom of the stairs until her eyes found the two men who awaited her. They lingered upon him, and then her mouth broke open in a wide smile. She walked straight for them, beaming the entire way.
“301!” she said as she came within speaking distance. “What a pleasant surprise! I didn’t expect—” But then she noticed the color of his uniform, his insignia and the royal badge upon his chest. For a few moments she simply looked at him, both amazed and confused.
“May I present,” Colonel Orion said ceremoniously. “Specter Captain 301-14-A.”
“Captain?” Aurora asked with disbelief. “You’re the Specter Captain I’ve been hearing so much about? The man who took down twenty Great Army soldiers single-handedly?”
301 nodded. “Yes. That’s me.”
“Wow,” she said, smiling once again. “Well, I look forward to serving under you, Specter Captain.” She gave a slight bow. “If I know you at all, I say that you will be a fine commander.”
“Lieutenant Aurora,” Orion said. “A car is waiting to transport you to the North Wing of the palace—”
“Actually, Colonel,” 301 said. “I’d like to take responsibility for transporting the lieutenant, if that’s all right with you.”
301 thought he saw Orion fighting a smile, “If you wish it, it doesn’t much matter what I prefer. You are of royal rank and may do as you please. As long as the lady has no objections, that is.”
“No objections here,” she said. “Maybe it will give us the chance to catch up.”
“I’ll have your personal effects brought to your suite at the palace,” Orion said. “You should have them by the time your initial briefing concludes. Good day to you Lieutenant. Specter Captain.”
Orion left the two of them alone, and 301 turned to walk back toward the car. Just behind it, he was sure he saw the figure of a man watching them, but he blinked and the figure was gone.
Aurora came alongside him and pointed at the badge of royalty, “Well, in the interest of catching up, you should probably start with how you got that.”
301 took a deep breath and started into the story, feeling that his life couldn’t possibly get any better.
11
PREMIER SULLIVAN ROSE from his desk and smiled warmly as his guest entered, “Hello, James. It’s good to see you again.”
Admiral McCall shook Sullivan’s offered hand, and sat in the chair opposite him as the Premier went on, “Sorry I couldn’t meet you at the airport, Admiral. The Council was in session and we had several important matters to discuss.”
“Quite alright,” McCall replied. “I’ve never been too fond of a welcoming committee, anyway. Though I’m thrilled to be called out of the boredom of patrolling the seas day and night, I am curious: why after all this time the sudden push to reinstate Specter?”
“Well, there’s no easy way to say it,” Sullivan said. “Silent Thunder has returned.”
The old admiral’s countenance fell and he said in a quiet voice, “Those are words I never thought I’d hear.”
“Certainly we all hoped for that,” Sullivan said. “But it was not to be. Jacob Sawyer is alive. How many others, we haven’t been able to ascertain. He sent a Silent Thunder insignia to the MWR as a warning—”
“Then the threat is graver, perhaps, than we know,” McCall said. “Sawyer would only send that if he felt there was a possibility he could win. He must have something up his sleeve.”
“You and your team will be responsible to out-think and outmatch Sawyer at whatever game he is playing,” the Premier went on. “Whatever methods you believe are necessary, the Council gives you the freedom to pursue. But for now, there are a few things we must go over. You have seen the list of trainees?”
“Yes.”
“Do you have any questions? Concerns?”
“Some,” McCall smiled. “But I will run them all through the gauntlet, you can be certain of that. If they receive their Spectral Gladius, it will be because they earned it.”
“I would expect nothing less,” Sullivan said. “First, you should know that Specter will not be subject to the Failure Execution Laws. This should remove the fear of small mistakes and free the trainees to take more chances. Your team is to be completely autonomous from the Great Army, a prize won for you by your new Specter Captain.”
“Excellent,” McCall said. “But I will need more than that.”
Sullivan’s eyes narrowed, “Explain.”
“So you mean to undo their collectivization,” Sullivan said. “To make them as powerful in their decision-making skills as the leaders of Central Command, or perhaps the hierarchy itself.”
“They do wear the badge of royalty, sir.”
“But they remain subordinate to the Council, Admiral,” the Premier said sternly. “Do not forget that.”
“I would never presume to place them above the Council,” McCall clarified. “But tell me: who do you suppose will assume your positions when you are gone, Premier? Do your mechanized soldiers have what it takes to rule in your stead? All the power in the world cannot save you from death. What will become of the System if such men are allowed to rule? You must allow Specter some freedoms to discover who they are without the overcast shadow of the World System, or I guarantee you they will never have the competence to lead it.”
“I’m not sure the MWR would approve of this line of thinking.”
“With all due respect, sir, I’m not bringing this request to the MWR. I’m bringing it to you.”
Sullivan paused for a moment, realizing that despite his years of absence from the capital city McCall still knew how to play the game. “So what is your plan for breaking down this collectivization?”
“I will assign each Specter a partner.”
