Shadow Soldier (The Shadow Saga)

by J. L. Lyon

The Premier frowned, “You’re going to make them more individual by making them work together?”

  “Selfishness is the grounds on which their collectivization was built. I will destroy that foundation with trust. As they embark on this new journey, advancement and success will depend on how well they can work together to achieve a common goal. They will learn together, spar with one another, and compete with one another. They will form bonds—indeed, some of them will become like brothers. They will know at last what it means to trust another human being…and some, perhaps, what it means to be betrayed.”

  Sullivan sat for a few moments in silence, considering the admiral’s proposal. Then he gave a short nod, “Very well, Admiral. Your requests are granted. But be cautious: your men do not need to draw too much negative attention from the MWR or Central Command. As you may or may not be aware, the power of the Ruling Council is somewhat waning.”

  “I have a feeling that will change once Specter becomes fully operational,” McCall replied.

  “I am curious about one thing, though,” Sullivan said. “Who are you planning to assign as the Shadow Soldier’s partner?”

  “There is only one person on that list with whom he can effectively compete.”

  Sullivan didn’t like where the admiral’s logic seemed to be leading, but knew it would not be in his best interest to attract McCall’s suspicions, “Are you sure that’s wise?”

  “Oh yes, Premier, I am. And together, they will be unstoppable.”

  -X-

  For fifteen years the palace’s operations room sat neglected in a secluded corner of the North Wing. Dust had settled upon it, covering the oval table and the holographic projector at its center in a blanket of filth. The view screens hanging on the walls encircling the table were decayed and useless, and the air itself threatened to suffocate all who entered. But the World System’s legendary force had returned, and they would need a provisional base of operations until their Spire was completed.

  And so the room’s slumber came to a temporary end. Dust was purged from the room, once again displaying the shining brown finish of the table. The view screens and holographic projector were replaced, the walls washed, and the carpet swiftly reinstalled, resurrecting the space for a new generation of warriors.

  In the minutes before the first Specter briefing began, several men entered the room, seating themselves around the table without so much as a word. All wore the navy blue of Specter, complete with brand new weapons belts in which one slot remained empty.

  301 and Liz entered last, their lighthearted conversation and smiles dying an instant death in the unwelcome atmosphere. The only seats remaining aside from the one at the head were two down at the very end. His smile returned as he noticed that though the eyes in the room—naturally—went first to Aurora, they lingered even longer on his rank stripes. The two of them strode confidently toward the foot of the table and sank into the two remaining chairs.

  Waves of envy radiated toward him, but for the moment his thoughts stayed on his conversation with Liz. It hadn’t taken long for her to fill him in on events in her life during their time of separation. She had been assigned to an intelligence position in the Triad for a year, where she spent the majority of her time rooting out rebel factions. 301 couldn’t help but wonder, hearing her tell of the operations, why she had been chosen for Specter. Though her intelligence skills were basically unmatched, she didn’t have very much command experience. She seemed to have been on track for more of a desk-type military job. But he kept those feelings to himself. The last thing he wanted was for her to think he didn’t have confidence in her abilities. Especially now, realizing that she may very well be his only ally on the team.

  “Good afternoon,” an older man announced as he entered and strode to the head of the table. “Everyone here? Good. Welcome to the first day of your new lives.

  “I am Admiral James McCall, the only surviving member of the legendary force of elite warriors known as Specter—until today. This is a historic moment, as the protectors of Systemic law and the arm of the Ruling Council are needed once again.” McCall continued with a lofty speech, describing the coming days and the glory that each Specter was likely to attain, but 301 had heard it all before, and he was distracted. While the others kept their attention on McCall, the man sitting right next to the head chair fixed on 301 with a fiery stare. Not knowing who the man was or what his problem might be, 301 met the glare with one of his own, and—for good measure—mocked the man with a condescending smile. Anger rose like a flame on the Specter trainee’s face, but he at last looked away.

  “…and to achieve this power, you must forget what you have learned,” McCall droned on. “You are no longer machines at the beck and call of your Great Army commanders. You are your own. And you will answer to no one but your captain,” he motioned to 301, “or myself. The two of us answer to no one but the Ruling Council. Hear me when I tell you that you are no longer a part of the machine. Now you control the machine.

  “As some of you may have heard, Specter’s reinstatement has come as a result of a fresh surge of rebel activity in Alexandria. Rumor has it that this surge was instigated by the return of rebel leader Jacob Sawyer, who during the War of Dominion was Jonathan Charity’s second-in-command.” McCall pressed a button on the table and an old photograph of the rebel leader appeared on the view screens. It depicted a close-up of a younger Sawyer fleeing, defeat and disappointment etched harshly onto his face.

  “This photograph,” the admiral shot a short glance at 301, “is over fifteen years old. It was taken of him as he fled a battalion of our troops in Western Europe near the end of the rebel campaign. With Charity dead, Sawyer could not hold Silent Thunder together beneath the weight of the World System’s persecution. The cities that Silent Thunder helped secede from the System fell to the Great Army soon after, as they hadn’t gotten enough time to establish their republics on solid ground before the rebellion’s demise. The cities of Division Seven that we now call the Triad—London, Edinburgh, and Dublin—were the last to fall.

  “Since then the Western European cities—particularly those in Divisions Seven and Nine—have been filled with rebel factions, something I’m sure you could attest to, Specter Blaine.” McCall directed his last words with a hint of sarcasm at the soldier who had been glaring at 301 with such hatred. So, that was Walter Blaine’s son. Apparently he had made an enemy of the man without speaking a single word. Specter Blaine nodded in response to McCall’s statement.

  “We have no knowledge of what Sawyer has been up to for the past fifteen years or why he has suddenly decided to return,” the admiral went on, “but I’m confident that in time those reasons will be revealed. We will engage the rebellion on two fronts. The first will be to locate and neutralize the source of their supplies: the benefactors. Without them the rebels will no longer have access to Solithium, and their ability to resist us will be crippled. Second, we will hunt the rebels themselves. I estimate that in two years’ time the rebel force could be completely eradicated, and the final remnant of the Old World will be no more.

  “Understand that this goal is one the System has attempted to achieve for the past two decades. The Great Army was not successful. Specter will be.

  “Now,” McCall began to type on a small keypad. The lights dimmed and the holographic projector in the center of the table came to life. A three-dimensional Gladius hilt appeared and began to rotate horizontally. “This weapon is your life. It is what distinguishes a Specter from a common soldier. In battle, statistical analysis counts a single Spectral-adept as thirty-five regulars. There are several numbers behind this statistic, but the most important ones are the post-battle casualty reports. And, as we know from recent events, twenty soldiers is simply not enough.” McCall suppressed a grin as all eyes once again fell on the Specter Captain.

  “If there is anything you take away from today, it should be this: the Spectral Gladius is not a weapon to be taken lightly. It
is the most dangerous and powerful hand-held weapon on the planet. When the blade is sheathed within the hilt, it looks like nothing more than a blunt instrument—like what you see there in the projector. Most hilt casings are made of an especially hardened stone: onyx, jade, sapphire, etc. The choice of stone makes no difference in the power of the weapon, but is one of many ways that Spectral-adepts have found to personalize them.

  “In times past, swords of great renown were given names to exemplify the greatness of not only the weapon itself, but of the warrior who wielded it. Some of these you may have heard of: Excalibur, Caladbolg, Durendal, and others. This practice died out during the age of automatic weapons, but when the invention of the Spectral Gladius turned the tables once again, the tradition continued. Near the close of your training, you will choose the specs of your weapons and they will be constructed. According to the tradition begun by the Specters who came before you, names for the blades will be declared at a special ceremony when you receive them.”

  McCall reached to his side and produced what 301 recognized to be the hilt of a Spectral Gladius, and his pulse quickened as the admiral held it out from his body. “And since this hologram doesn’t do it justice.” The blade shot out from the end of the hilt and a shimmering sheen of white spread across the metal, casting the sword in a fiery brilliance that captivated the attention of everyone in the room. The admiral smiled at their shocked expressions, “This is Amicus, one of the last Spectral Gladii constructed in the Old World. The hilt is made of zinc ore, with special material around the hand rest that conforms specifically to my grip. This material helps prevent loss of control over the weapon or an accidental trigger of the weapon’s secondary form.”

  301’s ears perked up. A secondary form?

  “Now, can anyone tell me,” McCall said, continuing to hold the weapon out for all to see, “What makes this weapon different than any other currently in use today?”

  “It’s electromagnetic,” Liz said. “And powered by Solithium.”

  “Yes,” McCall nodded. “When you watch a Gladius being activated, it looks to the naked eye as though a preassembled blade merely elongates from within the hilt. However, this is not what is actually happening. Observe.”

  The Gladius hologram stopped rotating and became brighter. Then, from the top of the hilt, small strands of a metal-like substance shot out from the end, gathering and building upon one another to form the smooth surface of the blade.

  “Inside each resting Gladius are thousands of magnetically charged shards of metal, each of which has been tailored uniquely to assume a specific position in the blade. The magnetism of the shards is activated by an electric pulse in the hilt and held together by a constant charge of Solithium from the energy chamber. Once the blade assembles, a thin electromagnetic shield will spread over the blade. We call this shield diamond armor. While the electromagnetic charge of the metal is very strong and can likely withstand blows from a similar weapon, fighting without diamond armor increases the chance that your blade may be broken, and thus I do not recommend it. All it takes to throw off the magnetism of the Gladius is the loss of one shard.

  “However, as long as your diamond armor remains activated, there is no known substance aside from another diamond armor shield through which the blade cannot penetrate.

  “Now, I want you to notice the circular screen on the bottom of the hilt. This is your power gauge—it will tell you how much Solithium you have remaining to power your weapon. If you run out of the energy chemical, your diamond armor will fade and the magnetism that holds the blade together will fail, leaving your blade to shatter like glass upon its next impact and you likely dead soon after. Each of your utility belts has been tailored to carry two reserve vials of Solithium. Each vial provides a blade-life of approximately ten hours, which in wartime translates to about two days. Unless you are on mission for six days or more, your three vials should be enough.

  “Finally, let’s talk about combat. Obviously the principle form of Spectral combat is close-range. In the case of the Silent Thunder rebels it may even be blade to blade. Again, the glow you see surrounding the blade is called diamond armor. Before the fall of the Old World, many of the world’s republics were looking into the idea of shield technology. This is as far as they got. The astonishing amount of power Solithium is able to produce makes it possible to channel electric force into what many have called Perfect Light. This Perfect Light encases the blade in a theoretically impenetrable shield, which takes the form of the blade and turns it into a kind of super-sword, giving it the ability to slice or thrust through anything with extraordinary ease.”

  “Sir,” the Specter across from 301 spoke. He made note of the name embroidered on the Specter’s uniform: Marcus. “Why has this technology never been expanded? Couldn’t it be used to make a human body invulnerable?”

  “You mean encase a human in Perfect Light?” McCall smiled. “Not unless you wanted to kill him. Perfect Light only works on inanimate conductors. The electric charge, if used on a living being, would roast it alive. The same is true of larger craft, such as Halos. There is only one report of Perfect Light being used successfully in an alternate form, and as that is an unsubstantiated rumor, we will not discuss it here.

  “Continuing on, the Spectral Gladius can also be used in long-range combat. I mentioned before that the shards of the blade are held together by a magnetic charge. So what would happen if that charge was altered?” McCall reached up with his other hand and pulled back on the hilt casing, which split in two and came down behind the bottom half in the shape of a rifle. The diamond armor died and a metallic clicking echoed throughout the room.

  301’s eyes widened as he watched the blade transform, its shards pulling back and widening to form a hollow tube. McCall held the barely recognizable Gladius with two hands, his right index finger hovering over a trigger that had been hidden within the zinc casing of his weapon.

  “This is the weapon’s secondary form,” McCall explained. “A long-range weapon, which fires an electrical burst of energy capable of ending the function of whatever it touches—life, computer processes, power sources, you name it. This can be very useful in certain situations, but I don’t recommend you use this projectile assault often. Aside from the massive amount of destruction a single burst can cause, it drains a significant amount of Solithium from the energy chamber. A single shot will drop your power percentage by ten percent. Each of you will retain use of a sidearm, so it would be wise to use that for most long-range needs. Though wielding a Gladius will make you unbelievably powerful, you must not fail in your efficiency with other weapons as well.”

  McCall pulled the back of the casing up and returned it to its rightful place. The metal reformed into a blade, and the diamond armor reignited. However, as soon as it had he deactivated the weapon, and the metal shards were sucked back into the cylindrical hilt. He placed the hilt back in his belt and brought the lights in the room back up.

  “When the time comes for you to select the specs for your weapons, I will let you know. Are there any questions?”

  301 was sure there were many circling the minds of the new trainees, but they just didn’t know how to put them into words. As a result, all were silent.

  “Alright then,” McCall said as the hologram faded. “Enough with explanations, for now. The MWR has decided to throw a celebration tonight in honor of Specter’s return. There, I’m told, you will be lavished with gifts and luxuries fit for kings.

  “The palace will be your home until the new Specter Spire is completed, so you might as well learn to be comfortable within its halls. And some parting advice: talk to one another. Get to know one another. You will learn to trust each other, or you will find yourselves alone in battle and dead soon after. I know this is new for you—but the ability to work together as a team is one thing that sets Specter apart from the Great Army. I will brief you more on this in days to come.

  “Enjoy yourselves,” McCall said. �
��I will see you in the palace courtyard at 19:00.”

  Everyone around the table rose, and 301 prepared to continue his conversation with Liz. They had plenty of free time until the celebration, and he saw no reason why they shouldn’t spend it together.

  “Specter Captain, Specter Blaine,” McCall said, shattering those hopes, “I’d like to speak with the two of you in private for a moment.”

  301 gave Liz an apologetic look. She shrugged and smiled, then left with the others. 301 advanced to the head of the table and sank into the chair across from Blaine. The admiral settled into the head chair shifted his gaze between the two of them, “There are a couple of things I would like to get out in the open. First, Specter Captain, though your position is indeed a great honor, such a place of leadership comes with great burden. Though you are not perhaps who I would have imagined for the job, I can see why the MWR chose you. I just hope you are as good with leadership as you are with the Gladius.

  “And as for you, Blaine,” McCall grimaced as though his words tasted sour, “I have been reviewing your service record, and it is indeed exemplary. I do not apologize, however, for my earlier comments—so don’t expect anything of the sort. That said, from my cursory glance of both your files it is my belief that Specter’s success depends on the two of you.”

  301 hesitated, not sure what the admiral meant.

  “It is my plan to divide Specter into five teams of two each,” McCall announced, watching them both with a careful eye. “And the two of you will make up the first team.”

  301’s heart dropped. If there was anything that could dampen all his recent good fortune, this was it. How could he be expected to trust a man who hated him before a word even passed between them?

  “There are several reasons I have done this,” McCall went on. “First, your skill and progression through the ranks of the Great Army is impressive, and similar. I am convinced that none of your fellow trainees would be able to keep up with your learning curves and would eventually slow you down. I do not want that.