by J. L. Lyon
“What’s more, both of you understand to some degree the World System’s politics and her faults. It took a great deal of boldness, Captain, for you to challenge a precept of Systemic law while standing before the Ruling Council, the Grand Admiral, and the MWR himself. Oh yes, I know about that,” the admiral said in response to 301’s surprise. “And Blaine, though your father’s influence can seem at first to be a weakness, I see that in reality it has made you stronger and more knowledgeable. Neither of you have fallen victim to the mechanization of the Great Army, and that sets you apart from the others to a great degree.
“You were extraordinary soldiers, and I will expect nothing less from you as Specters. You will be my lead team, and as such you must set the standard for all the others. Trust, gentlemen, is a word you should learn, and learn well. You will need it in the days ahead.”
301 glanced uncomfortably at his new partner, “I will certainly do my best, sir.”
“As will I,” Blaine said vindictively.
“Good,” McCall said. “Now there is the matter of your first assignment, which will begin in the morning.”
“With respect, sir, doesn’t training begin in the morning?” Blaine asked.
“Unfortunately we don’t really have the luxury of time,” McCall replied. “Silent Thunder is moving, and they will not wait for Specter’s training to be complete. You are not ready to engage them, especially without Gladii of your own, but there is another way we might slow them down.”
“The benefactors,” 301 guessed. “You want us to begin going after them.”
The old admiral nodded, “The two of you will spearhead this hunt. When you are not training or sleeping, I expect you to be out in the city looking for traces of the network’s epicenter. For many years we have assumed that the suppliers were only independent patrons, but they are much too organized—someone must be pulling the strings. Find the trail, and follow it to the source. Once I see how the others perform in their exercises I may free another team or two to help you as you have need. Until then, make use of the Great Army. Blaine’s family contacts should serve as a good starting point.”
McCall sighed, “I must also ask something more of the two of you: something I cannot order given the circumstance, but that nonetheless I hope you will heed. Tonight’s celebration will be filled with all manner of pomp and luxury, enough to fill the desires of any man. But I would request that, in furtherance of your position as head team, you would refrain from overindulgence. In doing so you would set a prime example for your compatriots, as well as for the many others who will be in attendance.
“I have high expectations for you both, make no mistake. If you focus your energies I have no doubt you can become the most deadly assassins the world has ever known. As individuals you were respected, but as partners you can be revered. I’m counting on you, gentlemen, to be the tip of Specter’s sword. Do not disappoint me.
“Dismissed.”
301 and Blaine rose together, saluted the admiral, and exited the operations room. 301 had hoped that Liz would be waiting for him, providing a prime excuse to pause so that he and Blaine didn’t have to walk down the hallway together. No such luck.
“I’ve been assigned to the suite next door to you, so I’m told,” Blaine said irritably. “And since we’re partners, I think you should know that I’m not used to sharing power. What I know is command: I have command of some and am commanded by others. I have no equals.”
“You’ll adapt,” 301 said, no less annoyed. “Specter operates on a different level than the Great Army, and you’ll keep up or be left behind.”
“Adapting to this new system is not going to be as simple as the admiral suggests. I’ll be the first to admit that though I may follow your command, I am not likely to trust you.”
“Nor I you,” 301 snapped. “So far the only thing I’ve seen from you is jealousy. You envy the stripes on my shoulders, the pin on my collar. Given the opportunity I don’t doubt that you would kill me and the admiral to secure a promotion for yourself.”
“I am curious,” Blaine said in a calm yet spiteful tone, “how did a lowly lieutenant such as yourself manage to secure leadership of the most revered unit in the world? Does it have something to do with your brunch in the Ruling Council chamber? What did they promise you in exchange for your loyalty?”
“Careful, Blaine. Your words inch close to insubordination, and I doubt even your father’s name is powerful enough to get you out of that. A strange concept for you, I’m sure.”
“My time as a soldier was more successful than you could ever have hoped to be.”
“Except that, I believe, Specter Captain is a much higher rank than colonel. Seems I just became more successful than you, and I made it here with nothing but skill.”
“Yes, admirable,” Blaine snapped. “The Shadow Soldier. Not even a name to call your own. Who knows what happened to your parents…more than likely traitors slaughtered during the War of Dominion, buried in shallow graves beneath the rubble in the Wilderness Sector. That sure shows there is power in your blood.”
“You would know about the benefits of a bloodline.” 301’s voice grew louder and angrier, as did Blaine’s when he replied:
“Just my luck to be partnered with the illegitimate son of a rebel traitor. You’re nothing more than the Ruling Council’s lapdog.”
301 had heard enough. He grabbed Blaine by the shoulders, threw him against the wall, and drew his sidearm. But as he touched the weapon to the Specter’s cheek, he found himself staring down the barrel of Blaine’s weapon. Their eyes were wide with aggression, their index fingers poised and ready to end the argument with the spilling of blood.
A trio of palace aides at the end of the hallway froze in place, obviously not having a clue how to react. If he hadn’t been so angry, 301 might have laughed. He narrowed his eyes and looked sidelong at his partner, “Are we going to have problems, Blaine?”
“I don’t know, Captain,” Blaine answered. “Are we?”
“Holster your sidearm,” 301 commanded. “Now!”
“You first.”
“I gave you an order!”
“You drew first. You holster first, Captain.”
The anger faded from 301’s face, and he smiled, “Tell me, Specter Blaine: what is the greatest threat to your life right now?”
Blaine went pale as he realized that that tip of the captain’s combat knife was pointed straight at his heart. With a reluctant—though slightly bemused—look, Blaine slowly moved his weapon aside and placed it back on his hip. He raised his hands up in defeat, “It appears I underestimated you. Don’t expect such a break again.”
301 put his knife away, but kept the gun at his side as he relaxed his hold on Blaine, stepping away. Specter Blaine gave a respectful nod, and continued to walk proudly down the hallway as though nothing at all had happened. The aides backed away as he approached, not daring to look him in the eye.
301 sighed and holstered his sidearm. That might not have been the best way to gain his partner’s trust, but it would have to do.
12
IN THE VERY CENTER of the greater city between four blocks of buildings was a large open square. Originally constructed to be the central hub of all major events in Alexandria, the simple slab of rock had become one of the greatest paradoxes in all of the World System.
By night, the Central Square was a reminder of death. Few could look upon the deserted place without imagining the execution stand that sometimes stood at its center. Many renowned members of the rebellion had been killed there, brutally murdered for a crowd of onlookers to witness.
But by day, it was a source of life. Thousands of citizens made their way through the wide arena daily, buying food, clothing, and other necessities from the kiosks set along the perimeter. Hundreds of soldiers patrolled the Square, for it was rumored that exchanges between rebels and their traitorous suppliers took place there often. Nonetheless it remained an exc
ellent place for secret transactions, as catching a glimpse of specific persons within the teeming crowd was extremely unlikely.
Through the crowd of consumers, soldiers, and possible traitors, a young woman dressed in dark robes walked nonchalantly toward a kiosk in the southwest corner. She perused their many boxes of quality fresh fruit—strawberries, oranges, grapes—until at last she came to a stop in front of the green apples. She reached for one to examine it, drawing the attention of the kiosk’s merchant.
“One half-credit,” he said, watching her suspiciously. “Throw in an extra half and I forget to check your designation papers.”
She smiled and handed him a small silver coin with the World System’s crooked ‘X’ stamped upon it. He looked at it closely in the light as though it might be counterfeit, but eventually nodded with satisfaction. “Can I get you anything else today, young lady? One apple is not enough to feed you for an entire day, surely.”
The young woman turned without another word and made her way back toward the center of the Square, the green apple dangling at her side in plain sight. Her heart raced as she moved slowly forward, waiting with bated breath for the most perilous part of the exchange. A large mass of people came her way, and she struggled to remain rooted in place as they passed by. A strong arm grabbed hers and nearly made her cry out in surprise, but it was all part of the plan. He placed a small box in her other hand, and his voice brushed over her quickly as he did not stop or slow his pace, “You have been marked. You must leave the Square before you are taken.”
She looked around, but the man had already gone. Concealing the box in a satchel inside her robe, she walked rapidly toward the northern edge of the Square, looking anxiously over her shoulder for any sign that the supplier’s warning was true. As her fear mounted, she caught sight of the Square’s end through several rows of people. She saw no soldiers, no patrols, nothing—just a clear path to safety, and freedom.
A loud cry rang out through the Square, and the young woman’s hopes crumbled as government vehicles screeched to a stop right in her path. She looked around as more vehicles stopped on every edge and corner, hemming the people in on all sides. Her already racing heart began to beat faster as she realized that the government meant to perform a sweep, and she had illegal goods in her possession. Even leaving that aside, her lack of a Systemic designation was tantamount to treason on its own.
While the remainder of the crowd began to panic, she stood still and studied the situation, gazing around the Square with attentive eyes. She knew that if the soldiers discovered her it would endanger not only her life, but the lives of those in the crowd as well. They would execute everyone still caught in the net if they thought the supplier might be one of them. She couldn’t allow that to happen.
She closed her eyes and mouthed a few quick words to the sky.
Government soldiers emerged from the vehicles, emotionless beings with weapons drawn and ready to kill. A loud voice yelled from a mobile speaker not far away, “Attention citizens of Alexandria. By order of Napoleon Alexander a sweep of the Central Square is to be conducted for items of contraband held in defiance of Systemic law, especially those that could be used to aid the remaining few rebels still at large…”
The woman smiled when the soldier put so much emphasis on “few.”
“…and be advised that those who carry such items will be detained for questioning immediately. These interrogations will not be pleasant, and only those who provide us with suitable answers have a hope—however small—of survival. If you do not cooperate, you will be executed.”
Several more cries rang out as the soldiers converged on the people, spouting out pointed accusations and brandishing their loaded weapons to add to the terror. One soldier raised his gun to the sky and fired a few rounds. “Order!” the trigger-happy officer shouted menacingly. “If I see any of you move another inch, it will be the last thing you ever do!”
The woman took a deep breath, realizing she had only one choice. She reached inside her robe and took hold of the weapon hanging from her hip. The soldiers paid her no mind just yet, still too busy taking pleasure in harassing the helpless.
“Overconfident,” the woman whispered under her breath. Her muscles grew tense as she prepared to lunge, but she stayed her attack when a strong hand suddenly grabbed the crook of her arm. Certain that a Great Army soldier had just made his very last mistake, she turned and—to her surprise—looked instead into the eyes of the merchant from whom she’d bought the apple just a few moments before.
“Careful now,” he said in a near whisper. “If those soldiers find you here, it will be the execution stand for sure. Come with me. I can help you.”
The hand on her arm moved suggestively up her back and to her shoulder, and a chill ran down her spine. Something was not right about this man, from the lack of compassion in his voice to the ravenous hunger in his eyes…the kind she had seen in the eyes of many men before.
She wrenched herself free of his grasp and again made for the perimeter, but he grabbed her more forcefully before she even made it two steps, “You don’t want to do that, little girl. So naïve, to think you can escape without making a scene. Face it, my dear…your only chance is to leave here with me. I can give you a new life—a new home.”
And then she knew for certain what this man was, and what he wanted with her. He meant to take her and sell her into slavery, so that she could be used by some rich patron until he grew bored and threw her out with the morning garbage. The very thought made her sick.
She would rather die.
Before he knew what hit him she landed a powerful right hook on his jaw, knocking him backward into a mass of people. There were shrieks and cries from people close enough to see the commotion, drawing the attention of the men with guns.
“You there!” the soldier pointed directly at the man. “What did I tell you? If you try anything like that again I swear I’ll—”
She took advantage of the momentary distraction to reach again for the weapon on her hip, and sprang into action. In one fluid motion, she drew the weapon and whirled around with astonishing speed. White light flashed suddenly on the perimeter and instantly disappeared. Less than a second had passed, and four soldiers lay dead on the pavement.
The entire Square—including the soldier issuing the warning to the slave trader—descended into a stunned silence. The eyes of the surviving officers surveyed their fallen counterparts, the crowd, and then at last fell on the robed rebel, who was using the confusion as an opportunity to flee.
After his brief shock faded, the soldier yelled with searing fury, “Stop that rebel! Fire! Fire! Fire!”
Gunfire roared from within the Central Square. Bystanders screamed and fell to the ground, hands over their ears. Bullets ricocheted from the sides of buildings as the rebel disappeared around the corner.
“Intercept! Intercept!” the soldier cried. He returned to his vehicle and pulled out his radio, “Central Command, requesting assistance in the Quadrant Convergence. We have a rebel on the loose!”
The rebel girl looked back as boots crashed onto the concrete behind her. They would close the distance fast, unless she could evade them. The box of vials slowed her pace considerably, but dropping them wasn’t an option. If the government somehow traced it back to the supplier, his blood would be on her hands. Not to mention that the rebellion could not afford to lose any more sympathizers.
She turned sharply around a corner and jumped straight upward to grab a metal ladder hanging from the side of a building. Using all her strength, she pulled herself up the ladder and onto the metal stair casing. The soldiers hadn’t turned the corner yet—if she was going to lose them, it would have to be now. She lifted herself onto the roof of the small building and laid down flat, mouthing more silent words to the sky as the sound of sprinting boots grew louder and then slowly subsided.
When at last the dreaded noise she had feared since childhood faded into quiet, she
breathed a slow sigh of relief. She had escaped…more so, with the package still intact. She waited a few more moments in silence before getting up the nerve to look over the edge. It was clear.
Cautiously, she climbed down the metal stairs, hung from the bottom of the ladder, and fell purposefully, trying to move as quietly as possible. She began at a slow trot, until her overwhelming desire for the sanctuary of her companions drove her to break into a sprint. Her robes fluttered behind her, lungs still aching from the previous run. But she didn’t care if she fainted onto the doorstep of her destination, as long as she made it there.
An abrupt blow to the face ended that goal. Her feet flew into the air, and she slid forward across the concrete onto her back. Her nose burned as though on fire, and she could feel the warmth of blood as it poured across her face.
Dazed, a million thoughts passed through her mind in seconds. She struggled for consciousness, confused as to what had thwarted her escape. By instinct, she reached inside her robe for the weapon she had used to escape the Central Square, but despair gripped her: it was gone.
A strong hand grabbed her robe at the back of the neck and lifted her upwards. She heard the click of a pistol and felt the barrel press against her cheek. There was a man behind the gun, she knew, but her vision was blurry—all she could see were light shapes and dark ones. But even with the lack of vision, she already suspected the man’s identity.
“Lucky I got to you before those bloodthirsty soldiers,” the man from the Central Square said with a slight chuckle. “Would be a shame to waste something so valuable. She will fetch a high price, this one. Fit for a king—minus all the blood, of course.” He turned his head to the side. “Take her to the mansion. Clean her up and prepare her. I already have a patron in mind.”
She fell into the arms of other men, who dragged her away without concern for her well-being. Her last sensation was the sound of her feet scraping against asphalt, and then everything turned to gray.
