Shadow Soldier (The Shadow Saga)

by J. L. Lyon

  13

  SHE DIDN’T KNOW how long she had been unconscious. Her nose still throbbed with pain, which led her to guess that not more than a couple of hours had passed. She lifted her hand to her nose and pulled it back, inspecting it: no blood. It took a few moments for her to gain enough bearing to remember what had happened, and then all she could see was the sinister grin of the man in the Central Square.

  If only she had been able to reach her weapon, she might have stood a chance. They had certainly taken it, but she doubted they had the slightest clue what it was or what it revealed about her. If they did, she would be worth more dead than alive.

  For peace of mind she reached down toward her waist to make sure it was indeed missing, and discovered yet another horror. Her hand touched bare skin. She had been stripped of all her clothing and left there alone in the darkness. The sudden realization of her nakedness created an intense wave of revulsion and humiliation, along with imaginings of what terrible things might have happened in her unconscious state. She sank to the cold metal floor and curled up with her head between her knees, shielding as much of her body from the open air as she could.

  The cold of the iron bars stabbed into her back, but she didn’t care. All she could think of was the violation, and the terrible reality that whatever she’d been subjected to while asleep, she would soon face that and more while awake. She wanted to cry until she had no more tears. She wanted to rage against the cold iron bars until her voice gave out. But she knew it would all be in vain. As a slave, she would at last become a part of the World System—a fate that to her was worse than death.

  All that mattered now was escaping.

  Slavery was one of the institutions that the World System had restored during the early days of its reign. While not a standard applied to people of a particular color or national origin as in times past, slavery afforded a punishment for the breed of dissident known as the Undocumented—the official term for anyone over two years old that did not possess a Systemic designation. Though it had never been officially passed into law, there was an unspoken understanding that if a regular citizen of the World System captured an Undocumented man or woman, that person then became his rightful property. The citizen would then apply for a class “Z” designation for the slave, and either keep or sell them as he saw fit. Over the past several years, the slave trade had become a lucrative side business for members of the working class and nobles alike—so much so that some were lobbying to have ‘slave trader’ included in the list of official Systemic Occupations.

  But the business had one major shortfall, and that was the directive given to all soldiers of the Great Army to execute Undocumented persons upon discovery. Most likely, that was why she was being held there in a dark room—to protect her from harm until a designation could be secured. All they needed was a sample of her DNA.

  She felt along her body for the place where they had drawn blood, and found a small rectangle of gauze taped in the crook of her right arm. She pulled it off and threw it angrily across her cell, eager to take out her frustration on anything within her reach.

  And then she lost it. Tears started flowing quickly down her cheeks, and no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t turn them off. She had friends, it was true—but they would likely never know what happened to her. And even if they did learn, the chances of them being able to save her were slim. With that hopeless thought she deteriorated into a broken, sobbing mess, falling over onto her side and curling into a fetal position.

  How long had it been since she’d cried? Always she tried hard to prove to those around her—mainly men—that she could be every bit as strong and battle-hardened as they. Wasn’t that why she had volunteered to pick up the supply drop?

  But now, naked and humiliated in this horrible room, it finally hit her: life as she had known it was over, and she stood at the beginning of another she had not planned—a life where she was no longer her own.

  A slave.

  Several minutes—perhaps hours—passed with her lying in that position on the floor. But at long last the tears did dry, and her resolve did return. She steeled herself with the confidence that though her circumstances had changed, she had not. She was not a victim to be pitied, but a warrior to be feared.

  She pushed herself back up into a sitting position, closed her eyes, and began to speak silent words to the emptiness of her cell. Her lips moved without sound for quite some time, until a loud noise startled her out of the temporary solace. The overhead lights came to life and she covered her eyes by instinct. But then, remembering she was naked, she made to cover as much of her body as possible. She heard the echo of footsteps coming toward her, but her eyes hadn’t adjusted enough to the light for her to look up. With increasing dread she noted that she probably didn’t want to look up—the last thing she needed was to see male eyes dancing over her lustfully, especially when she was helpless to stop it.

  Relief crashed down upon her as she heard the voice, not of a man, but of a woman, “It’s alright, dear. You have nothing to fear from me.”

  She raised her head and let her eyes adjust to the light. The woman stood smiling at her through the bars, offering a small measure of compassion for which the rebel girl was very thankful. The woman couldn’t be older than thirty, with flowing auburn hair and freckles that dotted her cheeks in several places. She gazed into the cell not with pity, which the rebel girl appreciated, but with a solemn understanding that made her wonder if this woman had been in her exact position once, not very long ago.

  “My name is Katherine,” she said kindly. “I’ve brought you something to wear.” She placed a pile of clothing just inside the cell. “They’re your size.”

  At first the rebel girl didn’t move. She didn’t want to uncover herself in the light, not even before another woman. She looked around to see that she was being held in some sort of warehouse, filled with similar cages where similar women or men had been placed in waiting at various times. But all save hers were empty now. A rolling physician’s table sat nearby, several instruments and papers strewn about the top. This made her skeptical of the woman’s motives, despite the warmth of her tone.

  With a look that showed she understood the thoughts going through the Undocumented’s mind, the woman called Katherine backed away from the bars and turned around, “I’ll give you some privacy.”

  After a brief hesitation, the rebel girl reached out for the pile of clothes and dug through them, finding that underwear and a dress was all she had been given. Counting her blessings, she pulled on the underwear to find that they actually were her size. They fit her perfectly. She realized that she had likely been measured while asleep. Measured, like a piece of furniture. And not only that…the clothes were not designed for comfort. They were tailored to show off her body. She slid the white dress over her head and pulled it down over her hips. It was tight on her upper body and gracefully loose below the waist. Aside from two thin straps on both sides, her shoulders and neck were completely bare, as were her legs below the knee.

  The dress was striking, and she didn’t think she’d ever worn something so complimentary to her curves. But she couldn’t shake the feeling that she was being prepared for something, and that stole away any joy about her physical appearance. She was about to be presented: either for use, or for sale.

  Katherine—if that was really her name—must have heard her finish, for she turned back around. As soon as she did, her eyes lit up, “Wow. You are gorgeous! You definitely don’t look like the girls they normally pull off the streets of the ruins.”

  “Thanks,” she said, supposing Katherine meant it as a compliment.

  “What’s your name?”

  She didn’t see any reason or point to withhold the information, so she replied truthfully, “My name is Grace.”

  “Well it’s nice to meet you, Grace,” she smiled. “And I’ll forgive you for not saying the same. I know this is not a day you will look back on with fond memo
ries. Though I must say, you’re different in more ways than just your looks. By now most girls are demanding to know what is happening to them, or screaming to be freed. Some have even spat on me. Why are you so calm?”

  “Would it matter if I screamed or spat?”

  She smiled at Grace’s lightheartedness, “No. I suppose it wouldn’t.”

  “Then I wouldn’t want to waste my time.”

  “Smart girl,” Katherine replied. “But you do know what is happening to you, don’t you?”

  She gulped back more tears, knowing that the truth of her situation was about to be voiced. Somehow that made it more real. “Yes…I do.”

  “Alright then,” Katherine sighed. “I guess that will make this a bit easier.”

  But then Grace ventured a question—one that she knew might not matter given her future, but that she needed to know nonetheless. “The men who took me…did they…?” Her voice broke, and she couldn’t bring herself to say it.

  “No man has touched you,” she said, as though they were just talking about taking a walk down the street. “At least, not in that way. I did have to examine you, however, to determine if you are carrying any diseases.”

  A wave of relief washed over her, and Grace nearly succumbed to tears once again. She said a silent thanks for being spared from that fate at least, despite what lay ahead.

  “You’re clean, by the way,” Katherine went on. “Though I suspect you knew that.”

  Grace looked back at her, “What do you mean?”

  “You’re a virgin, aren’t you?” Katherine asked point-blank. “Not to be rude, but that was my assessment from your exam.”

  Though tempted to tell her it was none of her business, Grace knew there was no point. “Yes, I am.”

  “And you’re how old?”

  “Twenty-one.”

  “Incredible,” she went on. “How is that, exactly? Are there no men where you’re from?”

  She meant it as a jest, but Grace wasn’t in the mood to laugh, “Are you a doctor or something?”

  “A doctor? Me? No,” she laughed, and Grace could tell she was becoming more at ease. “My father was what they called an OB/GYN before the war. Thankfully, he taught me enough to make me valuable before he died. If he hadn’t, I’d likely have starved by now.”

  “You’re a slave?”

  Katherine lifted up her sleeve to reveal the tattooed designation of her master, “Servant of the House of Collins for seven years.”

  Grace noticed that the designation ended with a class ‘A,’ meaning that Katherine’s master was a member of the highest order of Systemic society. That meant she had been captured by a soldier, a noble, or perhaps even a member of the hierarchy.

  “In any case,” Katherine smiled brightly. “A virgin of your age and beauty is worth more than anyone outside the hierarchy can afford. So, as terrifying as becoming a slave might be to you, comfort can at least be found in that. You will never want for anything, and you will always have a roof over your head.”

  But she would never be free again, and there was no telling how she would be treated by the man who became her permanent owner. She was completely aware why she was so valuable, and what her new master would expect of her. It was not in her nature to play mistress to anyone, nor to compromise her morals to appease a tyrant.

  This was not going to be easy.

  Again Grace thought of ways she might escape, praying with all her might that some opportunity might present itself.

  “What about my belongings?” she asked, thinking of her weapon. “Where are they?”

  “You have no possessions any longer,” Katherine chided. “But the items you had on you when you were taken have been placed in a locked chest that will be presented to your master after you are imprinted.”

  “Imprinted?”

  “Yes,” she pointed to the designation on her arm. “Once you are imprinted, you are his forever unless he decides to sell you. And then you will be imprinted with a new designation. No matter where you go from that day on, you will belong to the man whose designation marks your forearm. All who see it will know you for a slave.”

  So basically, Grace reasoned, her only chance to avoid the life of a slave was to find a way to escape before she could be imprinted. Afterward, getting away and staying hidden would be much harder to do—impossible, perhaps. Every second she mulled on the thought made her that much more claustrophobic.

  “I have your Systemic Designation here,” Katherine went on. “Meaning that your life as an Undocumented has officially come to an end. You are now Two-Five-Seven Thirty-Z, a transient slave under the temporary ownership of Sir Wayne Collins.”

  Grace felt as though her death sentence had just been read aloud. Now she was a part of the beast, a cog in the machine that kept the world enslaved to the MWR. The lowest and most insignificant part, perhaps, but it didn’t matter to her. She would now be made to serve her enemies and abandon her own values simply to survive.

  “But remember,” Katherine said with genuine compassion. “You will always have your name. I hope we meet again someday, Grace. I wish you well.”

  “How long do you think I have?”

  “Hours, maybe less,” Katherine said. “Sir Collins already has a buyer lined up for you.”

  “Already? Who is it?”

  And for the first time since she had walked in, Katherine’s voice was grave, “The Grand Admiral.”

  14

  “GOOD EVENING, GENTLEMEN, and welcome—to a new beginning.” Admiral McCall beamed from his place in the center of the ten-person line, arms behind his back and chest puffed out with pride. “You have each been invited here—admirals and generals of Central Command—to witness the return of a legend.

  “Twenty years ago, when the rebellion was at its height and the System just rising to power, need came for a group of extraordinary warriors; men not bound by the rules and regulations that govern the lives of Great Army soldiers. The sole mission of these warriors was to hunt down and destroy the rebel force of Silent Thunder, meeting one blade with another. To face these phantoms, they had to themselves become phantoms. Embracing their creativity and analytical capabilities, they employed tactics of espionage, intelligence gathering, and silent assassination. They were quick but precise, cautious but brutal, invisible yet deadly. And their name continues to be feared by those who hear it even now, fifteen years after their unfortunate demise.

  “Today, that force is needed yet again. So, on behalf of Mighty World Ruler Napoleon Alexander and the Chief Advisors of the Ruling Council, I present to you those chosen to carry on the legend. I give you Specter.”

  Tumultuous applause met McCall’s words, though 301 thought he saw a hint of hesitation on many faces in the crowd. Not all were pleased to see the navy and silver uniforms standing before them once again. The Ruling Council members, by contrast, wore expressions of pure glee. Their power had just been generously expanded. The MWR smiled in amusement as he surveyed the reactions of the others, apparently at ease among the conflicting emotions. As long as they were at one another’s throats, his remained safe.

  Most in attendance set their focus on 301’s section of the line. He stood as the right-center man, with Blaine on his left and Liz on his right. Even in the waning light he could read their lips as they spoke to one another in hushed tones: the Shadow Soldier? I heard he gave the Council quite a show yesterday. Derek Blaine—just returned from his conquest of Rome. And then, Who is that woman?

  He felt a stab of pity for his friend, knowing that though as Captain much would be expected of him, she was the true underdog here.

  “I need not tell any of you the historical significance of what you will witness over the next few months,” McCall continued. “Ninety days from now, the First Class division of Specter will become operational. Then the hunt will begin. After a time, more will be brought in and trained with the Gladius, until the System possesses an army of Spectral-
adepts like none the world has ever seen. In two years or less, gentlemen, the rebellion will be completely exterminated and the last remnant of the Old World swept away.

  “I promise that you will not be disappointed by their performance. As the last remaining member of the original force, I have taken it upon myself to train them. Over the next three months they will enter into what they will remember as the most difficult season of their lives. And one day they will be the ones to take control of Central Command. They will sit on the Ruling Council, and yes—it is likely that one of those you see standing before you will one day take the throne as the next MWR.

  “And so, it is my privilege to present to you: Specter Tony Marcus, of the Second Army in Rio; Specter Brian Tyrell, of the Thirtieth Army in Suluhu; Specter Adrian Dodson, of the Eighteenth Army in Melbourne…” 301 was momentarily distracted as Grand Admiral Donalson walked into view looking quite pleased with himself. He took a seat next to the MWR and whispered something low in his ear. The MWR smiled, and 301 lip-read, Excellent.

  “Specter Elizabeth Aurora, of the First Army in the Triad; Specter Captain 301-14-A, of the Fourteenth Army in Alexandria; Specter Derek Blaine, of the Thirteenth Army in Rome…” McCall continued down the line, naming Avery from Montreal, Grayson from Paris, Truitt from Caracas, and Browning from Anchorage. Each man gave a short bow as his designation was read, and then McCall continued, “Tonight, we salute these ten as the System’s champions. Let the feast begin!”

  A few minutes later they all sat around four long tables, separated tactfully to avoid unnecessary tensions. Two tables held the admirals and generals of Central Command, one seated the Ruling Council and the MWR, and the Specter trainees surrounded the last.

  Before the palace servants brought even a single dish, three of the four tables buzzed with conversation. But the Specter table remained completely silent as the ten trainees avoided one another’s eyes and pretended to be interested in things elsewhere.