by J. L. Lyon
“You know him?”
She hesitated for a moment, “It doesn’t matter. If it is him, he will help us. But we should make up our minds before someone sees us out here.”
301 doubted anyone would notice them considering the dark and the time of night, but each minute that passed was one less he had to return to the palace. He took a deep breath as he reached up to knock lightly on the door, and then stepped back to wait. He let his hand rest upon the Gladius prototype he still carried, just in case. He had noticed an almost instant change in Grace’s demeanor when she spoke the name Crenshaw. She seemed nervous…anxious, even. That alone put 301 on his guard.
After a few more seconds of standing awkwardly in the street, the lock clicked and a crack appeared in the door. A harsh whisper sounded out from within, “State your business.”
But before 301 could reply, Grace cut across him, “We’ve come seeking aid from the general.”
301 gave her a sharp look. General?
The voice behind the door—an old woman, from what they could tell—answered, “There is no general here, and you have come long past curfew. You must leave now, before I alert the authorities.”
Only Grace’s next action prevented 301 from forcing their way inside. She spoke the phrase written on the door, reciting the foreign words from memory. Suddenly he found himself wondering where she learned to read and speak it—another skill from the Wilderness, perhaps. When she finished, the woman asked, “Who are you?”
“I am Lieutenant Commander Grace Sawyer of the Silent Thunder 2nd battalion, daughter and second-in-command to Jacob Sawyer, who currently commands the remnant of the corp. I have been a prisoner in Napoleon Alexander’s palace for six weeks, and need the general’s help to locate and return to my people.”
301 stared open-mouthed at Grace. Lieutenant Commander? Second-in-command? She had conveniently forgotten to mention those details. To think what Napoleon Alexander would do once he found out she had been in the palace under his nose this entire time…
“Confirm your identity, Lieutenant Commander,” the woman said.
Grace pulled out her Spectral Gladius and held it up to the opening so that the words Novus Vita were visible. And then the door opened, giving them leave to enter. 301 stole a quick glance at the time and realized that if he didn’t leave soon he wouldn’t make it back before the surveillance systems came back online.
Sensing his hesitation, Grace turned back in the doorway. She watched him for a couple of seconds in silence, seeming to struggle for the right words to say. Her eyes glistened with tears, “I suppose this is where we part ways.”
“I should make sure—”
“I’ll be fine now, 301,” she assured him. “Thanks to you.”
He felt something seize up in his chest, then felt a constriction in his throat that made it hard to breathe. This was it. This was the end. He thought about what Collins had told him only a few hours before: she’s the closest to Heaven you will ever get. Well if that was the case, he might as well get a little closer.
301 closed the distance to Grace without a second thought for what he was about to do. Her eyes widened at his approach, but not with fear. It was a look of wonder, of anticipation, and of longing. He got lost in her eyes as his hands found her waist, and his face came within inches of hers. His heart beat with such intensity that he was sure she would hear it, but such things no longer mattered. All that mattered was the way Grace leaned her body into him, her hands coming up to cradle his neck as they took their breath from the same space.
And then their lips met. 301 closed his eyes and let the world fade away, sliding his hands around Grace’s back to envelop her in a passionate embrace. He held her tightly to him as they kissed, knowing that he had never felt anything like this in his entire life. There was not enough time to take in everything about that moment—the softness of her lips, the warmth of her against him, the intimacy of her hands running softly through his hair—but it was enough to shake the ground beneath him and make him believe in love, if only for those few precious seconds. If he had his way, the kiss would never end.
But end it did. As they pulled away from one another and everything happened in reverse—leaving a cold void where her hands and body had once been—301 felt the noble’s prophecy come true: you hold onto her for dear life for fear of falling back into the hell that is your reality. But just when he felt that hell begin to crash down upon him, her hand found his and held tightly. She smiled, “Is that your reward?”
“Knowing you was all the reward I needed,” he said. “But I knew I’d never forgive myself if I didn’t.”
“I’m glad you did,” she said, and at that point the tears in her eyes began to fall. “Just know that wherever you are, 301-14-A, there is a woman in the world who is thinking of you, and praying that one day she will see you again.”
He nodded, tightening his jaw to keep his lip from quivering, “I won’t forget it.”
She squeezed his hand one last time, “Goodbye, 301.”
He looked up at her sadly, taking in everything he possibly could about her in that final second. Then he released her hand, “Goodbye.”
Resolved not to look back, 301 turned and walked back down the deserted street to the Jeep, hands clenched into fists with a determination not to let his emotions last beyond a single block. But in that, at least, he failed.
And so he made his way back to life as an agent of the World System. Alone.
27
GRACE STEPPED INTO THE DIMLY lit room and let the door snap shut behind her. The old woman stood by the opposite wall, lighting more candles to make it easier for them to see. “Lock the door, dear, if you please,” she said sweetly. “We don’t want any unwelcome eyes to see you alive. Not yet, anyway.”
“So it’s true, then,” Grace said after doing what the woman asked. “My father believes I am dead.”
“I’m afraid so,” she answered. “You were on assignment in the Central Square six weeks ago when the Great Army performed their sweep. There was rumor of several soldiers being killed by a Spectral Gladius, but of course the Great Army likes to play those things close to the chest. Wouldn’t want those Specters to have an excuse to intervene in their affairs. But when you did not return, your father added the facts to the rumors and concluded you must have been killed. He has been in mourning for you ever since. And, considering you were his director of operations, your loss has severely hampered the rebellion’s organization efforts.”
“Then I must get back,” Grace insisted. “They must be told that I am alive.”
The woman poured two mugs of a hot liquid that smelled like tea, and sank into one of her chairs. She held the mug in both hands and watched Grace over the top of it as she attempted to cool it with her breath. Then she went on as though the conversation was only mildly interesting, “All in good time, dear. Only the general can help you find your father, and he will be here shortly. In any case, I doubt he will take you tonight. Best to go by day, when you can hide in plain sight. Please, have a seat. Drink some tea.”
Filled with a new sense of urgency, Grace could not imagine sitting down and calmly sipping tea with this woman. But if what she said was true, nothing would be gained from her objection—at least not until the general arrived. So she held back the words threatening to spill from her mouth and took the chair that the woman offered her. She did not, however, trust her enough to drink the tea.
“So your young gentlemen friend,” she said between sips. “Why did he leave?”
Grace’s emotions flared at the mention of 301, the touch of his lips still fresh upon hers. There had been many times in their last weeks together that she wanted him to kiss her, but always she felt guilty about that desire. Now that he had kissed her, she was surprised not to feel any regret. It was a perfect moment, one she would always cherish. Even if—she thought with a good deal of pain—they never crossed paths again.
“He only c
ame to set me free,” Grace replied. “I suppose now he has gone back.”
“301-14-A.”
Grace looked over at her with astonishment, “How did you—?”
“The tattoo on your arm,” she explained quickly. “I was just reading it. The mark of a slave—I suppose that answers the question of what you have been doing in the palace for six weeks. I know a man who can see to its removal, if you wish.”
“No,” Grace replied, so strongly she surprised herself. Her eyes fell subconsciously to the designation on her arm, and she pulled the sleeve of 301’s uniform back down to cover it—not because she was ashamed, but because she felt the woman was intruding on something very private with her prying eyes.
“No, I suspected not,” the woman took another sip of tea. “I suppose that answers my next question, then.”
“And what is that?” Grace heard herself becoming defensive, though that was not her intention.
“Why a Specter Captain—if that was indeed his uniform—would bother to free his slave,” she said. “But now I see. You are in love.”
“I…” Grace shook her head incredulously. She wanted to deny it, but felt it would be a lie and a betrayal of her heart. Instead she lashed out at the woman, “What business is it of yours?”
“Forgive me,” she said with a grin that told she wasn’t sorry at all. “It’s just that the world is so full of death and suffering, I can’t help but want to speak of happier things when the chance arises. After all, it must take a special woman to soften the heart of a World System soldier.”
Hoping to deflect the woman’s sudden interest in her relationship with 301, Grace asked pointedly, “Who are you?”
The woman set her mug on the small round table between their chairs and folded her hands in her lap, “My name is Rosalind. I am here to assist General Crenshaw’s endeavors in Alexandria.”
“Endeavors?” Grace’s eyes widened. “What endeavors? So far as I know, Crenshaw hasn’t been involved in Silent Thunder affairs for fifteen years.”
“You assume Silent Thunder is the only movement that opposes the World System.”
“No, I just thought he chose to…well…”
“Give up,” Rosalind said with a trace of bitterness. “That is, no doubt, what your father told you. But there are two sides to every story, Lieutenant Commander, and I’m sure he will tell his when he arrives.”
“So what exactly do you do for Crenshaw?” Grace asked. “And how do you know so much—about me, my father, what happened in the Central Square…even how to confirm my identity with my Gladius?”
“It is my job to know those things,” she replied. “But as for what that job is, I can say very little. Suffice it to say that I am a gatekeeper of information, and I help Crenshaw to locate those who are less than enthusiastic about the World System’s rule, to place them on a different path.”
“So in other words you’re a scouter for the benefactor network.”
“The benefactor network is but a part of a much larger movement,” Rosalind said. “But yes, I scout new members for various aspects of the resistance. For example, two months ago I passed a designation along to the network, who in turn passed it to your father: 301-14-A. That led to the ambush of his team, which culminated in his rise to Specter and of course, receiving you as his gift. To be honest I thought we had lost him then. If I had known you were the slave, I admit I probably would have attempted contact.”
“Contact?” Grace asked. “For what?”
“To assist us,” Rosalind replied. “In turning 301-14-A to Silent Thunder.”
Grace suddenly realized why Rosalind was so interested in their relationship. She was fishing for information on 301. But whether or not she should give it, Grace could not decide.
“What’s your interest in him?”
Rosalind stared at Grace with discerning eyes, “The real question, Lieutenant Commander, is what’s your interest in him? You don’t deny that you love him, but knowing your reputation I must wonder why.”
Her reputation? “It’s not because of duress, if that’s what you’re getting at.”
“No,” Rosalind said. “But I am curious: did you know him?”
Grace’s head spun. Rosalind was trying to tell her something without coming right out and saying it, almost as if she wanted her to know but wasn’t allowed to directly reveal it. Since she wanted to glean whatever information she could, Grace chose to play along, “Of course I know him. We spent six weeks together.”
“You misunderstand me,” Rosalind said with increasing severity. “Not do you know him now. What I want to know is, did you know him before?”
Grace blinked, even more confused, “Before what?”
“Does he remind you of someone you knew in the past? Someone from long ago.”
Grace thought about the first moment she looked into 301’s eyes in that palace courtyard, still reeling from the pain of being imprinted, despairing of an imminent life of misery at the beck and call of a World System lackey—and then for one brief instant all doubt and fear had faded away. Though she hadn’t realized it at the time, their hearts first connected then, when he had given her the one thing she so desperately needed: hope. But why? Did that even make sense? To connect so easily with a man she had never met?
“Young boys can be so cruel,” Rosalind said, a comment that caught Grace off guard with its seeming irrelevance. “I understand relationships are somewhat difficult to cultivate among Undocumenteds living in the Wilderness areas. With all the moving around they do to survive, places and faces change all the time. For most, coupled with the near-constant threat of capture or death, this leads to a sense of urgency to make the most of every moment lest they run out of time. For that reason many Undocumenteds marry very young, so they can stay with the one they love rather than move on and possibly never see them again. But not you. With your strength and beauty I’m certain you have been pursued by many boys…perhaps even some men. But you have spurned them all, leading them to give you a clever nickname to salvage their wounded pride: Shadow Heart.”
“How do you know—?”
“Of course,” Rosalind cut across her as though she hadn’t spoken at all, “if they knew the real reason for the shadow over your heart, they might have been kinder. After all, you never knew your real mother, and experienced the untimely death of the only motherly figure you did know at a very young age, along with the loss of her son—who just happened to be your best friend in all the world. If that isn’t enough to make a woman guarded, I don’t know what is.”
Grace felt as though her heart had been torn open. Old wounds long forgotten bled anew, and fresh tears formed in her eyes. She fought them back with anger, which she directed at the nearest object: Rosalind. How could she sit there and speak so carelessly about the greatest horrors of another’s life? “You have no right…” she stammered. “You know nothing about me!”
“Apparently, that’s not true.”
“What do you want?” Grace demanded, rising from her chair and taking a threatening step toward her. “What does any of this have to do with anything? Why are you doing this to me?”
Rosalind reached for her mug of tea and calmly took a sip, a subtle shake of her head the only acknowledgement of Grace’s outburst. “Young people. You remind me of my granddaughter back home. A little younger than you, but fiery and a force to be reckoned with when she doesn’t get her way. As to the what and why of this conversation, I have already given you the pieces, Lieutenant Commander. All you need to do is put them together.”
Despite her anger, Grace took a moment to consider how Crenshaw’s interest in 301 could have anything to do with her past. She thought of that day long ago, of the horror and sadness she felt where once she had been content and safe. Then she thought of 301, the passionate kiss they had just shared, the way their souls just seemed to connect, the intensity of his gaze…and then something clicked.
301’s ey
es—those deep, green eyes that made her feel safe even within the MWR’s palace—were not simply another of his attractive features…they were familiar, somehow. Not so much different than…
“Ah,” Rosalind said as she saw comprehension dawn on Grace’s face, “So now we arrive. At last you understand what I’ve been trying to make you see, but you are afraid to voice it for fear you are wrong.”
Stunned, Grace took a step backward. “But…how can that be?” She sank back into the chair, hardly aware of the world still turning around her. “It’s not possible.”
“Yet you were the first to believe it, and have since you were a child,” Rosalind countered. “Who are we to say what is possible and what is not? Especially we who build our hopes to trigger the destruction of a government no one believes can be defeated? This revelation is just another part of making the impossible, possible. Though what part your young friend will play, I cannot say.”
“What do you mean?”
“I’m sure you understand how explosive this would be if it ever got out,” Rosalind said. “You would assume, of course, that Silent Thunder would become his friend and the World System his foe. But hear me, Lieutenant Commander, when I say that to take this for granted could mean the doom of us all. Bloodthirsty madman though Napoleon Alexander may be, he is also crafty and intelligent beyond the level of ordinary men. If he ever found out what we know, he could find a way to use him against us, and in so doing break the spirit of the resistance. Spirit which—let’s face it—is the best weapon we have. As the number of people who know the truth grows, that day appears more and more imminent. So we have designed a plan to strike first. But to do that, we need authorization from those we work for, authorization that will only come if we prove beyond doubt that 301-14-A is who we say he is.”
“You mean match his DNA,” Grace said. “But why did you let him leave if—?”
“Did they induct you into the Great Army while you were in the palace, Lieutenant Commander?” Rosalind interrupted again.
“No,” Grace said. “301 gave this to me for our escape. He—” Grace stopped midsentence, seeing the victorious look on Rosalind’s face. Then she understood. “I have his DNA. On this uniform.”
