by J. L. Lyon
Because of what we know, she thought. Because of what, soon, he will know.
But the truth had the power to either enlighten or destroy him, and she couldn’t be certain which outcome to expect. How would she feel if their places were reversed? Relieved, satisfied, and grateful? Or confused, scared, and angry? Based on 301’s background, she leaned toward the latter.
Whatever the outcome, she had to tell him. He couldn’t go the rest of his life not knowing, not when the truth could save him from the life of darkness in which the World System held him captive. That possibility, and that alone, was what kept her going. At the end of all this, she might have him back. The very thought thrilled her soul.
Much remained to be done. Though she hated to sit out the first assault, Crenshaw had other plans in store for them that night. She took it as small consolation that the majority of the force would not participate either. Her father planned to deal the World System a major blow and to plant a seed of misdirection in the process. He included Grace and Crenshaw in the mission design sessions, which she had to admit showed the commander to be a strategic genius. Lieutenant Commander Davian also made a point to keep her informed—sometimes a little too informed, so that she often wondered if he just desired moments of her undivided attention. But he performed well in her old role, something she became less jealous of over time due to the increasing demands of her mission with the general.
Jacob and Crenshaw had grown closer since the general’s initial welcome to the command center. Grace couldn’t help but notice how her father seemed happier and more carefree with the general around. For most of her childhood Jacob had seemed like a man holding the world on his shoulders, while now he seemed…lighter. She suspected the presence of his long lost friend was the source of that change. Yet there still came occasional moments of distrust between them, when Jacob questioned them about their progress or Crenshaw had to lie in order to protect their secret. Grace knew her father wasn’t stupid; he would eventually discover their real reason for recruiting 301-14-A. She only hoped that when he did find out, he would understand their need to keep it from him.
Crenshaw was a celebrity at the command center. She caught a small glimpse of the esteem in which he was held when they first arrived, but six additional weeks proved to her that Ellis Crenshaw was nothing short of a prince to those who knew him—especially to the older operatives who had fought with him in the previous wars. There was a strange sort of reverence there, one she couldn’t quite figure out. When she asked her father about it, he would only say, “Crenshaw was given a very high position in the U.S. government before its fall, one seldom given in the nation’s history. There are some who believe this position makes Crenshaw the rightful owner of executive power in the land, and that so long as he lives the United States lives on as well.”
Tensions were on the rise in the days leading up to the first assault, so much that she saw little of her father or Crenshaw. Davian kept her informed as often as he had a free moment, but even those were few and far between. Then at last the day dawned, and those selected for the mission gathered at the command center to make their final preparations. It was in the evening around sunset when her father finally pulled her aside for what she knew was coming.
“Grace, if something should happen to me tonight—”
“I know,” she cut him off, wanting to shatter the semblance of a goodbye. “I will stay the course and continue your plan, to its end or mine.”
“I was going to say,” he smiled, “that I’m proud of you; of the woman—and the leader—that you’ve become. In my younger days I always imagined saying these words to a son, but you are every bit as strong as any son I could have had. I love you, Grace.”
“You know I hate it when you do that.”
“Do what?”
“When you say your goodbyes, as though you’re not coming back.”
“Oh, I’ll be back,” he said with a confident grin. “I haven’t met my match yet, Grace, and I don’t plan to tonight. Sometimes a father just needs the comfort of telling his daughter how he feels about her.”
“Okay then,” she replied. “Come back to me, and I’ll return the favor.”
“Fair enough,” he said, placing his hand lightly on her shoulder. “I’ll hold you to that.”
“Commander!” A voice called frantically from the adjacent room. “Commander Sawyer!”
Sternness returned to Jacob’s expression as he turned in the direction of the voice, “In here!” Rushed footfalls preceded the entrance of a young Silent Thunder operative who looked as though he had run at maximum speed for miles, “What is it, Corporal? Where are the others?”
“We ran into trouble,” the corporal replied through choked breaths.
Jacob looked around to see many faces staring in their direction. He took the operative’s arm and led him slowly to the sitting room, “Keep it down, Corporal. Take a minute to catch your breath, and then tell me what happened.”
The corporal sat as Davian and Crenshaw came rushing into the room, pausing only when they saw no immediate danger. After a few labored breaths, the corporal began in a weak voice, “We were made at the drop point.”
Jacob exchanged a quick, worried glance with Crenshaw and Davian before turning his attention back to the corporal, “Go on.”
“Two Specters witnessed the exchange,” the corporal explained. “They tracked Lieutenant Williams to the ruins, and the major had to improvise. They passed the package on to me and ordered me to deliver it safely here, while they stayed behind to waylay the Specters with an ambush.”
Jacob looked away sadly, “Do you know what happened, Corporal?”
He nodded, “I’m afraid so, sir. They sprang the ambush, but then more Specters arrived via Halo. I couldn’t see the battle as I ran, but I heard it—it didn’t sound good, sir. A little while later, the Halo took off, bound for downtown Alexandria.”
“Were you seen?” Jacob asked. “Followed?’
“No, sir. I was long gone from the area by the time the battle ended. The major’s diversion worked, though it came at a heavy cost.”
“Indeed it did,” Jacob whispered. The room went silent for a few moments.
“Shall we abort, Commander?” Davian asked. As one of those participating in the assault, he wore all of his gear—though instead of a black Silent Thunder uniform, he wore the dark green of the Great Army.
Jacob looked at the corporal and stood, “No. Those men gave their lives so that we might succeed tonight. To abort would be nothing but an insult to their sacrifice. Proceed as planned.”
“I will let our communications officers know,” Davian nodded. “If we are going forward, we need to send out the bait now.”
“Do it,” Jacob ordered. As Davian left the room, the commander turned to Crenshaw, “I assume you still intend to go through with your meeting tonight?”
“I do,” Crenshaw replied. “My contact should meet us sometime during your assault.”
“Just try to make it back before the battle is over,” he urged. “The Great Army will be out in force by then.”
Crenshaw nodded, “I’ll protect her, Jacob. She will be safe with me.”
“I know she will,” he smiled and walked to the doorway where Grace waited, “We’ll finish our conversation when I get back, alright? I’ll be looking forward to it.”
Grace stepped forward and gave her father an emotional embrace. She wasn’t comfortable not being there to watch his back. “I’ll be waiting for you.”
He stepped back and touched her cheek lovingly, “Don’t wait up too long.” A moment of silence passed, after which Jacob returned his attention to the sitting room, “Corporal, I know you volunteered for this mission, but—”
“I’m alright, sir,” the corporal said, color returning slowly to his face. “It’s too late to teach someone else to rig the device.”
“Very well then,” Jacob said. “Make your final prepara
tions to depart. We need to be in position before the Great Army arrives.”
“Yes, sir,” both Jacob and the corporal left, leaving Grace alone in the room with Crenshaw.
“We’re not meeting with a contact tonight, are we?” she asked.
“No,” he replied. “We’re not.”
37
301 STOOD BY DEREK BLAINE outside the Hall of Mirrors, looking on as Grand Admiral Donalson gave the rebel major another hard punch within. The major’s head snapped violently to the side, the rest of his body held firmly in place by chains that bound him to his chair.
“He’d better go easy,” Derek said darkly. “The man can’t tell us anything with a broken neck.”
But so far, the major hadn’t told them anything—not even his name. With the exception of when Donalson pummeled him with his fists, the rebel remained stoic. 301 might have thought him a statue if not for the blood pouring down his face. Donalson continued his questioning to no avail, until hitting the major no longer seemed to be enough. He drew his sidearm and pressed it against the major’s leg, “Tell me what was in that box, Major!”
“What do you think was in it, Captain?” Derek asked.
“Not Solithium,” 301 replied. “This is something bigger. Otherwise they wouldn’t have given up their lives to get it back to the rebellion. Solithium is valuable, but not enough for that.”
“So if he’s not going to give us anything, why waste the effort?”
“You’ll have to ask Donalson. I told him we should wait until we know more.”
“And that’s probably why he didn’t.”
“Probably.”
“Let’s just hope he leaves us someone to interrogate by the time we have some real information,” Derek said.
“Captain,” a voice came in through his earphone, as if on cue, “Captain, it’s Liz, are you there?”
“Yeah, Liz,” 301 said. “Did you find anything?”
“I’m afraid so,” she answered. “The admiral is on his way to the palace for a conference with the Premier and the MWR. We think the rebellion plans to destroy a major government facility sometime in the next few days.”
301 exchanged an anxious look with his partner, “Why?”
“The box we recovered,” Liz explained. “It contained traces of Apollo Powder. Based on the amounts, I estimate it would be enough to level an entire city block with an explosive the size of your hand. Apollo Powder, you know—”
“Amplifies Solithium explosives,” 301 finished, stunned by the severity of the situation. Even he hadn’t thought they would uncover something like this. “How would they get a hold of that much? Does the World System even make it anymore?”
“Not for almost ten years,” Liz answered. “Whoever gave them this stuff has had it for a long time. The compounds required to make the powder are too unstable to produce without top-of-the-line equipment. There’s no way this could have been made in some Wilderness shack.”
“What about the prisoner? Do you have anything on him?”
“Fingerprints came back with nothing,” she replied. “And we’re still waiting on the DNA matching sequence. It’s running now. However, we were able to determine which Gladius taken from the scene belonged to the major, based on the prints. It has an amethyst casing and is named Victoria. We’re running an etymology report right now, but my gut tells me—”
“It’s a name,” 301 interrupted again. “Someone important to him.”
“Yes,” Liz said. “From what I know of male soldiers, I doubt they would choose a feminine stone like amethyst for their casing unless it held special significance. Could be purple is her favorite color, or amethyst is her birthstone, but very likely Victoria is a woman in his life. A wife or a daughter, perhaps.”
“Excellent work, Liz. Keep us informed as you learn more.”
“Will do.”
The connection terminated, and he turned to Derek, “Did you hear all that?”
“I did,” he nodded. “Victoria. That’s good intel, if it’s true.”
“We may not have time to wait for confirmation,” 301 refocused on the scene in the Hall of Mirrors. “Not with a weapon like that in rebel hands.” The grand admiral had apparently decided not to follow through with his threat to shoot the major in the leg—yet. But his face was flushed red with frustration and anger, so much that 301 thought it a wonder he hadn’t killed the major already.
“Now that we have valid intel, we need to get him out of there,” he told Derek. “He’s too volatile. If we let him stay in the room while we drop this information he could ruin any chance we have at breaking that man.”
“Wait,” Derek said. “Didn’t Specter Aurora say the admiral was on his way here for a conference with the Premier and the MWR?”
“Yes…”
“Don’t you think Donalson would want to be there, if he knew?”
301 smiled, surprised he hadn’t thought of that himself. “Well done, Specter Blaine. Well done indeed.” He walked around to the closest door into the Hall of Mirrors and opened it slightly to peer inside.
Donalson’s voice boomed, “You tell me what was in that box or I will gut you like a—” He stopped, noticing immediately when the endless illusion created by the mirror-prison was broken. Then he unleashed his rage upon 301, “What are you doing here, interrupting me? Don’t you know this is a serious breach of—?”
“Admiral McCall is on his way here for a conference with the Premier and the MWR. We just thought you’d like to know.”
The grand admiral’s eyes betrayed his curiosity. He stepped forward and whispered, “Did they find something?”
“The box the major claimed to be empty was actually full of Apollo Powder.” 301 said so that the rebel couldn’t hear. “Which means that Silent Thunder has control of enough firepower to level at least one government facility, maybe more.”
Donalson looked back at the rebel major, obviously torn by the desire to continue the interrogation and the reluctance to miss such an important meeting of the minds. 301 could almost see the wheels turning in his head as he tried to decide which course would be of most benefit to him. In the end, he chose the way that 301 knew he would. Donalson stepped out of the Hall of Mirrors and shut the door behind him, “I suppose giving him a little time to think about his fate won’t hurt. You will wait for me to return before you continue, of course.”
“Unless new intelligence comes to light,” 301 smiled. Which it already has.
“Very well, Specter Captain,” Donalson smoothed out his uniform and wiped some of the sweat from his brow. “I’ll return as soon as time allows.” Without another word he departed, disappearing down the hall to take an elevator up to the meeting.
“Blaine!” the Specter Captain called. “Our turn.”
Specter Blaine came around the corner, “It’s about time. I hate waiting on the sidelines.”
The Specters walked inside the room, and immediately after 301 shut the door he was forced to pause and regain his sense of balance. The endless reflections played with his senses and threw off his concentration, making him painfully aware that he hadn’t missed the room at all. A table sat in front of the chair to which the rebel was chained, and another chair sat on its opposite side in classical fashion. Donalson had not used it, preferring to intimidate the rebel by standing over him, but 301 chose to sit where he could see eye-to-eye with the major with only the table between them. Derek leaned against the side wall as if there simply to observe.
The major’s eyes shifted between them and then came to rest once more on the polished steel of the table.
“Remember us?” 301 asked, sitting back comfortably like a man speaking with an old friend. When the major did not answer, he went on, “We’re the Specters who tracked your man into the ruins…you know, the ones you wanted to deliver your message to the MWR? Well, here’s your chance to tell us. What would you like Mighty World Ruler Napoleon Alexander to know?”
<
br /> The major’s jaw clenched at the use of Alexander’s full title, but he gave no other response.
“Come on, Major,” 301 pressed. “I’ve really been looking forward to this—I’m curious how quick you are on your feet, and how good a liar you are.”
At that the major looked up, meeting 301’s gaze. He grinned and spoke his first words since waking up in the Halo, “How’s your arm, Specter Captain?”
301 looked at his torn uniform and shrugged—an action that caused him a little pain in his left shoulder, “I’ll live. How’s your head?”
The major chuckled, “I suppose I’ve been better.”
“I suppose so,” 301 agreed, still smiling. “Now, are you going to talk to us?”
“What do you want to know? Surely not some story about a message you must know is false by now.”
“No,” 301 said, suspicious at the way the major spoke to him so freely after taking a beating from the grand admiral without uttering a word. “We already know you staged a diversion so one of your men could escape with a significant amount of Apollo Powder. What we don’t know—yet—is how the rebellion plans to use it, and when.”
“Perhaps I’m not privy to that information.”
“I’ll settle for their location.”
The major laughed loudly, “I’m sure you would. But as you certainly know, Specter Captain, Silent Thunder is constantly moving. They are probably gone from where I last saw them by now.”
301 detected a trace of dishonesty in the major’s voice, but what he said fell in line with what Grace had told him of the rebellion months before, so he didn’t press the matter. Instead he decided to let the hammer fall, “Who is Victoria?”
Anything resembling confidence disappeared from the major’s expression, briefly replaced by panic. Within a second, however, he regained his bearing and replied calmly, “You mean my Gladius.”
“No,” 301 shook his head. “I mean the woman for whom your Gladius is named.”
“What makes you think that?”
“Play games all you want, Major,” 301’s tone darkened. “We will find her. And then things won’t be so pleasant…for either of you.”
