by J. L. Lyon
For the most part the facility was quiet. The Specters posted on the exterior reported in every fifteen minutes, and so far there was nothing out of the ordinary. 301 and Derek had posted sentries at every possible entry point to the second and third floors, as well as regular patrols that even now roamed in an organized pattern across the entire lab. The only building more heavily guarded than the Weapons Manufacturing Facility on that night was the palace of the MWR.
He met Derek Blaine back at the center of the floor after making a patrol of his own, and sighed, “Five minutes until midnight. Still nothing.”
“Think we scared them?” Derek asked. “Half a Great Army division is quite a showing.”
“Would it scare you, Blaine?”
He hesitated. “No. I suppose not—if I was determined to complete a mission, I would press on to success or die trying.”
“They’ve waited fifteen years for this,” 301 said. “Somehow I doubt turning back is an option for them. Every time I run the scenario through my mind it seems clear that the rebellion wanted us here, but why? To distract us so they could hit another target?”
“No suspicious activity has been reported anywhere in Division One,” Derek said. “When you voiced your concerns earlier I asked for a regular intelligence update every fifteen minutes. No harm in being thorough. Speaking of, how’s that shoulder? You were a little slow on the draw when the doctor startled us earlier.”
301 sighed as he watched a patrol moving toward the biohazard unit, “To be honest, I probably need to have it looked at. It’s my left arm, so it won’t affect drawing my Gladius, but you’re right: you should know if my capabilities are diminished. I can work through the pain, but it takes some extra effort.”
Derek took a deep breath, and 301 braced himself for another lecture about protocols, the danger of accepting a mission with hidden injuries, or even an attempt to seize command of the entire operation. What actually came out of Derek’s mouth, however, surprised him, “You performed admirably today, Captain.” 301 looked at Derek suspiciously, certain this had to be some kind of trick. But there was no sarcasm in Derek’s voice. “Not just in calling the ambush and getting us through it, but with Donalson and the interrogation as well. And storming into the Hall of Advisors like that,” he chuckled, “No one else would have had the guts, even as necessary as it was—not even me.”
301 was dumbfounded. He didn’t know what to say, so he just went with what came first to his mind, “We do work well together, it’s true. If we could move past our differences…”
Derek gave a slight grin, “I’m sure a good bit of that is my fault. I’m not very good with others, Captain. I’m an only child, my mother died when I was young, and my family name and wealth have always separated me from those around me. So when I arrived here and saw that captainship of Specter had been given to you and not me, I convinced myself it was nothing but a political stunt…that with time and careful effort you would fall from glory and allow me to ascend. But you have proven me wrong. You have earned your position as Captain of Specter, and I just want to be clear that I don’t plan to challenge your leadership any longer. From this point forward, I do have your back, and will follow your lead as I did the general of my division before Specter.”
301 could tell from the fire in Derek’s eyes that he meant every word. It seemed odd, having a heart-to-heart with his biggest rival—the very man who had given him so much grief over the past three months. But then again there was also something very right about it, as though passage from rivalry to friendship had been part of the plan all along. “I appreciate you saying that, Blaine. It means a lot, coming from you. I have to say I never thought—” But 301 didn’t get to finish his sentence, for something drew his attention. His gaze came to rest on the patrol he had seen walking away from the biohazard unit.
Derek stared at him with confusion, “Captain? What is it?”
“I’ve never seen that man before.”
“What man?”
301 started to move toward the patrol just as they passed behind a large generator. When they reappeared on the other side the man in question was gone.
“A new recruit, perhaps?” Derek suggested. “You have been out of the ranks for over three months, and you can’t possibly recognize every single—”
“No,” 301 said with mounting distress. “He was older, battle-scarred—I wouldn’t forget a face like that.” But he had been wearing a Fourteenth Army uniform. 301’s heart throbbed painfully as it dawned on him what that could mean—the major’s easy confession, the simple encryption on the communications blast, all of it. They were being played.
He turned back to Derek with a look of horror on his face, “The rebels. They’re already inside!”
-X-
Liz breathed a long sigh, releasing a plume of condensation from her mouth, “It’s after midnight. Not exactly punctual, are they?”
“Maybe they chickened out,” Specter Tyrell suggested. “They’d be fools to attack such a large force, after all.”
“Fools or heroes, depending on the outcome,” she mused. “Stay alert. Just because they aren’t here yet doesn’t mean they’re not coming.”
And then suddenly, without warning, every light around the facility died, plunging them into the pitch-black darkness of night. Despite her own desire to run, Liz yelled to every Fourteenth Army soldier close enough to hear, “Do not panic! Hold your positions!” She squinted through the night, half expecting a wall of Spectral Gladii to come tearing out of the trees any moment. But instead, the sound came from behind. A loud mechanical clamping prompted her to draw her Gladius, and she watched by its light as heavy metal doors descended over the facility’s entrance. Once they crashed into the ground she heard the clicking of magnetic locks being engaged and a computerized voice, “Facility secured.”
There would be no getting into the facility now—and unfortunately for those still inside, no getting out.
-X-
No sooner had 301 reached his revelation than all the lights in the Research and Development Lab went dark. He heard several crashing sounds from somewhere above them, but none so ominous as the creaking of the blast doors as they descended to trap them all inside like rats in a tomb—with an unknown number of rebels and enough Apollo Powder to vaporize the entire building.
His orders rang throughout the floor, “Soldiers! Prepare for battle!” From their scattered positions across the lab, he heard the clicks of fifty assault rifles preparing to fire, followed by the activation of both Calumnior and Exusia, which cast their light into the darkness and made them the focal point of the room.
“Blaine,” 301 said. “Deactivate your diamond armor.” Derek did so reluctantly, pressing a small black button on the bottom of his hilt just above the Solithium power cell. 301 understood his trepidation, for McCall had once told them that fighting without diamond armor risked the destruction of their blades. For the sake of staying hidden they had no choice, however, and so he did the same. The white glow of Calumnior died, and a deafening silence reigned for several moments. It took 301 a minute to realize that the floor was not pitch-black, as it should have been. Instead, a dim and fluid blue glow provided enough light to make out the silhouettes of nearby equipment. Whether it would be enough to warn of oncoming attackers, he couldn’t say.
Men cried out in surprise on the other side of the floor, followed by a brief spray of gunfire, a slash, and a noise like several bodies hitting the ground. 301 caught Derek’s gaze by the blue glow and motioned that they should split and move in that direction. Derek agreed, and they parted ways.
301 moved cautiously, the muscles in his arm tense to strike and his eyes darting to and fro, searching for a glint of his opponent’s blades in the eerie light. He nearly had a heart attack when McCall’s voice spoke into his ear, “Captain.”
He breathed out a long sigh of relief and then responded in a low whisper, “Sir, this is not a good time.”
/> “Is the facility under attack?” McCall asked.
301 would have loved to tell the admiral to shut up and leave him be, but he replied nonetheless, “Yes. They’ve cut the power.”
“Fools,” the admiral said. “Now they won’t be able to get inside.”
Considering the irony of the statement, 301 asked distractedly, “And why is that, sir?”
“I did some checking after you told me of the lockdown protocol earlier. It can also be triggered by a power failure to the facility. But in that case, not only a lockdown of the R&D lab is triggered. The entire facility is sealed to protect it from possible enemy incursions.”
“So you’re telling me we’re trapped in a cage, within a cage.”
“Until the power can be restored,” McCall said. “Then the failsafe should cancel itself and the lockdown will lift. This must be some sort of plan to divide our forces. You need to alert the Specters outside to prepare for an attack—”
“Sir,” 301 interrupted as his patience ebbed away, “the rebels are already inside the building.”
Silence. More commotion to 301’s left: no gunfire, but the sound of bodies dropping was unmistakable. “They’re like phantoms,” he whispered aloud to no one in particular.
“Hold on, Specter Captain,” McCall’s voice was uncertain and anything but reassuring. “We’ll get the power restored to the facility as quickly as possible. But until then, I’m afraid you’re on your own.”
41
NOT FAR FROM WHERE the Specter Captain crept through the darkness, he caught sight of Derek Blaine’s silhouette as he moved with inhuman stealth toward the source of the blue light on the other side of the lab. A quick movement near Derek almost made 301 cry out in warning, but there was no need. Derek turned quickly to face the descending Spectral Gladius, his left hand flying up with astounding speed to reignite Exusia’s diamond armor while his right raised the blade up to meet the attacker’s. The white blade sliced through the darkened one, shattering it like glass, and Derek let his weapon fly from his right hand to his left. Exusia plunged into the back of Derek’s attacker and swiftly withdrew, leaving the dead rebel’s body to fall on the floor next to the shards of his broken Gladius. The white glow of Exusia again returned to darkness.
301 turned his eyes back to his own path, watching for any sign of the enemy. He was impressed by the conduct of his former comrades, who stood firm and held their ground despite the danger of falling victim to a rebel’s Spectral Gladius at any moment. He wanted to order the men to form up for a march toward the light, but knew he and Derek were the best hope the facility had—giving another order would reveal his position.
Gunfire ignited straight in front of him, and he saw them—two rebels wielding darkened blades. As the Fourteenth Army soldiers that challenged them fell from their fatal wounds, the rebels beheld him. The three men froze for a brief moment, observing one another. Then 301 made a show of reigniting his diamond armor, and charged.
The two rebels’ blades came to life and they braced for 301’s attack. But at the last second 301 rolled to the side and drew his sidearm, working through the pain in his shoulder with an anguished cry. He came to rest on one knee and fired four rounds. The first two hit their mark, and the first rebel fell. But the other two bullets disintegrated on the second rebel’s well-placed blade, after which 301 had to drop his sidearm to stop the Gladius whirling sideways in his direction.
He raised Calumnior just in time to avoid decapitation, and the blades met with a high-pitched clash. The room echoed with several more parries and blows, but the rebel could not withstand the Specter Captain’s speed and poise. Only a few seconds passed before 301 once again deactivated the diamond armor of his Gladius, leaving the rebel weapons to hum forlornly in the dark next to the bodies of their former masters.
Was that all of them? Surely not many more could have snuck in without them knowing. The room remained quiet for a good while, but he was loathe to step out into the open where the blue light shone brightest. He thought it strange he hadn’t seen more soldiers along the way, and in the back of his mind worried that the rebels might have silently eliminated them squad by squad. Could that be why he only saw one rebel with that patrol earlier?
Moving shadows caught his attention as he rounded the Halo-5 test space, and he ducked behind the unfinished hull of the hovercraft to avoid being seen. Looking over the vessel’s wing, he saw five or six figures working hurriedly around the pedestal of the Fusiosphere—the source of the blue glow. He remembered bits and pieces of Doctor Ryder’s ramblings on the device, but the most important thing in that moment was that the Fusiosphere represented an independent energy source not tied to the facility’s power, and it looked like the rebels were trying to connect it to something.
“Captain,” Derek Blaine came up next to him as silently as a shadow, “How many did you find?”
“I killed two,” 301 replied. “You?”
“Two as well,” Derek whispered. “So that’s four. And I’ve seen six working around the Fusiosphere. But I passed the bodies of several Great Army soldiers along my way. I think you were right about that man earlier. They must have gotten in place with our patrols and taken them out when the power died.”
“Yes, I came to the same conclusion.”
“What are they doing?”
“Looks like they’re trying to rig the Fusiosphere to restore power to a specific system,” 301 replied. “But what, and why, I don’t know.”
“We could fire Solithium bursts from here,” Derek suggested. “If we place them just right the explosion could kill all of them.”
“It could also ignite that Apollo Powder and destroy the entire facility,” 301 shook his head. “No, we’ll have to do this close-range. If we split again and flank them on both sides, we might have a shot.”
“Six blades to two,” Derek said darkly. “Not good odds. And we’re not even sure that’s all of them.”
“You’re right,” 301 frowned. “But unfortunately we don’t have a choice. McCall made it clear we’re on our own down here, and if they succeed we’ll be dead anyway.”
Derek nodded. “Then let’s not waste time. I’ll take the left.”
“Go. I’ll meet you in the middle.”
The two Specters split again as 301 left the cover of the Halo-5, trying the best he could to stay in the shadows where the rebels would not see him. The six men continued to work swiftly, dragging cables and other equipment to the pedestal. He squinted in the darkness as he moved closer, grip tightening on his Gladius. Soon he would have no choice but to reveal himself, but he wanted to give Derek enough time to get in position.
He heard bits of their whispered conversation, mostly concerning their present task with murmured exhortations of “Hurry! How much longer?” But then he heard a word that made his blood run cold, “Commander.”
Commander. 301 knew there were many Silent Thunder commanders, but somehow he also knew which commander was being addressed in that moment. And sure enough, one long hard look confirmed those suspicions. There among the working rebels stood Commander Jacob Sawyer.
He stepped out of hiding, no longer concerned with whether they saw him before Derek got in position. That was the man that killed his team—the man that nearly got him killed, and for what? To send some insignia patch to Napoleon Alexander?
They didn’t notice his presence as quickly as he would have liked, and so he shouted out an angry challenge, “Sawyer!”
Jacob Sawyer’s head turned and the others rose as if ready to charge, but as 301 emerged into the brighter light of the Fusiosphere the commander spoke, “Continue, gentlemen. I will handle this.”
Sawyer stepped out from among them and reached for his Spectral Gladius, “301-14-A. What a pleasant surprise.”
301 reignited Calumnior’s diamond armor and held the weapon out to the side, then replied bitingly “I’m not the same helpless soldier you ambushed three months ago,
Sawyer.”
“So I’ve heard,” Sawyer said, still content to leave his Gladius on his belt, “along with a great number of things—rumors I would not have believed from our first meeting. I have heard tell of kindness, mercy, compassion…love. All things that seemed beyond you three months ago. Indeed, you have changed.”
301 came to a stop about ten feet away from the rebel commander. “I know what you’re trying to do, and it won’t work. Give it up, Sawyer.”
Jacob held out the hand that was not resting on his Gladius, “I’m just telling you what I heard. But you have done well for yourself since that day, I see. Elevated into the hierarchy, given captainship of the greatest unit in the World System, and presented with a slave by the MWR himself. I owe you, Shadow Soldier, for the kindness you showed that slave.”
“Then tell your men to lay down their arms and surrender to the will of Napoleon Alexander,” 301 bit back harshly. “For that is the only thing you have left to offer me.”
“I’m afraid we’re at an impasse, then,” Sawyer smiled. “For that is something I can never do. I can, however, give you something few have ever received: a second chance to join Silent Thunder.”
301 snorted, “Don’t waste your breath.”
“Grace saw something in you, 301,” Sawyer went on. “What it is I don’t know, for I can’t see it myself—but if she sees it I know it must be there. I have a feeling you saw something in her as well, and this is your chance—maybe your last—to find out what it all means. Come back with us, and we will show you a world far beyond what you know. There is much you do not know about the events that led us here, because Alexander doesn’t wish for you to. You are a prisoner in his cage, a slave to his design. The only way out is to come with us.”
