by J. L. Lyon
“Ah,” Derek thought for a moment. “Maybe so.”
“So are we going to talk about it?” 301 asked.
“Talk about what?”
301 stopped walking, rooted in the open space between the exit from the docking bay and the short lobby in front of the elevators. Derek turned around and rolled his eyes, “Are we really going to do this here?”
“Why did you do it? You could have had my job if you’d just told the truth.”
“I told you before, Captain, I’ve got your back,” Derek replied. “Just let it go.”
Derek started to walk away but 301 stopped him with his next demand, “I want a better explanation, Specter! Why did you lie?”
“Because I was dead,” Derek said, a trace of wounded pride in his voice. “That rebel had me cornered, and if you hadn’t—well, without you I wouldn’t have been there to deliver the final blow to Sawyer in the first place. There’s no telling what the MWR might have decided if he knew I had been the one to kill him, and not you. For all we know he could still have gone along with your execution. But I knew he would never even consider it if you were declared Sawyer’s killer. So…I improvised.”
“I just find it hard to believe you would sacrifice so much personal glory for something from which you have nothing to gain.”
“Then maybe you don’t know me as well as you think,” Derek said dryly. “But if you can accept nothing less than a heartless scheme, I offer you this: you saved my life and I saved yours. That makes us even.”
Derek continued on to the elevators, and 301 managed a thin smile as he followed. Perhaps his partner had a soul after all. He stepped up next to Derek and cleared his throat, “Well, whatever your reasons…thank you.”
“You’re welcome,” Derek replied. “Maybe now we can stop treating one another like enemies. We are on the same side, after all.”
“Agreed,” 301 nodded. “We made a pretty good team tonight.”
“We did,” Derek admitted. “I do have one question though.”
“What’s that?”
Derek tilted his head to the side, “Think she’s here to see me?”
301’s gaze shifted to the left as Liz emerged from the shadows adjacent to the elevators. She fixed on 301 with obvious relief, and he thought he saw a shimmer in her eyes—the beginnings of tears. She stopped some distance away, “Still alive, I see.”
“I suppose I had to admit defeat sooner or later,” Derek whispered to him with a low chuckle. “I’ll leave you to it, then. Enjoy your spoils.”
Derek grinned, and at that moment the elevator arrived. He stepped inside, and 301 only had time to see him wink before the doors closed. Silence enveloped the docking bay. He and Liz were alone.
He took a tentative step toward her, “I guess you’ve heard?”
She nodded, “That means it’s over now, doesn’t it? The rebellion will fall.”
“We believe so,” he said, continuing to close the distance between them. “When Jonathan Charity died, they scattered and hid in the Wilderness. With Sawyer’s death, we expect the same.” He finally reached her, and as he stared into her eyes he did see sadness…and also, uncertainty. Had he wounded her so deeply with his many rejections in the past few weeks? Had she really been worried that he would not return? Suddenly he felt guilty for how he had dismissed her, how quickly he had forgotten what she meant to him when another had come along.
“Listen, Liz, I’m sorry. About everything—”
She put a finger to his lips and silenced him, “I don’t want to hear about that. It’s done, 301. Whatever happened—whatever choices you made—they’re in the past now. We’ve each caused our share of hurt to the other over the years.”
Her hand left his mouth and moved to cradle his cheek, and he nodded, “Yes…I guess that’s true.”
“We can start again,” she said. “You can be the man you always were. We can be what we always were.”
301 felt a tug at his heart, involuntary thoughts of Grace springing to his mind. No, he thought. That part of me is gone. He could never be the man that Grace wanted him to be. He was tired of the war her presence had begun in him, tired of the uncertainty and confusion and guilt. He wanted to be 301-14-A again, the soldier with one mission: to uphold the World System.
And so when Liz kissed him, he did not withdraw from her. He did not resist. He accepted her passionate embrace willingly, and reciprocated with reckless abandon. Take me back, he thought desperately. Take me back to the man I have always been.
But some doors, once opened, can never be closed again.
44
GRACE WOKE BEFORE SUNRISE, still in the same chair where she had waited for her father the night before. Her cheeks were raw from her attempts to wipe away constant tears, and she knew her eyes were swollen without even having to look in a mirror. She must look awful. She stretched out her arms and legs, stiff from a night sitting in uncomfortable positions, and then noticed General Crenshaw sitting in the chair across from her. He looked on her with great concern—the same way her father used to do when he sensed she was facing some emotional crisis. But Crenshaw didn’t need paternal discernment to figure that out—by now the entire compound had to know her father’s fate.
She sat up straight and sighed, “Well, Crenshaw…have you come to try and comfort me? Or to make sure I’m of sound mind to stay the course?”
The general shifted uncomfortably in his chair, “Both, actually. But the first is of greater importance. You should know, Grace, that you are not alone in your grief.”
“I’m sure there are others who mourn my father’s death,” Grace replied. “But none who are his only daughter, Crenshaw.”
“We have all lost, Grace. I don’t minimize your loss or your father’s sacrifice, but there is not a man in this compound who has not grieved the death of a father, a mother, a daughter, a son, sisters and brothers and friends and lovers. Most were taken before their time, ripped from them violently by the World System and its soldiers. I can tell you that right now, I understand your anger…your desire for vengeance.”
“I do not desire revenge.”
“Truly?” Crenshaw asked, eyebrows raised. “Think carefully on that one, my dear, for there are many forms of vengeance. Just because you don’t want to walk up to Derek Blaine and shoot him execution style doesn’t mean you aren’t harboring anger and hatred in your own way. The cause for which we contend is just, but if you’re not careful it can become an obsession—a way to work out that anger in all the wrong ways. Before you know it, you might end up only a shadow of what you once were, and the cause for which you fight will no longer be what it was when you first began.”
“Are you speaking from experience, Crenshaw?” Grace challenged.
“Sadly, I am,” the general replied, ignoring Grace’s short-tempered remark. “I was forced to watch my parents executed on international television while I fought a war continents away. I vowed never to seek revenge, never to give in to hatred, but when my path crossed with the man responsible for their brutal murder, I saw my hatred—saw the monster it threatened to transform me into—and nearly fell to the darkness in my own soul. It was then that I understood we are all capable of murder, all susceptible to become the very enemies we shed so much blood and tears to fight, and only one thing prevents us from crossing that line.”
“Faith?” Grace guessed with a trace of sarcasm. “Hope?”
Crenshaw smiled. “Choice. Whether you give in to hatred or hold fast to love is entirely up to you, Grace. You may not realize it for quite some time, but the stronger your anger and your desire for blood recompense becomes, the further your father’s love is from you. On that road Jacob Sawyer becomes a man you have lost—a father that was taken from you by force—not a man who raised you, taught you right from wrong, and gave his life to give you hope for a future. If I have one piece of advice to give you in the face of this tragedy, it is this: when you think of your fathe
r, do not think of his death. Instead, remember his love for you, and all the many ways he sought to show it here on earth. And know, without a shred of doubt, that you will see him again. You must want it. You must choose it.”
Grace was silent for a few moments, but as she considered the general’s counsel she couldn’t help but take it to heart. She dropped her guard and let her temper fade away. It was not what her father would have wanted. Crenshaw was right: she had to remember the man for how he lived, not how he died.
Grace frowned, “I suppose he’ll never get the chance to complete his mission now.”
“Why would you think that?”
“His dream was to restore his country. Now he’s dead, and the World System still stands.”
“No,” Crenshaw shook his head. “The way he planned to make this world a better place was through you, Grace. And if I may say so, I believe he accomplished that mission beyond all expectation. He was proud of you, from the moment you were born until the moment he left this world. And you are his legacy, the light he left behind in the world to shine brighter than he ever could. You will do great things. He knew it. I know it. And deep down, I think you know it too.”
Grace fought back a lump in her throat. Her eyes moistened, which surprised her—she thought she had no more tears to cry. With great difficulty she managed to speak in an even voice, “Thank you for saying those things, General. They mean more than you know.” She shook her head and went on with a teary smile, “I don’t really understand it. All you and my father ever had for one another was praise and admiration. How do two men who respect one another so much go fifteen years without speaking?”
Crenshaw’s expression darkened, “When one path becomes two, going separate ways is always difficult. But there is no need to speak of arguments long past…not now, anyway. When Davian came to me last night, he asked me to speak with you about the line of succession.”
“Yes, I thought he might,” Grace said. “I assume the most logical choice would be to appoint Davian the new commander. He knows the details of upcoming missions, and is familiar with the commanders of the other units. With him, perhaps, we have a shot at staying united, though I suppose seeing some take their leave is inevitable.”
“Indeed, some will go when they learn of Jacob’s death,” Crenshaw conceded. “But I do not agree with your logic about Davian. Neither would Davian himself, I’ll wager.”
“What do you mean?” Grace asked. “I assume he wanted to speak with me because he thought my father wanted him to—”
“Lieutenant Commander Davian has already withdrawn his name from consideration,” Crenshaw said. “He says that your father was adamant you be the one to succeed him as commander of the unit, and made him swear by his honor to see it done.”
Grace’s eyes widened at the announcement, though she knew it shouldn’t have been such a surprise. Her father had appointed her second-in-command, after all, but she always thought of that position as it related to her father’s confidence in her—never that she was next in line to lead his unit. Now, that part of her station came crashing down on her. “Me?” she asked meekly. “Commander? But…I’m—” She shook her head, unable to find the best way to voice her greatest concerns.
“A woman?” Crenshaw asked, mirroring her thoughts. “Too young? Not strong or experienced enough for such a responsibility?”
“Well, yes,” she replied. “All of those things and more besides.”
“We were not that much older than you when Silent Thunder first formed, Grace,” Crenshaw said. “When the lives of billions across the globe were placed upon our shoulders, do you think we felt ready? Do you think we felt strong enough, experienced enough for such a task?”
Grace shook her head, “I don’t know.”
“We felt what you feel now,” Crenshaw smiled. “Fear and doubt, mixed with a sense of duty we knew we could not turn our backs to. In your mind you search for an excuse—any reason to free yourself of the burden you know you are destined to bear—but you will not find one. Some paths we can choose not to take. Others take hold of us before we even realize what is happening.”
“But a woman, in command of a Silent Thunder unit,” Grace whispered. “No one has gotten close to that since—”
“Lauren Charity,” Crenshaw spoke the name with great affection. “She assumed command of her own unit after the Sundering of the Four. And her operatives followed her as surely as they would have any man.”
“But that was during the time of union under High Commander Jonathan Charity, her husband,” Grace went on. “This will be different, Crenshaw, and you know it. My father, while not an elected High Commander, was the closest thing we have had to one in fifteen years. Taking his position will not mean just commanding one unit…it will mean attempting to maintain control over the whole of Silent Thunder.”
“I have taken a straw poll among the officers of this unit,” Crenshaw said carefully. “All have expressed their willingness to see you succeed your father as both commander of the unit and de facto head of Silent Thunder. I expect the actual vote to name you commander before noon today.”
“And the other commanders? Will they accept such a move?”
“Well,” Crenshaw frowned. “That will, admittedly, be more difficult.”
“What of our mission with 301?” she pressed. “What will become of it if I am named commander? I will have to take an active role in carrying out my father’s plan, and thus ours will suffer.”
“The two plans are now one,” Crenshaw replied. “If we are successful there will be no need to keep the truth about the Shadow Soldier hidden any longer, and that, I guarantee you, will be enough to hold Silent Thunder together—at least for a time. The second phase of your father’s plan is crucial to our design. We must ensure that the commanders remain united long enough to carry out the attack.”
“How do you suggest I do that?”
“Once you are named, declare me your personal advisor. This should placate those who think you too young and inexperienced for the position. None will challenge my experience, I assure you.”
“What if they want you to lead instead?” Grace asked. “What if I want you to lead?”
“I am ineligible to accept such a charge,” Crenshaw said. “And I would not, regardless. As leader of the resistance’s intelligence cell, I cannot commit to Silent Thunder on a permanent basis. And I also could not deny your father’s wish for you to succeed him.”
Grace didn’t know what to say. Crenshaw’s offer to become her personal advisor did make her feel better about the entire affair, but accepting her father’s position would not be an easy task even if she had a hundred advisors. She could hold her own in a fight, she had no doubt of that, but she wasn’t as skilled in the political aspects of leadership. Silent Thunder was a military unit, so command structure would give her a bit of leeway with her own officers, but the other commanders were not bound to her by anything stronger than their own fancies. If they disagreed with her on even one point they had the right to abandon the rebellion to its fate. She wasn’t sure she could handle that kind of pressure.
“How long?” she asked. “How long will I need to hold the force together?”
Crenshaw bit his lip, knowing he did not have the answer she longed to hear, “As long as you can.”
“And you truly believe I can do this?”
The general nodded. “I’d even go as far as to say that you’re the only one who can.”
“Alright then,” she said. “I’ll do it.”
EPILOGUE
SLEEP EVADED 301 THROUGH the early hours of the morning. He lay awake on his bed, thinking, while Liz’s body warmed the sheets beside him. The rhythmic sound of her breathing had kept him company throughout the night, soothing his tortured mind. But it was not enough to bring him real peace.
Jacob Sawyer’s face danced continually before his eyes, an image frozen in glory as he straddled the line between lif
e and death. He had not been afraid. There was regret there, in the man’s eyes, but not the kind of regret he had seen on the dying before. It was more of a solemn grief, a wish that he could have done more…that perhaps he could have prepared if he knew it would be the end.
It was the look of a man not concerned for himself, but for those he left behind.
Concern…for Grace.
Was that why he had stepped between 301 and that Silent Thunder operative? Was that why he left himself open to Derek’s fatal blow? For her?
She must hate him now. To have invested so much of her emotions in him, and then have him cause the death of her father. Did she wish that their positions were reversed, now? That her father lived and he was dead?
None of that mattered now. Whatever chance he and Grace had to be together, it had died on the day he set her free. She was an officer of the rebellion he was sworn to destroy. He should have known this could only end with them on opposite sides.
Still, it was not the rebel commander’s face that kept him awake all night. It was not the question of why he risked his life, or even how Grace might feel about it. No…it was Jacob Sawyer’s final words that haunted him, that continuously took him back to that moment when he had been within reach of the greatest mystery of his life.
You knew my father? Who is he? Where can I find him?
“Pax Aeterna,” he whispered the words aloud to the darkness, as though the shadows might answer.
Liz stirred beside him and rolled over, placing her hand on his chest as she intoned quietly, “Hmm?”
“Nothing,” he whispered back. “It’s still a couple of hours until dawn. Go back to sleep.”
She sighed, “Just thought you might be considering a new name for your Gladius.”
301 frowned. This was probably one of those nonsensical conversations Liz wouldn’t remember in the morning, “Why is that?”
