Secrets of Silverwind

by Sanders, Richard L.

  Zero squeezed the cold steel of his pistol grip, steady and stealthy, creeping along the wall. The under level wasn’t well lit and they often crossed through large areas with no electric lighting at all. Hiding in the shadows was easy, but it gave Zero a nasty twist in his stomach every time he was forced blindly into the open. Hating that it was impossible to tell who could be waiting.

  He continued along, cornering as carefully as he knew how, shifting from room to room, Raven covering his back. Everywhere they went, shelves and boxes sat derelict and thousands of crates were stacked high on thousands of pallets. The air was stale from minimal ventilation and every breath tasted like dust.

  As they neared their target, Zero slowed to a stop and crouched, perfectly silent. He pressed an ear against the cement wall and waited, sweat beading on his forehead. Nothing could be heard. He hesitated, heart beating like a steel drum, then made a hand signal that meant “Now!”

  He entered the room with his handguns held high. It was a large storage unit, filled with tables stacked high with machinery and a few large piles of girders. The lights were on, but dim, and on the left wall was a narrow alcove—probably leading to the gas main. The perfect place for a bomb.

  He snuck to the nearest table, but spotted something extremely out of place. Max’s disembodied head was on the ground, only a few feet away. He felt sick, terrified, and immediately concerned that, if Max were dead, he would never find those he was looking for, despite Raven’s help. Max had been the only person in the cell who’d known who Zero really was, and knew how to find who he was looking for.

  Zero muffled his disgust and looked away. He crouched down defensively, and raised a hand to alert Raven that something was wrong.

  Approaching footsteps caught his attention. Someone appeared in the far doorway. A grim, bearded face, a man wearing a thick brown jacket, in his hands was a basic submachine-gun. He held the weapon roughly, like he didn’t know how to use it. On his right hand Zero could barely recognize the blue “alpha” tattoo. The mark of Rigil.

  The terrorist stepped into the room, glancing from left to right, then dashed his way toward the alcove with a bomb strapped to his back. When no more of his friends entered, Zero aimed one handgun and fired twice.

  The shots rang loudly in the enclosed space and the terrorist collapsed, seemingly struck in the shoulder and back. He rolled down into cover.

  Zero moved deeper into the room, following the shadows around some cover, meaning to finish him off.

  The room exploded with noise. Four other Rigilians stood up from their hiding places and the dark room was lit up with gunfire. Zero rolled to better cover, waiting for them to drain their magazines as they peppered the room with bullets. Slugs plinked, bouncing off the cement walls all around. Zero dared a glance behind him but Raven was too well hidden to see.

  The noise faded and he heard the clicking of clips being replaced. He popped up from his cover and strafed to a better position behind the pile of industrial machinery, shooting several rounds of covering fire. He managed to kill one of the Rigilians. He dropped his own magazine, squeezed in another clip, and cocked the gun. Behind him came the distinct whine of Raven’s silenced carbine, followed by the thud of a heavy body just ahead.

  That left three alive and one wounded, the playing field was almost equal. Zero prepared to spring to his feet again, looking carefully at how best to flank his enemies.

  An enormous wave of heat spread through the room with a bright, blinding flash. Zero moaned, rubbing his eyes clear as a splash of concentrated energy landed nearby. When the brightness faded, he saw that most of the industrial machinery he’d used as cover had been melted into a sizzling, molten ooze. Plasma weapons.

  “Enforcers!” Raven called from behind. The guardians-elite were the last people anyone wanted to see right now. Zero rolled away from his ruined cover while plasma scorches began to scar the room. The pounding of submachine-gun fire changed directions. Zero wasn’t at all surprised, he knew the Rigilians feared the enforcers even more than he did. But after a few more flashes, and even fewer seconds, the submachine-guns were silenced forever.

  Zero stood and sprinted for the back door. The whole operation was a complete disaster. Raven was crouched next to the exit and her rifle blazed yellow, giving covering fire at huge personal risk to herself.

  “Run!” Zero yelled at her. She ignored him. Raven’s stubborn loyalty was legendary.

  Just then, she lit up like a candle, charged with an overwhelming dose of pure energy. Then she was gone. A charred mark on the floor, a bit of burning hair and clothes, ashes next to a liquid-metal carbine. Leaving only him. Zero. Alone.

  His insides burned and his jaw popped as he grinded his teeth together. He’d lost her, he’d lost her! And he’d lost Max and his information. He’d lost the people he belonged with. He’d lost everything... Nothing felt real anymore. And in an outpour of fear and vengeance he spun around, staring death in the face, channeling his fear and loathing.

  There stood three enforcers, each in full green combat armor. Zero clicked his handguns into automatic mode and sprayed his enemies while standing his ground.

  The bullets bounced pointlessly off their armor and the enforcers ignored his efforts. They could vaporize him. Why didn’t they? Why didn’t they just kill him? Why didn’t they just end it? Zero didn’t want to die, but he could not accept the reality of what had just happened. It couldn’t be real. He felt so much rage inside him he almost charged his enemies, wanting to tear them apart with his bare hands. He felt the urge to tear off his gloves and unleash hell upon them, or try.

  They did not vaporize him. Instead, Zero heard a deafening ring and his vision blurred bright white. He fell blindly to his knees and tried to cover his stinging ears. Someone grabbed his head and pressed a rag against his face. Zero held his breath and struggled valiantly, knowing, better than they did, what effects the drug would have on him. He broke free for a moment, arms swinging madly, but even more hands gripped him and pressed the rag against his nose and mouth even harder. In complete desperation, Zero spasmed violently with all of his strength, energy, and hate, but their combined grip was unbreakable.

  At last, he choked and breathed it in deeply, with no choice but to submit, knowing as he drifted off to sleep that his life, as he knew it, was over.

  3

  His view was like an ocean of lime. Everything clear as crystal. A bright circle glowed around him, like burning emerald fire. He swung his sword against an unseen enemy, feeling the recoil of every blow. And, in what became a twisting whirlwind of black and white, he remembered only the fleeting words, “You bring this upon yourself.”

  ***

  Zero awoke. It was a bright room, white and barren. His first thought was an overwhelming sense of déjà-vu.

  There was a bottle of water that held several gallons, a table with some bread and meat, and a toilet in the corner. He felt like he’d seen this place a thousand times, but as he looked it over he was sure he’d never been here before.

  He sat up on the cot and stretched. His arms and legs were sore and he was light-headed, but otherwise felt fine. He rubbed his head, trying to figure out what was going on.

  The only thing he remembered was being dragged off a cold metal table. A lot of noises all around him, but they were muffled by a ringing in his ears, and he hadn’t been able to see.

  But that memory was empty and didn’t explain where he was now. And it felt more like years ago, not hours.

  He stood up to examine the room more carefully, brushing his hands against the firm walls as he walked. Searching for clues, an exit, anything. But the place was sealed tight with only one door and no windows.

  Opposite him was a mirror that encompassed half a wall. He was certain it was one-way glass. He looked past his reflection and imagined who might be staring at him from behind the mirror. Observing him. Keeping him prisoner.

  Of course, all he could see was a pale face and familiar, dishe
veled black hair along with sky-blue eyes that were piercing and mature. His twenty-something year-old face had subtle creases, lines of worry that had hardened over time. The character of his skin told a story and in his eyes burned a purpose that matched a sharp, passionate feeling deep inside him. Like knowing he had to do something important, and soon, but not remembering what.

  The feeling withdrew, fickle as an emotion, with no more substance than the wind from the vent. And try as he did, Zero couldn’t remember anything about the man in the mirror. But something in those tortured blue irises gave him a chill. They seemed dark, and capable of anything.

  His stomach rumbled and he lost his train of thought. He tested the lock a few times and eventually sat down at the table in resignation. He picked up the plate of food and sniffed suspiciously at it. It seemed fine. His stomach burned with hunger and since he was in no position to argue he cleaned his plate, perfectly aware that if his captors, whoever they were, wanted him dead, he’d be dead already.

  The meal didn’t satisfy, but it sustained him for now. With nothing else to do, he sat and pondered, head in his hands, wondering exactly who he was and why he was being held. It was both painful and dull and he quickly tired of squeezing his brain for answers he didn’t have. Eventually he returned back to the cot and stared up at the blank ceiling. It was a miserable place, made much worse by a lack of information. He wasn’t tired but eventually sleep overtook him.

  ***

  The girl was his twin sister. Her midnight hair exactly like his, but she was much smaller. And she seemed younger, though the darkness made it difficult to see her clearly. He watched her from the shadows, too scared to talk to her. Not wanting to be caught out of bed.

  She wore rags as she scrubbed the floor. A soapy bucket next to her. She kept a tiny smile on her face but he knew she was unhappy. Her eyes gleamed in the moonlight spilling through the broken window. Glistening with melancholy.

  The wind tussled her hair playfully and she lowered her head, closing her tired eyes for a moment. Before long, one of the attendants rushed in and scolded her.

  ***

  When Zero came to his senses, he was sitting up on a cot, like he’d been awake for hours but only now achieved awareness.

  He was in a strange white room. There were no windows and only one door. One of the walls was mostly covered by a large wide mirror. There was a table with simple food and a toilet in the corner. The whole situation struck him as familiar, even though he was sure he’d never seen this place before

  Something seemed off, however. Aside from being trapped here like a prisoner and not knowing who he was or what was happening, something felt out of place. Like he was so close to realizing something and yet just far enough away not to.

  He rose to his feet and walked around the room, searching. Wondering who his captors were, and why he was a prisoner. He combed his memory, which was limited, and found more questions than answers.

  He remembered noises. There was a shrill ring that made everything hard to distinguish. There had been shouting and gunfire. He hadn’t been able to see. Several hands had grabbed him. He remembered struggling. But that was all. Now he was here.

  The situation bothered him, especially his lack of memories, but his first order of business was survival—and his attention very quickly turned to his growling stomach. He went to the table and examined the food they’d left him. It was a bowl of mixed fruit. He ate some, finding it unsatisfying. It didn’t taste good, the melons had contaminated the other fruits so everything tasted exactly like melon. He hated melon. But he ate anyway, starving as he was.

  Just as he finished and stood up, he spotted a crumb on the floor. He knelt down and picked it up, holding it between his fingers. It was bread, and not very old. It sparked a memory, he had eaten bread recently. As his brain struggled to put the pieces together, he couldn’t resist the urge to return to the cot. Lying down, puzzling over his situation, he felt strangely tired and slept.

  ***

  He was running. His head hurt. His soul tortured. He dropped, lurching in agony. The betrayal was impossible to bear, especially now that she'd left him. He’d failed. And that failure ate him inside like a rabid animal eviscerating its prey. He’d endured it until now. But this news was too much to bear. He would make him pay. He would make them all pay.

  ***

  Zero realized he was muttering something over and over. Blood rushed to his head and he felt a severe headache. Then, just as quickly, the blood rushed out of his head and blackness covered his vision. Blinding him with darkness until his body recovered a moment later.

  He took several sharp breaths and soaked in his surroundings.

  He was in a simple white room. The place was barren, like a prison cell. It looked oddly familiar, but maybe that was just the commonness of it…

  At first, he was sure he’d never been here before. But, as he looked around, something connected. And he remembered. He’d been held here for some time.

  The lights snapped off and Zero stood up defensively.

  After a minute, the door creaked open and a bit of light spilled in. A silhouetted person in full armor entered, a female enforcer. She beckoned for him to come nearer. He approached cautiously, feeling his pulse quicken. He was automatically afraid of her, because of what she was, but at the same time glad that something was finally happening.

  She guided him into a stark hallway where they met another enforcer, a man in white armor. Zero walked between them and they brought him down a long hall and into a makeshift office. There was a table and a few chairs but otherwise it was totally barren. He took a seat, as directed, opposite one man in green armor. He wore no helmet and looked middle aged.

  “What’s the matter? Don’t you recognize me, old friend?” asked the green enforcer. His hair was flat brown and his reddish eyes were unique. Zero said nothing. He didn’t recognize the man and wanted to be careful about what he said, knowing that any one of the three enforcers could kill him without a second thought.

  “I’m Almach,” the enforcer said. “Is that name familiar to you?”

  “No.”

  “What do you remember?”

  Zero thought back. He had a vague sense of who he was. At least, what he liked and disliked and how he viewed the world. He knew places, historical events, and had some general knowledge but couldn’t remember much else, like where he was from. And certainly not how he’d found his way into lockup. He recalled a few faces, a few names, mostly just blips. And he certainly didn’t recognize anyone in the room.

  He did remember, however, what enforcers were capable of, and that was what mattered at the moment.

  “I don’t remember anything,” he said.

  “I see,” said Almach. He looked Zero straight in the eyes. Zero didn’t look away.

  “So you don’t even know your own name?” asked Almach.

  “My name is Zero,” he said. The name was crisp and familiar and it hung to him with as much attachment as anything else he remembered.

  “I mean your proper name. Do you remember that?”

  “No,” he said, fully aware that Zero was a codename.

  “You acquired the alias ‘Zero’ when you began working for the CTC. How long have you been working for the CTC?”

  “I don’t know what that is.”

  “Of course you do. Do you remember Max?”

  “No.”

  “Dave?”

  Zero shook his head. Almach was playing some kind of game with him.

  “Jakob? Alice? Scarlet?” Almach spat the names out rapid fire.

  “No.”

  “None of these names sounds familiar to you?”

  “Not one.”

  Almach looked pleased. His gaze was firm and he held his tongue for a few seconds, like he was savoring his next words. Zero looked into his eyes, searching for something to recognize. Almach had the look of a killer about him. His face lacked compassion and, something about him made Zero think he had murder
ed quite a few people. Probably unarmed civilians for some kind of “greater good.” The enforcers did terrible things in Silverwind.

  “And what about Raven?” asked Almach.

  There was something about that name. But Zero wasn’t sure what made it significant, so he shrugged. “What about Raven?”

  “Do you recognize the name or not?” Almach leaned forward.

  Something tugged inside his mind. He chased the thought but it was just beyond his grasp, leading nowhere, a flicker of familiarity, then nothing.

  “No,” said Zero.

  “Very good,” said Almach. He opened a folder and passed a criminal record across the table. It was a profile of a wanted criminal named Raven, a young woman who looked purposeful, confident, and dangerous. She was also beautiful despite the low quality of the image, probably snapped by a security camera.

  “Read it,” said Almach.

  Zero raised an eyebrow and picked up the profile to skim it over. “Between fifty and sixty kilograms, black hair, dark eyes, about one-hundred and seventy centimeters...”

  “Turn to the next page,” Almach ordered.

  Zero obeyed and froze up suddenly.

  SUBJECT TERMINATED

  C.O.D.: CONCENTRATED PLASMA ENERGY

  There was another picture, it looked like a black stain on the ground, burnt remains of a person, clothes, hair, and smoke.

  In his mind’s eye a memory flashed of this beautiful person being lit up like a candle, then erased forever. Raven...

  The image wounded him deeper than he could have expected, bypassing all his defenses. He wasn’t entirely sure why, or even how he’d known Raven. But she was extremely familiar. Blips of her surfaced in his mind. An underground warehouse, cement corridors, guerilla weapons. An urgent sense of purpose, and a compelling attraction buried underneath everything else. Whoever she’d been, Zero had cared about her a great deal. He grilled his brain to remember more of who she’d been, but drew only frustrating blanks.