by J. L. Lyon
“And is Sullivan any better? Why should I risk my life so that the world can just pass from the hands of one tyrant into the hands of another?”
“Who is to say what might happen when this war is over?” Liz said. “With the Citadel, made up of representatives of all the major cities of the hemisphere, and Silent Thunder standing upon the ruins of Napoleon Alexander’s palace, a clever man might do…anything. Restore the Old World, move toward a new worldwide republic, or even take control himself,” she leaned up against the bars as she spoke her seduction. “Such a man could create a new world order as he saw fit, centered in Rome, if he desired...the heir of its mighty legacy.” Liz stepped back with a smile. She could see the lust for glory shining in his eyes. She had him.
“Of course,” she took a couple of steps back as though she meant to leave. “No one could achieve such a thing locked away in a cell. I have other candidates for the mission, and if you don’t wish to participate that is your prerogative. Enjoy the rest of your stay.” Liz turned her back on him and started to walk away, and nearly panicked when he didn’t try to stop her immediately. Despite what she said, he was her only candidate. If she walked out now her plan would never work. Perhaps she should have given him more time?
She made it halfway up the corridor before his shout rang out, “Wait!”
Liz smiled to herself in victory, and then turned back, “Yes?”
“How many men will be participating in this mission?”
“However many you need.”
Even across the distance, she could see a smile spreading across his face, “I accept your offer, Chief Aurora, though I would request one more thing for myself.”
“What is that?”
“The chance to exact retribution on the man responsible for my downfall,” Justus said with malice. “Without him Napoleon Alexander would never have gotten the chance to unleash those horrors upon my city, and he must pay for what he has done. When the time comes, I want to be the one to kill Derek Blaine.”
Liz gave a simple nod, “Done.”
20
IT WAS LATE AFTERNOON before 301 got out of bed, mind still prickling with the effects of his nightmares. Now there were so many more than the normal visions of rain and fire—made worse by the fact that he suspected the person within those flames was his mother. He saw her every time he closed his eyes, burning. He couldn’t even remember what she looked like, but those emotions were as vivid as the flames themselves.
He dressed slowly, not overly eager to face the politics and posturing of life as a Specter Captain for even one more day. He could have put an end to it all if not for his cowardice. If he had just gone with Grace when she asked, he might be with her at that very moment. The knowledge of that fact made him want to punch the wall.
301’s eyes shifted to his dresser, suddenly remembering an item he hadn’t thought of in a long time. He knelt and pulled out the bottom drawer, sliding it off the rails so he could reach back toward the wall. For most of his life, he had carried a keepsake in his pocket—a ring that had been in his possession for as long as he could remember. He had always believed it had something to do with his origins, and keeping it close had given him a sort of comfort.
But when he had ascended to Specter and—at the time—believed himself to have finally arrived in glory, he had hidden the keepsake away. Why hold on to a crutch he no longer needed to walk? But now, as everything seemed about to crumble, he wanted it at his side again.
He replaced the drawer and stared into the ring’s blue stone. How many times had he looked into its depths and wondered about the people from whom he came? He was closer to the truth now than he had ever been. For some reason, he had hoped that performing this old ritual would yield more than it ever had before. But there was nothing. It was just a ring.
301 pocketed the keepsake and rose to his feet with a sigh. Streams of light peeked through the shades, an august glow in the late winter afternoon. The sun would be setting within a few hours. He pushed the button to draw the shades and reveal the skyline, and froze.
Alexandria was on fire.
At least ten large plumes of smoke rose from various locations within his vision, dominating countless smaller ones across the entire city. His initial thought was that the Ruling Council had attacked again, but if that was the case they would have woken him. No, this was a planned burn, calculated by the rulers of Alexandria themselves.
A purge.
“It’s started.”
301 looked down to see Eli, watching the destruction from the window with a deep sense of sadness. 301 refrained from his usual incredulity at the boy’s presence. There was something inevitable about it, almost as though he had been expecting him.
“Yes,” he nodded. “And it won’t stop. Not unless I capture Grace and bring her to the MWR.”
“You were right about him,” Eli said darkly. “He’s scary.”
“Unfortunately there are a lot of people like him in the world,” 301 said. “One of them, the cruelest man I have ever known, is out there right now, creating those fires.” The boy probably didn’t need to know that the fires burned as much flesh as they did wood and stone. It was part of Grand Admiral Donalson’s theatrics—his Hell on earth.
“I know about people like him,” Eli said. “My dad used to fight them. He promised that one day I wouldn’t have to be scared of them anymore.”
“What happened to your father, Eli?”
The boy lowered his eyes to the floor and shuffled his feet, “He went out to fight…and didn’t ever come back.”
“I’m sorry,” 301 said, feeling a pang of pity for the boy. “But at least you got to know him for a while. I never knew my father.” As soon as he said the words he wanted to take them back. So far as he knew, he had never known his parents. Except…
“You know, they say you’re me,” he said suddenly. “That we’re the same person.”
Eli lifted his eyes, glistening with tears, and stared at him in confusion, “The same person? That’s a silly thing to say. I’m me and you’re you.”
301 chuckled lightly, “I suppose it is silly.” But no sillier than talking to an apparition I know isn’t real.
Eli suddenly became solemn again, eyes shifting between the plumes of smoke he could see on the horizon, “Are you going to go after her? Grace?”
301 shook his head and sighed, “I don’t know. And even if I found her, I don’t know what I’d do. If I leave with her—which is what I want—hundreds of thousands could die in this purge. If I bring her in—if I give her to Napoleon Alexander—then she will die a horrible death…the kind that shouldn’t even exist in nightmares. But how can I weigh one life against hundreds of thousands? How can I sacrifice an entire city for one woman?” He wanted to go on, but when he remembered that his companion was only five years old he shut his mouth. What could the boy understand about such a complex decision?
“Maybe it’s not your choice,” Eli said softly. “Maybe you need to find her, and let her decide.”
The room grew quiet. Perhaps the boy had a point. Who was he to decide between Grace and the city of Alexandria? Didn’t that decision belong to her? But then, he thought he knew exactly what her response would be. She couldn’t go on knowing that she might put a stop to so much pain and suffering. She would choose sacrifice, which meant 301 made a choice just in telling her the truth.
When the fires of Alexandria went out, Grace would die. And the World System would win.
But perhaps it didn’t even matter. He had no way to find Grace even if he wanted to.
301 took one last look at the horizon, and then started for the door. It was time to leave the safety of his room and face whatever the day would bring.
“Be careful,” Eli urged. “Your enemies lie in wait for you, and if you give them the chance…they will devour you.”
301 paused. There was something in Eli’s tone that disturbed him, and those words…no five year old would ever make such a statem
ent. He turned slowly to face the boy, and when the two locked eyes he found it hard to look away. Though he looked into the face of a child, it was not a child that stared back at him from those pools of green. It was a tortured, corrupted soul.
His soul.
A high-pitched chirp sounded throughout the room, and he touched his wristband to activate the call, “Yeah, Derek, what is it?”
“They need us at the palace, Captain,” Derek replied. “We just got a huge break.”
301 kept his gaze on Eli, who nodded slowly as though he had heard. Of course he heard. He’s a figment of your imagination.
“Captain?” Derek asked.
“I heard you,” 301 said. “I’ll be right there.”
-X-
Derek and 301 strode through the front doors of the palace and found Grand Admiral Donalson waiting in the foyer, smiling grimly, “Afternoon, gentlemen. Glad you could make it.”
“You said you have something for us?” Derek said.
“A lead,” Donalson replied. “And after I give it to you, Specter Blaine, I hope you’ll show a little gratitude. With the Ruling Council gone I expect the MWR to roll Specter under my command where it belongs, and as the Specter Captain has already worn out his welcome,” Donalson touched the cut on his neck gingerly, and 301 couldn’t suppress a smile, “You could very well find yourself in control of the unit soon.”
“Keep dreaming, Grand Admiral,” 301 said. “You prove with every word that you only wish to put Specter in your stranglehold. The MWR will never give the unit to you.”
“We’ll see,” Donalson bared his teeth in a feral grin. “But even so, Specter Captain, your days are still numbered. You have a knack for attracting the friendship of traitors, and that will eventually catch up with you. That blonde bombshell of yours nearly got me killed yesterday.”
And what a shame that would have been, 301 thought.
“We don’t have time for games, Grand Admiral,” Derek cut in harshly. “Do you have something for us or not?”
Donalson’s grin faded into a reluctant frown, “I do. Follow me.”
The grand admiral led them around the pentagonal shape of the Crown section’s bottom floor, past the entrance to the West Wing to the crook where the western and southern arms of the palace came together at the Crown section pillar. A line of rooms sat at the base of the pillar.
301 turned and whispered to Derek, “Have you ever been over here?”
“No,” Derek whispered back. “I try to keep to the northeast as often as possible. That’s where the majority of soldiers and others in the ruling class reside.”
“So who lives over here?”
“Servants,” Derek answered. “And slaves. The MWR keeps a lot of them in the palace. Most live in the South Wing. This must be the staging area for when they are brought in.”
Sure enough, 301 saw that most of the rooms were filled with people—women, the majority of the time—waiting for placement. All of Napoleon Alexander’s palace aides were slaves, and all tended to be beautiful women under thirty. Rumor had it that the MWR enjoyed the company of a different aide every night, and though the rumor was probably exaggerated 301 thought there was probably some truth to it. Still, as far as the life of a slave went the palace aides did not want for anything—until they were deemed too old and sold into less fortunate circumstances.
Grand Admiral Donalson paused in front of a closed door and turned back to them with his hand on the knob, “For the record, I would have loved nothing more than to leave you out of this—especially considering our…confrontation…in the Hall of Mirrors yesterday. But she asked specifically for you, Specter Captain. I know it does me no good to threaten your life, but get her to talk or I promise I will subject her to pains you can’t possibly imagine.”
301 looked at his partner questioningly, and Derek shrugged. Why would Donalson bring them to interrogate one of Napoleon Alexander’s new slaves?
The grand admiral opened the door to reveal a dimly lit room, with only one woman within. She was bound at the wrists, a fresh imprint on her arm that identified her as one of Alexander’s slaves. She wasn’t wearing much, and 301 struggled to keep his eyes level as they entered the room. This was all part of the process…property did not have a right to modesty.
He remembered Grace’s presentation on the day they met, and felt bile rise into his throat. The whole thing was sickening.
But more pressing than the shameful display: he knew this woman. He might not have recognized her, having only seen her gagged on a view screen, but after a moment he observed that her hands were not only bound. They were wrapped in gauze as though every finger on her hand had been broken—which, as he remembered—they had.
Donalson sneered, “May I introduce our prodigal daughter, Elena Wilson.”
“But…I don’t understand,” 301 said carefully. “The rebellion came for you.”
“And tried to keep me prisoner,” Elena said. “But I escaped from them. I escaped and now I’ve come back to prove that I’m a loyal System supporter, unlike that man who claimed to be my father.”
301 felt a stab of pity for the woman. She had no idea what she had done. The rebellion would have kept her and her children safe, but she had exchanged that chance for the cruelty of the Great Army. Did she know she now stood with the man who ordered her torture and—had the rebellion not intervened—that of her children?
“You were in the rebel compound?” Derek asked. “Where is it? How many of them are there?”
“Don’t bother, Blaine,” Donalson said. “Despite my best efforts to convince her otherwise, she will only give her intel to the captain.” His fiery stare burned into her, and 301 had no doubt that Donalson had done everything he could to wring the truth out of her before coming to beg their assistance.
Elena spared Derek and the grand admiral only a passing glance, and then focused her full attention on 301. “Specter Captain, you stood for my children during that man’s interrogation. You believe in protecting the innocent.”
“I do.”
“The moment’s delay you provided saved my son’s life. That is why I will tell you how to find the compound from which I escaped, if you promise to get both my children out of there alive.”
“You left your children?”
“Those rebels left me an opening and I had to take it,” she explained. “They transferred us from their main facility to a secondary one, in preparation for sending us into the Wilderness. That’s when I saw my chance. Taking my children would have alerted the rebels to what I was doing, and they never would have let me come back here. They wanted to condemn us to a slow death in the Wilderness, so you see I had to do something.”
“Main facility?” Derek asked. “We were under the impression they were moving around the city.”
“They seemed very entrenched,” she said. “And they called it the Command Center. The commander was there. Young girl. She tried to convince me everything would be okay.”
301’s heart started beating out of control. If what Elena knew led back to the Silent Thunder Command Center then it might lead to Grace. And if she blurted that information out here in front of Donalson, the grand admiral would send a contingent in to wipe out every living thing in the target area. Grace might not even have the opportunity to fight, though that might be a mercy compared to what would happen if she was taken alive.
“So…you can take us there?”
She sighed, “Not to the main center, no. They blindfolded me during the journey in and out.”
301 fought the urge to breath out a long sigh of relief. Strange, he shook his head in puzzlement, My first inclination is no longer for the good of the mission, but for her protection. What have I become?
“But,” she went on. “I can find the secondary facility from which I escaped. The bases are connected via an underground pathway. Perhaps if you find it, you can follow the path back to the commander.”
“We will get your children out of there,�
�� Derek said after 301’s hesitation. “If your information is good, we will have them back to you by nightfall.”
“I need the Specter Captain’s word on that,” Elena said, staring at 301 expectantly. “I have been informed of my situation by the grand admiral, Specter Captain, if that is what gives you pause. I understand that I can never again have legal guardianship of my children, not now that I am classified as little better than an Undocumented. But if you can get them back here safely, the grand admiral has assured me that I will be allowed regular visits with them as often as my duties permit.”
“Your duties?” 301 asked.
“Yes. I am to become a palace aide, Specter Captain. That is the only choice I have left now. That, or death.”
Or salvation in the Wilderness, 301 thought dryly. What was this woman thinking? Was she so blinded by her desire for order that she didn’t see how foolish she had been to return? How could someone be so hopelessly dependent on the System that they would enslave themselves to the very man who tortured them?
“And the children?” he asked. “What plans for them after we bring them back?”
“They will be taken to the Memorial Orphanage of Alexandria,” Donalson replied. “The Capital Orphanage would have been closer, but it was recently shut down.”
“What of their father?”
“He has renounced all claim to them,” Donalson smiled. “Doesn’t want to claim offspring tainted by rebel blood. Can’t say I blame him, can you? No one wants that. Now enough of this. Give her your word so we can be about our business.”
301 looked upon the woman in sadness, seeing no trace of resistance in her eyes. Every citizen in the World System knew what it meant to become a slave, and that death would be their only escape. Instead of defiance or sorrow, he merely saw acceptance, and it was a surrender that broke his heart.
“I will do my best,” he affirmed. “If your children are in that compound, I will do whatever I can to save them. You have my word.”
Elena nodded, satisfied, “The base is in the North Central Sub-quadrant. Get me a map, and I’ll show you where to find it.”
