by J. L. Lyon
301 turned to look at Crenshaw, who stared transfixed with horror at the panoramic shot of the execution stand, and his fears were confirmed. This was the execution of Lauren Charity.
The shouts died down as a column of soldiers marched out from a large dias on the northern edge of the execution stand. They emerged first as a squad, then a battalion, and then half a division, spreading out to form a perimeter around the platform that only a vastly superior force could hope to penetrate.
Behind them came Napoleon Alexander and the Chief Advisors of the Ruling Council, all of whom ascended the stone steps of the dias to a throne at the peak. Alexander seated himself in the massive chair while the others stood in formation around him, and then gave a slight wave of his hand.
A group of four palace guards emerged, leading a prisoner to the center of the execution stand. The crowd erupted again at the sight of her, fresh calls of “Charity! Charity! Charity!” mixed with the jeers and curses of the System faithful.
But then, something happened. 301 felt the world shake beneath him, much as it had on several occasions before. He knew what it meant, but this time he chose to embrace it. This time, he wanted to see what lay in the recesses of his mind. The room at the Capital Orphanage faded away to a vision of himself actually there in the Central Square, peering up through the crowds as they led the woman to a pole at the center of the platform. As they tied her there with her arms behind her back he beheld her, and his heart nearly exploded with sorrow.
Her blonde hair floated lightly on the breeze as wood and brush were laid around her feet. She looked afraid but dignified, and held her head high in defiance of the terrible fate staring her in the face. She reminded him very strongly of Grace, standing on that platform while his men jeered at her.
But this woman was Lauren Charity. His mother. And she was about to die.
Once the guards finished they fell back with the others, and Napoleon Alexander rose ceremoniously from his throne. His voice echoed throughout the Square, “Greetings, citizens of our great World System! Behold the last of the traitorous line of Charity!”
The mob came alive at the MWR’s words, and 301 could see his smile widen even from his position among the crowd. Whether those shouts came from his supporters or those who wished him dead he did not care. He had won...the victory was his, and he wore his smugness shamelessly on his face.
Alexander waited until the sound died down and continued, “Lauren Charity, you stand accused of crimes against the World System, including conspiracy to overthrow the hierarchy, sedition against the Great Army, and profession of the poisonous ideas of religion as one of the Elect. You have harbored criminals of many creeds, led warriors in battle against us, and have spilled the blood of our nobles, all to restore a world that nearly brought extinction to our race. For these crimes and more I declare you an enemy of this state, an enemy to peace, and an enemy to humanity. By my order as MWR you are convicted and condemned.” He gave a dismissive wave of his hand, “Dispose of her.”
301’s heart seized within his chest as a guard with a flaming torch lit the brush beneath his mother’s feet. All the while, Lauren continued to stare straight ahead with dignity as though she were someplace else...as though the flames and the pain they induced were not a thing to be feared, but simply an obstacle to overcome.
301 had never felt such anguish, had never experienced such an acute sense of loss, as he did in that moment. Tears fell like rivers down his face, and finally he forced himself to look away. But then strong hands took hold of his face and forced his gaze back to the execution stand, “No. You will watch.” He looked up to see it was the Discipliner who had hold of him. “This is punishment for your insolence, boy. You don’t get to look away.”
And so he watched the death of his mother, a horrible and terrible display and a memory he did not blame himself for letting go. Perhaps some things were best left forgotten.
But at the end, just before the flames engulfed his mother and obscured her from sight, her head turned toward him and their eyes met. Recognition stirred in those pools of deep green, and hope rekindled on its heels. Then Lauren Charity smiled her last, a smile of sudden understanding and love, and gave him a subtle nod as if to say, I love you...goodbye...
The flames took her from sight, and he heard his young voice whisper, “Goodbye.”
The world shook again, and when it righted he was back in the reprogramming room on his knees, kept from falling on his face only by Crenshaw’s support. So that had been it…that was the meaning of the eyes within the flames. They were her eyes…his mother’s eyes, seeing him one last time.
“Are you alright?” Crenshaw asked.
301 managed to regain his sense of balance, but stayed on his knees to avoid the chance that he might not be able to stand yet. “They made me watch,” he whispered, overcome with grief as though his mother had died only moments before. “I was just a child, and they made me watch her die.”
“Yes,” Crenshaw nodded. The recording had no doubt been difficult for him to watch as well. After all, she was his sister. “Terrible to show something like that to anyone, much less a child.”
But 301 knew Crenshaw did not yet understand. “No,” he looked up at the man. “I was there, in the Central Square. They took me to watch…for my insolence, they said.”
Crenshaw’s lips were thin and his eyes shone with a cold anger, but 301 barely noticed. Something was…different. When he had walked into this room Lauren Charity had been just another historical figure to him, the mother of a boy he might possibly have been. But now, she was his mother. Not an abstract or a character in someone else’s story. She was real.
“I remember her,” 301 said, happiness rising up to mix with his sorrow. “I remember her!”
The world shook again, this time only briefly. He saw a vision of blue-green eyes before jumping back to the orphanage.
“Whoa,” Crenshaw said, reaching out to steady him. “You okay?”
“I’m alright,” but he had barely said the words when he jumped to a vision and back yet again. He held the sides of his head, wanting to embrace them all but afraid of being overwhelmed. He did not have time to recover from a traumatic collision of his memories.
He suddenly caught sight of Eli sitting in the chair, dangling his legs in the air and looking at him strangely, “It’s happening now, isn’t it?”
301 didn’t even have to ask what Eli meant, for he already knew:
Defragmentation.
“What do you mean you remember her?” Crenshaw asked, helping him to his feet.
“I mean it worked,” 301 replied. “I don’t have everything, but I do have her. And for now it should be enough. I know what I have to do…I need to go back to the World System.”
Crenshaw shook his head, “You don’t have to do that, Captain. Grace gave herself up to save your life, and if you go back to risk it again you dishonor her memory.”
“She’s not a memory,” 301 said. “Not yet.”
“You can’t save her this time. Alexander will have her under constant guard until he decides what to do with her. Even if all of Silent Thunder were at your command, you would still fail. What will you do with just you and your blade?”
“What I must,” he replied. “I have to believe there is some way to get her out. If not, I’m dead already.”
Crenshaw appeared to struggle deeply with something, like a father forced to choose between the life of one child or the other. Finally, he gave a short nod, “You have your father’s strength in you, Elijah. Your mother’s selflessness as well. Seeing them there, in your eyes—it gives me a hope I haven’t had in a very, very long time. But if you survive this you will become a legend, you realize that? You will be hunted like an animal until the System crumbles or you are caught.”
“I know.”
“Then I have a gift for you,” Crenshaw reached inside another larger pouch and pulled out the sparkling hilt of a Spectral Gladius, holding it out to him.
“Just before your father ordered me out of the Spire, he gave me this. He asked that I give it to you, and protect you with my life—as if you were my own son. If you are to become a legend, you should fight with a legendary blade.”
The crystal-cased hilt caught the light of the monitors and refracted it, making it seem to have a light of its own. Never before had he seen a Gladius and thought of it as beautiful, until then. But what made it seem even more so was the engraving visible down its side.
Pax Aeterna.
He let Jonathan Charity’s blade fall into his hands, and the emotional significance of the gift nearly overwhelmed him. His father had used this blade to forge a rebellion, and now 301 would use the weapon to save it. “I should go,” he said, seeing that light had finally crept into the hallway outside the room. “If I am away too long, there might be questions when I return.”
Crenshaw nodded, “Good luck to you then, Specter Captain.” He held out his hand. “Send us a sign, and we’ll be ready. You have friends…don’t think you must face this alone.”
301 took his uncle’s hand in a firm grip, “Thank you. And thank you, also, for choosing her.”
-X-
Crenshaw waited in the now quiet reprogramming room as Eli’s footsteps faded down the hall. He braced himself against the doorframe, overcome with the emotion of the last several hours: learning that Grace had gone, likely to sacrifice herself; meeting his long-lost nephew and seeing his sister in his eyes; witnessing her execution all over again on that recording…
And then at the last, the gratitude for choosing Grace’s life over Eli’s.
But that was not what he had done. There was little hope for Grace, no matter what Eli did or whose blade he carried. But Eli could have come back with him and survived, perhaps eventually grown into a leader like unto his father.
That, however, was not the plan. Every single event played out over the last several months would soon come to a head, and if Eli was not in place within the World System it would all be for nothing. He had let him go back into harm’s way because that was where the plan needed him. Instead of embracing his nephew as he had always imagined he would do upon their reunion, he had gambled 301’s life against the future of the world.
Now everything rested in the hands of the assassin within Napoleon Alexander’s palace, whose blade would write the System’s final chapter in blood.
35
GRACE SAT ON THE cold concrete of her dungeon cell, tracing the lines of her tattoo and thinking of the night she had received it. So much fear and uncertainty, then, standing on the cusp of a fate she had not expected and one she hadn’t known if she could accept. But then she hadn’t expected to fall in love with the man to whom she lost her freedom, either. She hadn’t expected him to risk his life to give her back that freedom, and certainly hadn’t expected him to be the best friend she lost as a child.
Despite all that, here she was back in a cell owned by the World System. At least they let her keep her clothes this time, and being there by choice for a purpose she understood made all the difference. Still, that didn’t stop the fear. She knew what awaited her before the day was out: torture, humiliation…and death. She had woken suddenly several times throughout the night, each time escaping yet another horror at the hands of Napoleon Alexander.
It had not been a restful sleep.
The loud steel-upon-steel echo of the dungeon’s door brought her to her feet. Time was hard to judge in the bowels of Napoleon Alexander’s palace, yet still she thought it a little too early. Two shadows moved along the wall, boots drumming eerily along the dark corridor. She steeled herself to come face-to-face with the man she had feared since childhood, but sighed with relief when the two figures came into view. One she recognized as the guard outside the dungeon—only one, as she was currently the only occupant. The MWR did not keep his prisoners for long.
She recognized the other man as well, though seeing him again was a surprise.
“Morning, Admiral,” she said as they stopped in front of her cell. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”
McCall smiled grimly, “Your custodian, who technically still has claim of ownership to you, is AWOL, and so it falls to me to bring you before the MWR.”
Grace nodded, both disappointed and relieved. She had expected 301 to return for her, to attempt her rescue in some grand show of love and affection. But she had also feared such an event, as it would undoubtedly end in his death. If he had stuck with his plan to leave the World System, Crenshaw would find him eventually. She may never get the chance to see the fruits of her sacrifice, but she had to believe it would be worthwhile.
“You don’t seem surprised,” McCall said after a moment. “Or worried.”
She crossed her arms nonchalantly over her stomach, “Why should I be worried about the man who captured me, Admiral? His betrayal landed me back in your hands, so his fate is no concern of mine.”
Admiral McCall looked at her perceptively, and she saw something there in his eyes, something that made her feel…nervous. He knew more about her relationship with 301 than a man in his position should, evidenced in his clear comprehension of her lie. The old man turned to the soldier beside him, “Corporal, leave us. I can handle the prisoner from here.”
The corporal was reluctant, but he would not refuse an order from an Admiral, much less the overseer of Specter. He bowed his head and gave Grace a suspicious look before departing back down the corridor. McCall watched her in silence until the dungeon door slammed shut, leaving them alone.
“You can drop the farce now, Commander Sawyer,” McCall said. “There are few places left in the palace without surveillance, but this is—ironically—one of them. That was a brave thing you did on that platform yesterday, but you didn’t do it to buy a few more hours for yourself. You did it to save him. You are a fool if you believe he will leave you here to die. The only question is what the manner of his return will be.”
“You were once a lieutenant commander in Silent Thunder,” Grace said, feeling a sudden need to regain the upper hand. At McCall’s wide eyes some of her anxiety left her, “I know things, too, Admiral.”
“I have no doubt of that,” he said, not as off-balance as she might have liked. “Your father told you then, did he? Did he also tell you how that phase of my life ended?”
“He told me you were the best man under his command, a good soldier and a loyal friend. Of all those who left Silent Thunder during the Sundering, yours was the betrayal that hurt him the most. Why did you go?”
McCall frowned with genuine regret, “One side favored reconciliation…the other, revenge. You will never know the world we came from, Commander, a world of prosperity and promise that was taken from us by the greed of the Persian warlords. Silent Thunder was sent overseas to neutralize the threat of nuclear war, but when we returned it was to find our cities pillaged and destroyed, our families depleted or gone, and the futures for which we had fought completely swept away. We rooted out the Persians who remained in our country after their empire’s fall, but it was not enough. I lost my wife, my two sons, their wives, and five grandchildren when the Persians invaded. I did not want peace. I did not want reconciliation. I wanted blood, and that put your father and I on opposite sides.
“I never dreamed it would come to the violent battle waged at the Sundering nor the personal war that followed. If I had I might have chosen differently.”
“Yet here you are, still serving the monster you helped to create,” Grace said coldly.
McCall smiled, “You disappoint me, Commander. I thought you said you knew things. I had hoped it to be true, so that you could assure me the Specter Captain won’t be returning at the head of the Phantom Army.”
“Our officers are smarter than that, Admiral,” Grace said. “An infantry strike on the palace would be suicide even for a force ten times what we are.”
“True,” McCall said. “But some men would be willing to follow a Charity against the very gates of Hell.”
<
br /> Grace’s expression went slack and her face turned white. Flustered and unsure she had heard the admiral correctly, she shook her head, “I, uh…I don’t—”
McCall stepped up to the bars and broke in with a fervent whisper, “Relax, Commander. Despite what you may believe about me, I assure you that we are not enemies. I have known the Shadow Soldier’s secret for a long time…before you, before Crenshaw, in the days when the resistance was nothing more than a dream.”
“I don’t understand,” Grace said. “You are a System soldier…you trained Specter to fight us…”
“I have done what I must to be placed where I am,” he replied. “You were commander of Silent Thunder for three days. The rebellion has been back in the fight for three months. Your father was on board for two years, and Crenshaw four. But all of that, everything has been leading up to one day—this day—and I have been a part of that plan for the better part of a decade. Admiral James McCall is my mask, Commander Sawyer. You know the true man by another name.”
Grace’s fear and anxiety melted away, replaced by exhilaration and astonishment, “You’re him. You’re the Right Hand.”
McCall nodded, “I apologize that I could not make contact with you after your father’s death. He was a great man, and will be greatly missed. Truth be told, I did not expect you to hold Silent Thunder together long enough to complete the three-fold strike. For that you are to be commended.”
“But…how?” Grace asked, still trying to recover from her shock. “How can you have played both sides for so long?”
“When Jonathan destroyed the first Specter Spire there were only three of us left who had betrayed Silent Thunder,” McCall explained. “The Grand Admiral—Donalson’s predecessor—did not last the day, as he failed to bring proof of Elijah Charity’s demise. That left two of us. I was shipped off to an obscure assignment in Division Two, and for five years after Jonathan’s death I had ample time to realize how terrible was my betrayal. Napoleon Alexander’s order turned out to be the very authoritarianism that the Persians had sought to impose, though his policies reached further than even they intended to go. Information was limited, but I heard rumors from across the sea: viral warfare in Asia, genocide in Persia, the virtual obliteration of the populations of Russia and China when they refused to be assimilated into the World System…evils that no sane man could accept.
