The First

by A. Claire Everward

  The woman who was the Light was torn. The day before had changed it all, as what she had been destined to become finally came to be. She now felt her people, their connection with the Light alive within her, and she knew what she meant to them. But the harshness of the recent events was still fresh, and what she had just learned about the organization, about how these events came to be, left her deeply worried.

  “In the balance of things, am I more a danger to the Firsts than help?”

  Adam turned to look at her. Her uttering the thought only served to intensify what he felt from her.

  “They have lived for so long without the Light,” Aelia said, “led by the Keepers and the Protectors, and I know what I mean to them, but at least they were safe. Even the organization stayed away for so long and might have left them alone. You yourself would never have been taken, Adam, never raised by strangers, never targeted like you are now, your parents, my family, they might still have been here. Ahir, the loss of his son, the life he's had looking for you, how can that be worth it? And these past days, just a few days, and look what has already happened. Without me Benjamin would still be alive, that bombing wouldn't have happened, the Firsts would still be safe.” She counted them off, one by one. “And that's only the past,” she continued, her voice barely audible. “What about the future? You, all of you, your future?”

  She turned and her eyes met his. “Am I a danger to you?”

  Adam turned his gaze back to the lake. He thought about the life he might have had, the man he might have been. Always a Protector, never a killer. Adam, always Adam, and not Kyle, never Kyle.

  And no Aelia.

  His next thoughts he spoke out loud, his voice quiet, but clear. “Yes, you were the trigger. But I assure you, Aelia, that even if you hadn’t been born, at some point the organization would have decided that the Firsts are in their way, or, in the least, have an immediate potential of being a disruptive factor in their plans. And then it would be either getting rid of them or finding a way—and not a pleasant one—to control them. And then what?” His eyes were intent on hers. “Believe me, you have no idea what they're capable of doing, if—no, when—they decide it's time they take over, and come after the Firsts in the process. Look at what they already did. They had no qualms about kidnapping two young children of the Firsts, sending one into their version of hell in an attempt to destroy her and turning the other into a killer, then sending killers after both and trying to bomb a center of the Firsts—even though there was a place of worship for humans right on top of it.”

  “But you would have grown up here, among the Firsts. You would be here to help them.”

  “True. But there's another way to see this. With what I know about the organization, what we all know now, we have a better chance of protecting the Firsts. And the way I see it, having lived among humans, having been raised by the organization, and with what they've made me into, I'm guessing I'm exactly what I need to be in order to be the Protector of this Light, this First of the Firsts. Which I'm thinking will be just the right person to deal with everything that's happening as soon as she realizes she's the only one who can.”

  She shook her head, stood up, and walked to the edge of the water. “People got hurt. People died.”

  He followed her, turned her back toward him and held her eyes with his, his voice harsh. “I know you feel responsible, but you're not. You don't need to decide to take your place among the Firsts for people to die, Aelia. The organization will continue coming after you and after them, after us, no matter what you do. And you know what, you're forgetting that the organization isn't the only one out there. As it is these are different times. How much longer do you think the Firsts will succeed in remaining hidden? What happens when humans do discover them? At least as the Light among them you can help them fight back. With you they have a chance. You're giving them a real chance.”

  First of the Firsts. That's what Neora had said too. Aelia remembered Neora’s description of the first Light, how she had guided her people, led them, how her next forms did the same. She thought about the challenges of the Firsts in this era, so different than the past. Thought about the need to be more than just the Light within them, about being the one who guided them, protected them, in the reality of this world she knew only too well. “There's a huge leap between what I did yesterday and what they would need.”

  “There's a huge leap between the woman I had at my rifle's scope just days ago and the woman standing before me now,” he said evenly. “And you're forgetting, you've only just begun. What will the Light show you in the coming months, years? What will you become?”

  She was listening to him. Good. “Look, whichever way you look at it, you weren’t born into a peaceful reality in the first place. Maybe things are in fact getting worse for the Firsts faster than they would have otherwise, and yes, the organization is now in danger of actively coming after them. But frankly, with what I've seen these past days”—He chuckled incredulously—“and what I saw yesterday, I'm getting that what you are is actually impossible to even imagine. And that's probably the only variable that can tilt the equation in favor of the Firsts and against the organization. They’ll have no idea how to even begin dealing with you. And who knows, on the way you might even be able to help humans. You've lived among them, Aelia, you know that there are a lot of good people out there.”

  She gazed at the water, her eyes far away. The wind played gently with her hair, trying to get her attention, but she didn’t heed it. Eventually she smiled a little. “Apparently there is more than one way to protect me, Protector.” She turned to him. “Thank you, Adam.”

  He smiled.

  She took in a deep breath. “If I want to help the Firsts, there's a lot I need to learn.”

  “You will.”

  “And then there's dealing with the organization.”

  “I'll deal with them. It's my job to keep them away from you.”

  “No,” she said thoughtfully. “We do this together. I know you want to protect me, but ultimately it's up to the two of us to protect the Firsts, and we’ll both have to deal with those who are a threat to them.” She looked at him with resolve. “You didn't ask for it, and I didn’t ask for it. But we are it. And we do this together.”

  His wanting to protect her made him want to argue, but she was right. Whatever happens, it would hit her too, hurt her, either directly or through her people, to whom she was now connected. She would be a part of it, there would be no way around that.

  He let it go at that, knowing also that it would be easier to protect her if she didn't feel she had to hide what she was doing from him thinking he might try to stop her, be overprotective. He'd been a bodyguard before, for the organization. He knew what to do. And this wasn't a temporary mission like in the past, either. He was with her for life, and the First and the Protector, Aelia and Adam, would have to figure out how to do this together.

  Somehow, he wasn’t worried about that.

  Jennison got out of the car and walked to the entrance of the facility, leaving his driver to park. He had finally gone home after watching the media coverage of the bombing for hours, and the first thing he'd done when he got there was to turn on the television. Restless, he came back to the facility just a few hours later. At least here he could think more clearly.

  They had no clue, he was relieved to see. No clue at all. The media was his only way of getting information, because he didn't dare employ the organization's resources for that, not now. He'd already called some people at the Italy office, people who were loyal to him, or at least afraid enough of him to obey him and not the organization, and had them remove any sign of his involvement in the bombing, or of the fact that the bombers were part of the organization at all, so that the board would not discover that this botched act was a result of his decision. Once he had done that, he dared not contact the Italy office again, lest his interest arouse suspicion. He smiled bitterly. In the past, it was Kyle he would send to cover his tr
acks. Of course, most likely if Kyle had been here he would have talked him out of doing it. How ironic.

  He disregarded the greetings of the guards at the front desk and rode the elevator down to the first underground level. Mercifully, at this hour this level was nearly empty. He walked directly to his office, and, sitting behind his desk, turned on the television screen on the opposite wall. He switched channels. The bombing was already being replaced by other, newer stories. Soon enough the entire event would be forgotten.

  He muted the volume of the television and threw the remote on the desk. First Kyle turns, then the woman gets away—with Kyle, then Semner's body turns up as a delivery to Jennison himself at the airport—that's two of the organization's best men, and now the failed bombing, which, frankly, was lucky for him that it failed. If it had succeeded, if the cathedral had been destroyed, if clergy or tourists had been killed, if the Firsts had been exposed to the world, or perhaps worse, if his actions would have brought them to retaliate against the organization . . . Which they still might, he realized. He had no idea how the Firsts would react but had little doubt they would trace the bombing back to him, considering his—and the organization's—past actions. And worse, they now had Kyle and his knowledge. Yes, too many ifs, too many mistakes. He knew he had no more leeway with the board, not at all if they found out that he was responsible for the bombing, that he had involved the organization in such a reckless act, endangering it on so many levels.

  Right. Okay, what was done was done. It was up to him to fix this, up to him to succeed in such a way that would convince the board to keep him around despite his recent failures. He just needed to do something that would impress them. Yes, something . . . No, not against them, not against those blasted Firsts. It wouldn't solve anything, and would only antagonize them more. No, he needed something more effective, he needed to take away the very foundation of their strength, hit the one thing that would make any plans they might have to retaliate against the organization crumble before they even took form. Well, two things, really.

  He sat back and thought, an idea forming in his mind. After a while, he got up and walked briskly through the corridors to the elevator, and rode it down to the indoors training range.

  He couldn't get to Kyle and the woman. But he could make them come to him.

  Chapter Twenty

  The elderly man closed his office door, ready to end the day. He thought about the next day's lecture. He loved days when he lectured, loved seeing the eager faces of his students, loved their questions. His work at the Center for Human Behavior was his main activity, and he appreciated its importance. But he loved teaching. He put the key in his pocket and turned away from the door, taking his briefcase in one hand and his coat in the other. At sixty-five, nights like this were already too cold for his taste.

  He walked through the corridor, his normally light gait heavy today, his head hanging. It would all be perfect except for Aelia. He was terribly worried, terrified for her since that news broadcast that talked about the murder in her building, the body they had found, the woman who was missing and who was thought to have been kidnapped by the unknown murderer. The police hadn’t released her name at first, saying this was for her safety and necessary to avoid impeding the investigation, but he had tried again and again to call her and her cellphone was turned off. He even tried to go to her apartment but found it was cordoned off, and no one would tell him anything.

  Finally her neighbors and the building's doorman spoke to the media, and soon the terrible news had been confirmed for him, that it was his Aelia. He had immediately contacted the police, told them about her, about his protégée, and this seemed to convince them that she was indeed innocent in all this. But it did not help find her. He answered all their questions, told them all he could, but could not offer any more information. They had kindly tried to reassure him that they were doing all they could to find her, that her kidnapper was probably keeping her alive, otherwise he would have killed her right there, in her apartment. But he was not to be consoled. He was worried, and this was taking a toll on him. His wife, Sarah, was equally distressed, both about Aelia, who had a long ago become a part of their family, and about him, and had asked him to remain at home, wait for news there, but he refused. He needed to keep busy.

  He walked down the wide, circular staircase of the center down to the lobby, greeted the night watchmen and exited the building through the doors that automatically opened before him. He stood for a long moment in the chilly night air, breathed in deeply, and turned his face up to the cloudy sky. He uttered a prayer, “Please, please let her be safe.” Then he sighed and walked slowly to his car, which was parked a short distance from the entrance. He opened the car door and was about to get in but froze when he felt the gun at the back of his head.

  In the Firsts’ Rome center under the cathedral, Denole frowned. For the first time ever, a message was coming in to the standalone system that held the data transmission component the organization had established a link to. The organization would be well aware that this act would betray their attempts to spy on the Firsts, and yet they had chosen to do it.

  It was a message that startled Denole into immediately calling Rolly.

  “Aelia?”

  “It's Stan. Professor Stanley Shell.”

  They were in one of the rooms along the corridor immediately outside Aeterna's control center. The message Rolly had played for Aelia, Adam and Ahir had ended, and only the photo of the organization's prisoner remained on the screen. The elderly man was sitting at a table, looking dazed. He had a glass of water before him, and no one seemed to be in the room with him. He didn’t seem to be hurt, except for the obvious fear this trauma must have been causing him, but the message was clear. The man would be disposed of unless Aelia and Kyle came alone and gave themselves up to Jennison at an address that, Aelia recognized, was in one of the new neighborhoods at the edge of the city she and Adam had recently escaped.

  “Yes, I know,” Adam said.

  She threw him a questioning look, and he explained, “The information I got from the organization about you, my target, listed him as your mentor at the university and your boss at the center.”

  “The Center for Human Behavior,” Aelia said absentmindedly. It seemed so far away now, a part of the different life of a different person. She shook her head in disbelief. Now that was an understatement.

  She turned her attention back to the image before her. Jennison had Stan. The anger came out of nowhere, and she made a conscious effort to control it. She knew that she would not radiate this feeling to those around her, or to any of the Firsts, other than the Protector. The part of her that held her personal feelings was isolated, kept safely away. Her predecessors, knowing they sometimes had to mask their own emotions and concerns as they led their people, had, over the centuries, learned to do so, and the warning that she should do the same, together with the ability to do it, had already been passed to her through their memories within her. Still, she couldn't afford to have anger mar her judgment right now, and so she forced herself to suppress it.

  “He matters,” Adam stated, intending this to be a question but at the same time wanting her to know that he knew he did.

  “I thought you received information . . . ?”

  “Not that much. There was no time, no need.”

  She nodded and said nothing, her eyes on the man on the screen. When she finally spoke, her voice was quiet. “We go back a long way. I couldn't get into college, the competition was high, and I only had a GED, I didn’t finish high school because I worked. So I went there and found a way into the Dean of Students' office, and that was Stan. His secretary tried to kick me out, but he listened. Next thing I knew I was in with a full scholarship.” She was quiet for a moment. “And it wasn't easy, I was an outsider and there were times when . . .” She trailed off, remembering. “He kept an eye on me all the way. The first person who ever helped me. Talked me into continuing to graduate school, gave me a job
, he and his wife are the closest thing I had to a . . .”

  “Family.” Ahir completed her thought, understanding.

  Aelia didn’t answer. Then she turned to Adam. “Maybe Jennison didn't tell you, but he obviously knows Stan is a friend. Otherwise he wouldn't have taken him.” Her gaze now included all of them, Adam, Ahir and Rolly. “He helped me in more ways than I can ever convey. And he's innocent. I want him safe.” Her voice, though low, made clear the finality of the request.

  Rolly shook his head. “Ma’am, we cannot put you in danger—”

  Adam interjected in a tone that did not allow argument. “The First and I will go to meet Jennison,” he said, intentionally using, for the first time, Aelia's formal title, and placing a hierarchy on the conversation.

  “Rolly, we'll take one of Aeterna's defense units.” He brought up on a holoscreen a map of the city and zoomed in on the meeting place. Satellite images followed immediately. “That’s the place. Jennison claims he’ll be alone, let's assume he's not. If he’s once again acting on his own, and I'm betting he is, he'll only use people from the facility. Their actions he can hide more easily.” His eyes were sharp and focused. “In this type of place, he'll be taking a sniper, but that sniper will be trained on the main targets only, that’s Aelia and me.” To Rolly's question how he could be sure, he answered, “Because I prepared quite a few such missions for him.”

  He continued. “He'll have people ready to attack us and will be expecting us not to come alone, which means he'll want to bring more operatives than he needs. But he can't pull people from missions without questions being asked, and there are only a few, if any, operatives of my level there at any given time. So most of those he'll take are the organization's trainee operatives currently on site at the facility. No more than a dozen or so. Even that is enough to raise questions but he can find a way to get away with that. Still, don't be mistaken, these aren't rookies. Trainee operatives start at military level.” He contemplated the image before him. “Place our people here, here and here,” he indicated on the screen.