Shadow Soldier (The Shadow Saga)

by J. L. Lyon

  “It’s been almost four years,” Crenshaw said. “Our first contact was much the same. He laid out his plan and proved his allegiance. Then he gave me my first mission: to recruit the benefactors. The network had to be in place before he brought Silent Thunder back to the city.”

  Jacob nodded, “Have you seen his face? Do you know who he is?”

  “No,” Crenshaw replied. “He has always been very guarded in that respect.”

  The commander sighed and ran a hand through his thick dark hair, “So what is it about this recruit, Crenshaw? What’s so special about him?”

  “You saw his psych profile in the report—no familial ties, which means no binding loyalties to the World System. His skills in combat and leadership are exemplary, not to mention his extraordinary intelligence scores. I was able to gain access to his OPE…he scored higher in all areas than any living member of the ruling class. In fact, I suspect that if Alexander keeled over today without naming a successor, the Systemics equation in the central computer would select 301-14-A as the next MWR.”

  “There’s no way you could possibly know that,” Jacob replied. “That equation is based on hundreds of variables—thousands, maybe. And considering Napoleon Alexander appears to be in perfect health I don’t see how that would help us anyway.”

  “I merely wanted to remind you why we wished to recruit him in the first place,” Crenshaw went on. “But his elevation into Specter has increased his recruitment value exponentially. Based on what Grace has told me I believe he can be turned, thus providing us with an agent in the hierarchy. He could give us access to the inner circle, or even—when the time is right—entry to the palace grounds.”

  Jacob went silent for a moment, mulling over the general’s logic, “How do you know he won’t betray us and turn triple agent for the World System?”

  Crenshaw could tell Jacob was caving. The prospect of access to the palace was too promising for him to pass up. “That’s why I need Grace. So far as I can tell, she had quite an effect on him. She is perhaps the one person in this world he truly cares about, and we can use that to gain his loyalty.”

  Jacob sighed, “From the way she spoke of him I got the impression he had quite an effect on her as well. She tried to hide it, of course, but she just made it that much more obvious. I wonder how wise it is to expose her to that kind of vulnerability, Crenshaw. Love is a wonderful thing, but it can also be dangerous. The last thing I want is for my daughter to be blinded by her affection for this man. I can’t lose her again.”

  “Well, you know her better than I,” Crenshaw conceded. “But she seems to be a very strong and capable young woman. I would never ask her to do this if I didn’t think she could handle it.”

  “Strong and capable, yes…and very stubborn,” he shook his head. “Meaning that she will end up assisting you whether I allow it or not.”

  “Wonder where she gets that?” Crenshaw smiled.

  Jacob allowed himself a brief grin, but then his expression turned stern, “I don’t like this, Crenshaw, not one bit. Too many things could go wrong, and I’m not comfortable with you putting Grace in the middle of it. But if you really are the head of the resistance’s intelligence cell, everything we have accomplished is in large part because of you. For that you have my respect, and my willingness to set aside our differences. You have earned a measure of trust, and if you see value in this soldier’s skills and Grace sees worth in his soul, I suppose it is not my place to hinder you from doing what you believe is right.”

  “Thank you,” Crenshaw said.

  “However,” Jacob went on. “I wish to be told of your progress on this mission as often as possible. I want to know every detail, from how close you are to success to how Grace’s involvement in the affair is affecting her emotions. No surprises, Crenshaw, do you understand?”

  “Yes. I understand.”

  “Then understand one thing more,” Jacob leaned forward in his chair. “Grace means more to me than anything else in this world. I am deeply grateful and indebted to you for returning her to me. But I warn you, if any harm comes to her on this mission of yours, what little remains of our friendship will be lost forever.”

  Crenshaw did not speak, but he nodded to show he got the message.

  “Then we are agreed,” Jacob rose from the chair, his sternness falling away as he did so. He stuck out a hand, “Welcome back to Silent Thunder, old friend. It has been lonely without you.”

  Crenshaw shook the commander’s hand and smiled, “I wasn’t about to let you take down Napoleon Alexander without me. After all, I have a score to settle.”

  “Then let’s see who can settle with him first,” Jacob said with a grin. “You…or me.”

  33

  THE FINAL WEEKS OF SPECTER training proved to be more grueling than 301 could have imagined. The learning curve during the first six weeks had been high, but the final six weeks focused more on the practical application of those basic concepts: advanced Spectral combat, espionage, and advanced warfare and weapons training that only admirals and generals were required to undergo. McCall wanted any member of the unit to have enough confidence to take over movements of a vast warfleet, and then fly ashore to take command of troops the next minute. He ran them through the gauntlet, pushing each of them near the boundaries of their limitations—meaning that 301 received the absolute worst of it.

  Matters were made more difficult by the fact that he could no longer look forward to spending his evenings with Grace. She had always provided him a temporary escape from the rigors of training, but life as a Specter was now all he had.

  Liz did not hold his rejection against him, much to his relief. She visited his room many nights after training had ended for the day. Their time together never went beyond casual conversation, though it was not from lack of her trying. More than once 301 grew suspicious of some deeper plot, as her advances seemed driven by desperation. Normally he would have welcomed her forwardness, but it only served to remind him of what he could not have. The emptiness Grace had left behind continued to grow, and he felt powerless to stop it.

  The dreams continued, but despite their increased intensity he couldn’t seem to get any closer to interpreting their meaning. He had grown so accustomed to waking in a cold sweat that he forgot what it was like to sleep through the night.

  His situation worsened when word of Grace’s identity and escape spread among the Specter trainees, an event 301 suspected Derek Blaine had engineered. The information’s effect varied from person to person, as some thought he flirted with treason and others merely believed him incompetent. 301 wasn’t sure which of the two he preferred. In any case, his respectability in the eyes of his subordinates was severely diminished. Only their fear of his skills and Admiral McCall’s word spared him from an outright challenge. A select few, including Aurora, still supported him, but he knew it might take a while for the rest to trust him again.

  For Blaine’s part, he didn’t so much as mention the incident in 301’s presence. Their partnership continued on much as it had before, though their animosity was veiled whenever a mission required them to work together. There were even times when their enmity seemed to fall away, replaced by something resembling friendship. But there would always come that moment when Blaine remembered their differences and shut down that camaraderie. It was a terrible shame, for despite the vast differences in their upbringings they were more alike than either cared to admit.

  Frustration surrounded the pursuit of their primary goals. The vague mandate to identify and neutralize the benefactor network had turned into the slightly less vague goals to discover the other nobles in attendance at the Zero Event and to seek out any and all intelligence related to the Right Hand. Dead ends met them on both accounts, leading 301 to wonder if Collins had deliberately fed him misinformation. The protections afforded to the nobles prevented the two Specters from questioning anyone on their whereabouts, and despite the risk Alexander upheld those protections
. In doing so the MWR prevented Specter from exposing the traitors for what they really were, eventually bringing their investigation to a full stop. The politics of the World System unnerved 301 to no end.

  He did his best those final weeks to avoid the Crown Section, not eager to be caught alone with either Sullivan or Alexander. Luckily neither tried to approach him, though he knew the day quickly drew near when he would have to face both the debt he owed to the Premier and the anger he deserved from the MWR. Secretly he hoped to be forgotten by them.

  Toward the end of training, McCall informed them that the Specter Spire, where they would all reside once the force became operational, was nearing completion. The “incident,” as the Solithium Crippler explosion was now called, had slowed down construction slightly, but the Spire would still be ready on schedule. In that same meeting, McCall asked them to choose the specs for their brand new Spectral Gladii. Despite having had months to think it over, 301 still could not decide on a name for his blade. The others chose a variety of different words in ancient languages, names of family members or people they respected, or even generic battle words like Conqueror or Destroyer. But 301 wanted something different…something that people would remember once they heard it. After all, a warrior’s blade was supposed to be just as legendary as the warrior himself.

  At long last the final day of training dawned. No rigorous tests or trials awaited them, for it was to be a day of celebration. The Premier took to calling it the Coronation—the official elevation of all Specters to permanent royal status and the end of their transition period. Many of the generals, admirals, and Ruling Council members present at the celebration three months before were again in attendance. Even the grand admiral returned for the ceremony, having only recently concluded matters concerning the rebellion in Rome. 301 had heard rumors of the grand admiral’s brutality in the city…stories that made him cringe with disgust and pity.

  Due to the apparent complicity of Roman society with Charles Justus and his rebel movement, Napoleon Alexander ordered Rome’s downgrade from a class four city to a class two, which in layman’s terms meant the summary destruction of almost half the city’s population and resources. Reports had been coming in that several million people had been executed without regard for age or gender, a number that did not include those who had already perished in the rebellion. The System’s official record stated that Rome had been “pacified,” but in truth the entire region was destabilized. People all around the world were calling it the rape of Rome. It was the kind of business most officers would shrink from, but Grand Admiral Donalson carried it out with absolute relish.

  There were whispers that if Specter could not stop Silent Thunder, the same tactics might be employed in Alexandria. Seeing Donalson’s smug face in the opening ceremony that morning, 301 had no doubt that the grand admiral would gladly carry out such a purge. Evil itself seemed to stir behind the man’s eyes, blatant and cruel.

  So the pressure was on to destroy Silent Thunder before Donalson got his leave to smoke them out, when he would undoubtedly destroy half the city 301 knew as home in the process.

  The coronation passed like a dream, and he shook the hands of more generals than he knew existed. Nearly every armed forces commander in the Western Hemisphere had turned out for the event, all desiring to meet the famed Specter Captain most out of the new inductees. They regaled him like a king, speaking with a deference that should perhaps have been reserved only for the MWR. 301 couldn’t help but wonder what rumors they had heard about him.

  Sullivan watched him from some distance away, ever an annoyance on the edge of his vision. The Premier’s hawkish eyes looked upon the generals’ acceptance of the Specter Captain with intense disdain, jealousy, and perhaps even worry. He spoke often to Liz, but never directly to 301—though there were times when 301 would bet his life the conversations were about him.

  The most enjoyable part of the day by far was the Spectral Gladius presentation. It took place during the waning hours of the evening, meant to be the last official event of the Coronation before a night of unimpeded celebration. The ten champions stood in a single line before the newly completed Specter Spire, which gleamed like a spike of pearl on the palace courtyard’s northern border. They faced those seated to observe the ceremony with their backs to the Spire as McCall stepped forward, accompanied by two elegantly dressed palace aides. Both women held five wooden boxes.

  McCall stepped into the center of the line between 301 and Derek Blaine and proceeded to give his speech to the crowd. It was bombastic and tiresome in the admiral’s standard fashion, but 301 barely listened. His eyes were fixed on the boxes that each aide held, knowing what lay within.

  The admiral concluded his speech to a response of tremendous applause, and directed the aides to begin. As each box was laid on the ground before its new owner, McCall announced the Specter’s name and the name they had chosen for their Gladius. For the moment, however, each Specter’s back stayed rigid and the boxes remained closed.

  He found many of the final names his compatriots chose very interesting, though he had known a few already. Liz volunteered hers to him the very night that specs were given. She named her Gladius Ignis, which in Latin meant fire. He couldn’t see her weapon yet, but knew it would have an outer casing of solid ruby.

  Derek Blaine was announced second-to-last, right before him, along with the name of his Gladius: Exusia.

  The palace aide came and stood before 301 with the final box, and grinned at him as she set it down on the grass.

  “And lastly,” McCall announced. “I give you Specter Captain 301-14-A, wielder of the Gladius Calumnior.”

  Calumnior: a Latin verb that meant to falsely accuse. Grace had infected him with doubt during their time together—doubt that he was on the right side, that he was capable of love or feeling, and that he even deserved to be in her presence at all. In the last weeks of training he finally chose to rid himself of that doubt and all the accusations it leveled at his soul. Grace had tried to change him, to manipulate him. He chose that name so he would never forget what his enemy really was: a deceiver, a manipulator, and an accuser.

  Those in attendance applauded and the aides returned to the crowd, leaving only McCall and the ten champions in the spotlight. The admiral stepped out from the line and drew Amicus, his own Gladius, and turned to face them with his back to the crowd. “Specters!” he yelled as though ordering them into battle, “Retrieve your weapons!”

  As they had rehearsed, the Specters knelt in unison and opened the lids of the wooden cubes. 301 reached in and pulled Calumnior from the red velvet in which it lay, feeling the coolness of its black onyx stone as he gripped it in his right hand. Out of the corner of his eye he caught a flash of green in Derek’s hand, but whether Exusia was encased in emerald or green tourmaline, he couldn’t tell.

  A sharp metal grating sounded as McCall activated his Gladius, and then he held the flat of the blade parallel to his face, “Salute!”

  301 held his Gladius out in front of him and slid his thumb over and upward on the activation pad. The hilt vibrated only slightly as the weapon magnetized, the metal shards assembling themselves into a perfectly formed blade. The white light of diamond armor spread across the surface of the metal and gave the Gladius a distinct glow in the waning light.

  While still kneeling, he extended the tip of the blade toward the crowd and let the point hover just above the grass, head bowed in the Specter salute. One quick glance told him that the nine others were doing the same.

  “Rise!” McCall said. “Rise, defenders of the World System! Display your glory!”

  The Specters stood as one and lifted their blades high over their heads in a victorious display, mimicking the Spire that rose behind them. The applause grew as three Halo-4s shot overhead, trailing navy blue smoke against the orange sky.

  301 looked upon the crowd and smiled. This day testified more than any before it how powerful he had become. Yet the g
reatest longing of his heart in that moment was to see Grace’s face staring back at him proudly from the crowd.

  Both anger and shame overwhelmed him. For he knew she would not be there, and that even if she had—she would not be proud.

  34

  TWO DAYS LATER, after the last of the Coronation guests finally returned to their posts, Premier Sullivan knew the time had come to set events in motion. The Specter Captain would soon be held firmly within his grasp, thanks in large part to the exemplary efforts of Elizabeth Aurora. He had to admit he’d had doubts about her in the beginning—doubts that he had not shared with the other members of the Ruling Council—but she had come through. She had provided him the key to Specter.

  The Coronation had lulled the System into a false sense of security. They believed a rebel uprising to be imminent, but had utmost confidence in Specter’s ability to contain it. And even if it did come to war, they in their arrogance already imagined a victorious outcome.

  But war, when it came, would not be from the source they expected. In reality the Great Army was wholly unprepared for the coming conflict. Their perfect world would be shattered when they realized the true threat, but by then it would be far too late.

  The Premier gathered all of the reports scattered across the table in the Hall of Advisors and arranged them back into an organized stack. He handed the papers to Colonel Orion, “Take these back to my quarters and lock them in the vault. I have a call to make.”

  Orion gave a slight bow of his head as he took the documents and left. Sullivan rose and walked to the other side of the table, where he spoke to the nearest viewscreen, “Open dual channel.”