by J. L. Lyon
“It would be a miracle if you did, Specter Captain,” the major said sadly. “Victoria was my wife. She died twenty years ago, near the beginning of the war.”
301’s heart dropped. If that was true then they had nothing.
“Are you one of the Elect, Major?” Derek asked suddenly.
The major looked at him strangely, as if just remembering he was in the room. Not surprising, given the disorienting effect of the mirrors. “I am a Christian, Specter, if that’s what you mean. We do not call ourselves the Elect in an official capacity. Alexander applied that term to us.”
“You are aware of the standard punishment for professing belief in this ancient ideology, aren’t you Major?” Derek went on. “While Undocumenteds get off easy with a lifetime of slavery or a bullet to the head, the Elect are not so lucky. Only an archaic punishment is worthy of such an archaic practice.”
“Death by burning,” the major said. “I am aware of the edict.”
“Yet you are not afraid,” Derek taunted. “For you believe that after all the pain and suffering, the fire will deliver you into a realm beyond what our human minds can imagine. A realm of peace, and justice, where your God reigns on high in perfection and puts an end to all wars and diseases and every little evil that humanity has borne since the dawn of time. Well I believe in something, too, Major. I believe your world of peace and justice can exist, but it can only be made here, where we are. We need no god to reign, for the order we have created here—that will be our god. The only world you will ever know is that which you see around you.” His voice rose and became more passionate, “You see, Major, there is no world waiting for you after death. In that moment you will meet the very same darkness we all will face when our time comes, and for what? A childish dream? Some ancient bedtime story? Why waste your talents, when you could use them in the service of the only god you will ever see: the World System? Do so, and you can delay the coming of that darkness, which for even a year would be more than worth the price! Give us the rebellion, and I swear to you we will let you live.”
301 stared at Derek with astonishment. His words were biting, cruel, and full of spite, as though the major’s belief was a person that had done him great harm. But the major was unfazed, “Have you ever crossed the plane of death, Specter?”
“Obviously not.”
“Then let me pose the obvious question: how do you know what is—or is not—on the other side?”
Just as he was about to step in and put an end to the odd tangent, Liz’s voice came in through his earphone again, “Captain…we found something.”
He turned his head away from the major and looked at the floor, trying to avoid the reflections as much as possible, “Talk to me.”
“We were right about the name,” she said. “Victoria was his wife.”
“Do you have a location?”
“She’s dead,” Liz said, confirming the rebel’s story. “But we didn’t find her through DNA matching—which I suppose we couldn’t, since they aren’t blood related. We got there indirectly, as we did get a match for one Elena Wilson, whose deceased mother’s name was—”
“Victoria.”
“I hate it when you do that, by the way.”
“Sorry.”
“DNA confirms that Elena Wilson is the rebel’s daughter,” Liz went on. “And get this: she’s documented, and has been for the last fifteen years. She’s twenty-five years old, has two children—twins, a boy and a girl—and lives in central Alexandria. I can order dispatches from the Great Army in that area to take them into custody.”
“Let’s hold off on that for now,” 301 said, looking back at the major’s concerned face. “But leave it on the table. Is there anything else?”
“Yes,” she replied. “This may be unrelated, but when I contacted intelligence a few minutes ago they told me a burst of unauthorized communications just went up all over Alexandria. They believe it is a communiqué for the rebellion, masked by several different messages in alternating frequencies to throw us off their trail. They’re still working on cracking the more complicated encryptions, but they have managed to break three phrases from the simplest line of code: ‘midnight,’ ‘Weapons Manufacturing,’ and ‘Phase One.’ Intelligence hasn’t forwarded this upline yet, as it believes this to be one of many misdirections planted to throw off any counterattack we might launch.”
“Those are not Intelligence’s decisions to make,” 301 said. “I will see to it that the hierarchy is informed. Again, good work, Liz.”
“Anytime.”
The Hall of Mirrors went silent for a moment, and the major stared expectantly at 301. Having heard the name Victoria mentioned, he no doubt hoped his story had been corroborated—which would lead to the end of that line of questioning.
At length 301 spoke, “So you told us the truth about Victoria, Major. She is dead.”
Relief washed over the rebel, though it proved short-lived.
“But you didn’t tell us about Elena Wilson,” 301 went on, watching with pity as a new horror rose in the major’s eyes. “I suspect Wilson is her husband’s name, so that still doesn’t tell us who you are, but DNA did tell us that Elena is your daughter. Strange, that an upstanding citizen of the World System would have an Undocumented traitor for a father. Now your actions have placed her and her two children in danger.”
The major’s eyes widened, but not with fear, “Children? Two children?”
“Yes. Twins.”
“Wow,” he said, completely in awe. “What are their names?”
301 paused for a moment, realizing the major hadn’t yet caught on to where this was going. “I don’t know their names. But I’ll be sure to ask when we bring them into custody.”
“You’re bringing them in? Why?”
“To coerce your cooperation, Major,” Derek said with indifference. “Where did you think this was going? A happy family reunion? You are an enemy of the state.”
“But you can’t!” he insisted. “Elena doesn’t even know I’m alive! I told her and her mother to accept the World System for their safety so they didn’t have to risk life in the Wilderness. If she learns I’m not dead…”
“She doesn’t have to,” 301 said. “Her children don’t have to. Not if you cooperate with us.”
The major’s face became hard as stone, “To do what you ask would mean the end of all I have fought for my entire life. All I have ever wanted is freedom for my family!”
“They’ll be dead if you don’t give us what we want,” Derek stepped forward to tower over the major, “You haven’t seen your daughter in years, Major. Does she believe the way you do? If so, perhaps you should watch as we burn her for treason. Her and her children!”
“No!” the major cried, horrified at the thought. “You leave them out of this!”
“But then, maybe she doesn’t believe as you do,” Derek continued. “Maybe she bought in to the ideals of the World System and cares nothing for your cause, your religion, or your God. We would kill her anyway if it meant punishing you, of course. But then where would that leave her according to you Christians? Not in that realm of peace and justice, no—but separated forever from you, her mother, and all the goodness your Heaven has to offer.”
Finally 301 understood the worth of Derek’s line of questioning. In using what the major cared about most in the world, Derek bypassed all the rebel’s defenses and dug straight into his core. How Derek knew so much about the Elect and their ways was beyond him, but it seemed to be working nonetheless. He could tell from the major’s uncertainty that he didn’t know what his daughter believed, and the thought of her death was more torturous to him than the prospect of being burned alive.
“If I tell you what you want to know,” the major said, defeat in his voice. “Will you let them be?”
“Yes,” 301 assured. “You have my word.”
The major took a deep breath, “Then know this, Specter Captain: the War of Dominion
is about to begin anew.”
“The War of Dominion is over,” Derek growled.
“Not over,” the rebel replied, looking at each of them in turn. “Just interrupted.”
“When?” 301 asked, heart pounding hard in his chest. “When will Silent Thunder strike?”
The major smiled, and 301 saw a flash of victory in his eyes—odd for a man giving up his friends to certain death.
“Tonight,” he said. “We attack at midnight.”
38
301 TRAVELED THE RED-CARPETED hallways of the Crown Section at a near-run, Derek Blaine close behind. But Derek’s steps were not as confident as the Specter Captain’s, and as they neared their destination he whispered with an urgency near the brink of panic, “Captain, are you sure you know what you’re doing? I’m not certain this is the best way—”
“I tried to contact them politely, Blaine,” 301 replied. “But the time for protocol is past. We don’t have the luxury of indulging their egos.” They reached the doors, and before 301 could think long enough to second-guess what he was about to do, he pushed them open and stepped into the Hall of Advisors.
The incredulous stares of the most powerful men in the System fell upon him. Grand Admiral Donalson stood with a hand on his sidearm and demanded, “What is the meaning of this?”
“Forgive me, Mighty World Ruler,” 301 said, and then acknowledged both the Premier and Admiral McCall, “But we have a situation.”
“You’d better have a good reason for interrupting this meeting, Specter Captain,” Alexander said bitingly.
Wonderful, 301 thought, He still hasn’t forgotten.
“The rebel major broke, sir,” he said, and took satisfaction from the grand admiral’s obvious shock. “The rebellion plans to hit the Weapons Manufacturing Facility in less than three hours.”
The effect of this announcement was immediate. All four men spoke at once, posing questions born out of outrage and surprise, until the MWR shouted above them all, “Are you sure of this, Captain?”
“Intelligence uncovered an encrypted communications blast suggesting the same,” 301 replied. “The major simply confirmed it.”
“Then our worst fears have come alive,” McCall said. “If they use Apollo Powder on the facility, there will be nothing left of it by morning.”
“That’s not all, sir,” 301 took a deep breath. “The major also claims that a force of Spectral-adepts not seen since Jonathan Charity’s death has gathered in Alexandria. Silent Thunder isn’t planning to wage a series of small-scale conflicts the way Justus took Rome. They are gearing up for a full-scale war, and this is only the first of multiple phases.”
“Then what comes next?” Donalson asked.
“I don’t know,” 301 shook his head. “The major insists that only Sawyer’s inner circle knows future targets.”
“Obviously he’s lying!” Donalson yelled.
“Maybe,” 301 conceded. “But we don’t have time to worry about that now. If we don’t act quickly, the Weapons Manufacturing Facility will lie in ruins within a few hours. If that happens Alexandria will have to import all its war materials from surrounding divisions. I don’t suppose I need to elaborate on how damaging that could be for us if the major’s claim about their numbers proves true?”
Grand Admiral Donalson finally sat back down, evidently having no more grounds on which to challenge the Specter Captain. He continued to stare him down, however, angry that 301 had been able to achieve what he could not with the rebel major.
“Blaine, you were with the Specter Captain during the interrogation?” Alexander asked. Derek nodded, prompting the MWR to continue, “Do you trust the major’s confession?”
“We made a very convincing case, sir,” Derek replied. “I believe he told us the truth.”
“Premier,” Alexander shifted his attention. “Based on your reports of rebel activity in the city, how many would you estimate this army to be composed of?”
“Impossible to say,” Sullivan replied. “Just three months ago we believed Silent Thunder to be dead. Now we hear of an army comparable to that of Jonathan Charity’s? Could be a hundred; could be a thousand.”
“A thousand Spectral-adepts?” McCall asked, completely taken aback. “Sir, my men cannot hope to hold such a force! The entire force of the Great Army on this continent would be hard-pressed to do so. We must summon more men!”
“Calm down, Admiral,” Alexander said harshly. “Silent Thunder most certainly does not possess that number. To those who have not gathered in large number for a great many years, a hundred is plenty to call an army—if the number is not even less.”
Sullivan raised a hand and said sternly, “We should not underestimate—”
“Please, Premier,” Alexander cut him off. “Silent Thunder has not constituted even a minimal threat since the demise of the Charitys. Surely you don’t believe that now, after they have lived as refugees starving in the darkest corners of the Wilderness for fifteen years, they can make a sudden comeback? They are flies, Premier…mere thorns we must pluck out and dispose of.”
“I hope you’re right, sir,” Sullivan said. “But might I suggest as a precaution moving two more divisions of the Great Army into the city to assist the Fourteenth? The Fifth and the Ninth are closest. If mobilized now the Ninth could actually be here by morning.”
“Three sections of the Great Army?” Alexander asked. “Are you out of your mind? Just send the whole of the Fourteenth Army to the Weapons Facility to bar their entry! That ought to scare them away. And if it makes you feel better, Specter can oversee the operation.”
“With respect, sir, I advise against that plan,” 301 interjected, making himself the target of Alexander’s cruel stare. “Given the amount of firepower the rebels possess, it would be unwise to provide them an opportunity to wipe out an entire division with one stroke.”
“I agree, sir,” Donalson said—to 301’s surprise. “Half the Fourteenth should be sufficient to hold the facility, with Specter’s help. I suggest the other half be stationed here at the palace in case this attack proves to be a diversion.”
“It would take an aerial assault of unprecedented strength and a five hundred thousand strong infantry to storm the palace gates,” McCall said. “The rebels are ambitious, but they are not fools. They wouldn’t chance something like that.”
“All the same,” Alexander said with a deep frown, “we know that must be their endgame, so it is a worthy precaution. However, calling on the Fifth and the Ninth to reinforce the city is not. Leave them in position. Grand Admiral, divide your forces as I have outlined. McCall, return with your men to the Spire and prepare the rest for battle. I want everything in place one hour before the scheduled time of Silent Thunder’s attack. If you can’t protect that facility, gentlemen, I swear to you that heads will roll—and no game of fate will save you this time.” The MWR rose from his chair, “Well, you have your orders. Keep me informed.” With that Napoleon Alexander left the Hall of Advisors, not even sparing 301 a glance as he passed. Grand Admiral Donalson followed closely on his master’s heels.
Sullivan cast a wary look at the two Specters—or perhaps only at Derek—then gave his attention to McCall, “I’m going to move the Ninth as close to the city as I can get them without defying the MWR’s order. It may not be enough if Silent Thunder proves more than a match for the Fourteenth Army, but it’s all I can give you.”
McCall nodded, “Thank you, Premier. Specter is ready to do its job.”
Sullivan sighed, “If the MWR continues to deny the severity of this situation I fear history may repeat itself.”
“I doubt that, sir,” the admiral said as he rose. “Something tells me that things will be far different this time around. I take my leave.” He walked toward the door, speaking as he did so, “Let’s go boys. I want Specter to be at the facility to position the Great Army long before the MWR’s deadline. And good grief, Captain,” he said as they made their wa
y to the elevator, “you look like you just came from battle.”
“I did, sir.”
“Well make sure to change into a clean uniform when we arrive,” he said. “You need to look your best tonight.”
“Why is that, sir?”
“Because I’m not going to be in command,” he turned as they waited for the elevator. “You are.”
-X-
Grace and Crenshaw made their way back into the center of Alexandria, cautiously navigating the deserted streets so as not to be seen. Security precautions demanded that they leave the command center via the underground and then walk back on the surface, which in the end amounted to one huge circle. Grace knew it was a necessary protocol to keep the command center secret, but unfortunately her legs and lungs didn’t quite get the message. She was in excellent shape, but keeping up with Crenshaw proved very challenging.
They wore black robes to blend into the darkness and the shadows of the buildings, which they hid within whenever possible. The moon proved a worthy enemy, lighting the spaces between those shadows enough to betray their presence to even the most casual observer. The palace’s Crown Section pillar began a slow rise over the buildings that surrounded them as they at last drew near their destination, and just when Grace didn’t think her legs could carry her any further Crenshaw sidestepped into a pitch-black alley. She followed, only to feel him standing still, waiting for something.
“What is it?” she asked in a breathless whisper.
“You need to rest,” he replied.
He’s the old man, and I need rest. “I’m fine, Crenshaw. Let’s just—”
“And we need to talk,” he said firmly. “I need to tell you what we’re doing, and why, before we get there.”
“I appreciate that,” she said, trying to force herself to breathe normally again. “But are you sure this is the best place?”
“I know I should have told you a long time ago,” he began. “But we got the DNA results back.”