by J. L. Lyon
Such an operation had to have been planned well in advance, and likely involved inside help to obtain knowledge not only of lockdown procedures, but of the nature of the Fusiosphere as well. But where Napoleon Alexander was concerned, none of that mattered. All he could see in his blind rage was a destroyed facility and a rebel victory.
301 was about to change that.
No longer untried in traveling by palace escort, 301 walked in their very center while Derek Blaine trailed a few steps behind. He felt no fear or anxiety as they approached Napoleon Alexander’s golden doors, not even when he saw Sullivan and the admiral waiting patiently outside. Sullivan looked at 301 with pity, obviously believing all was lost.
The guards pushed open the doors and stepped back to allow the four others to enter, but did not follow them into the chamber.
Napoleon Alexander stood as they came into the room, his face the full picture of rage that 301 had imagined. His voice burned with cruel sarcasm as the doors shut behind them, “Welcome, Specter Captain. Specter Blaine, Admiral McCall, I did not expect you. To what do I owe the honor?”
Sullivan and McCall positioned themselves on opposite sides of the room, while Derek and 301 stepped forward and stood at attention before Alexander’s desk. 301 spoke, “We have come to give you our report, sir.”
“Your report?” Alexander asked. “My Weapons Manufacturing Facility lies in ruins, Specter Captain, and you are responsible! Tell me, what did Sawyer’s daughter promise you in exchange for your help? Money? Glory? Services already tendered?”
“My slave gave me nothing,” 301 replied bitterly. “Except dissatisfaction in the wake of her betrayal and escape.”
“So how do you explain your recommendation to move forces to the Weapons Facility?” Alexander asked. “A move that, it appears, was precisely what Silent Thunder wanted?”
“I told you, sir,” 301 said. “I got that information from the rebel major we captured earlier today, and intelligence pulled the same data from the communications blasts.”
“It was foolish of you to believe the major had broken,” Alexander said. “He fed us exactly what they needed us to know, and ensured we would take the rebellion’s bait. That’s on you, Specter Captain.”
“Mighty World Ruler, sir, if I may—”
“No, Blaine, you may not!” Alexander went on. “This disaster has the potential to greatly weaken our ability to resist Silent Thunder in this city. We will have to begin importing ammunition, weapons, and every other kind of technology, not to mention the years of research that can never be restored.”
“Actually, sir, Doctor Samuel Ryder, the head research scientist in R&D, preserved all the research.” Derek said.
“Well what a thing to celebrate!” the tirade continued. “What will we build the new designs with? Grass and mud? Because that’s all you, the supposed elite of the World System, left at the facility you were ordered to protect!”
“Sir—”
“And I’ll not hear one word from you either, Admiral. It was your job to train Specter into an effective unit. As far as I’m concerned, you’re lucky the Specter Captain’s head will be the one to roll for this and not yours as well!”
“But Mighty World Ruler, if you would just—”
“Silent Thunder won a great victory today, gentlemen,” Alexander interrupted Derek again. “And the only way to undo the damage is to produce someone to blame. You have strengthened Silent Thunder by your actions, Specter Captain, and I consider this treason.”
“Your Weapons Manufacturing Facility may lie in ruins, Mighty World Ruler,” 301 said. “But Jacob Sawyer lies beneath it.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Jacob Sawyer is dead.”
The rage in Alexander’s eyes evaporated, replaced instead by disbelief—but in between, there was something else…something that chilled 301 more than rage ever could: amusement. As if this entire tirade—the anger, the shouting, the threats of death—was a simple game. It only lasted for a moment, a split second of surprise that brought down Alexander’s shroud, but it was enough. What was the man playing at?
Premier Sullivan’s mouth dropped open in surprise. “Sawyer…dead? Do you have proof of this?”
301 reached into his pocket and pulled out the Gladius. He stepped forward and set the object on the MWR’s desk, where its yellow tourmaline casing glittered in the overhead lights. Alexander looked down and sighed, then reached out to take the Gladius like a man greeting an old friend, “Glorificus. It has been some time since this blade and I crossed ways. You fought him?”
“We both did,” 301 replied. “He was a master of the blade, sir. I’ve never seen anything like it.”
“Yes, well,” a bit of pride crept into his voice. “One of the Four, you know.” The MWR’s eyes glazed over as though thinking of some very old memory, but then he shook himself back to reality, “Who dealt the final blow?”
301 opened his mouth to speak, but Derek beat him to it, “We fought him together, but it was the Specter Captain who finally subdued and dispatched him. Afterward the other rebels escaped, and I went after them. The captain stayed behind to get the location of the bomb from Sawyer.”
“Which he didn’t give you.”
“No,” 301 shook his head, barely able to conceal his shock. Derek had lied to give him credit for Sawyer’s demise. Why? “But it would not have mattered. The bomb was already armed before Sawyer was killed.”
“This is incredible news, sir,” Sullivan said. “There is most certainly no one left alive who could succeed Sawyer as the head of Silent Thunder. With his death the organization will crumble.”
“If only we could be so lucky,” Alexander frowned. “What did Sawyer tell you, Specter Captain? Did he say anything, before he died?”
301 hesitated, remembering the rebel leader’s final moments. We looked everywhere, but couldn’t find a trace…today I pay back my debt to an old friend…a price well paid, if anything of your father still lives within you. Sawyer’s words echoed in his mind, a painful reminder of how close he had come to learning about his origins. But that chance had been snatched away, save one final clue.
“Well?” Alexander asked.
“Sawyer’s last words were ‘Pax Aeterna.’”
Napoleon Alexander blinked, and the color drained from his face. “Pax Aeterna. You’re sure that’s what he said?”
“Yes, sir,” 301 replied. “What does it mean?”
The room remained silent for a few moments, during which he noticed expressions of deep nostalgia and unease on the faces of the MWR, Sullivan, and even Admiral McCall. They all knew the significance of the words—of that he was certain.
“Pax aeterna is a Latin phrase meaning eternal peace,” Alexander said at long last, though 301 could tell from the strain in his voice that he wasn’t telling the full truth. “As one of the Elect, Sawyer no doubt believed he was about to enter into that eternal peace when he spoke those words.”
301 nodded, “I see.”
“In any case, Captain,” Alexander set Glorificus on his desk and sank calmly in his chair. “It seems I must retract my earlier threats against you. We may have lost the Weapons Manufacturing Facility, but the Premier is right: tonight we have struck a major blow against Silent Thunder from which they will likely be unable to recover. History has shown that in the absence of a leader the rebellion tends to fragment, and there is no one powerful enough to unite them now that Sawyer is dead. For that, the World System is in your debt…I am in your debt. Though I had my suspicions about your allegiances after the incident with your slave, it is clear to me that you would not have dealt a killing blow to Sawyer if you were in league with his organization. I therefore affirm that you have regained my full trust and support, and seal this promise, as before, with a gift.” He took Glorificus in hand and held it out to 301. “A trophy to commemorate your great victory, so that no one will ever doubt your loyalty again.”
301 reached out and took the Gladius from the MWR, “Thank you, sir. For the promise, as well as the gift. I will never give you reason to doubt me again.”
“I suspect you will not,” Alexander smiled. “Which is why I am putting you personally in charge of hunting down the remnants of the rebellion and putting this conflict to rest. Once you have recuperated from the day’s myriad events, continue your quest to rid us of Silent Thunder as though nothing has changed. A few more intelligent moves, and they will pass into the pages of history—this time for good.”
“Yes, Mighty World Ruler.” 301 wanted to ask more about Pax Aeterna, but knew he shouldn’t push his luck. There were other ways to investigate, now that he had an idea where to look.
“If there is nothing else, that will be all.” Alexander said. “It has been a trying day for all of us, and I know I for one could do with a bit of sleep. Dismissed.”
The four of them left the MWR’s office, each wearing a very different expression. Derek Blaine alone seemed satisfied by the proceeding, though 301 couldn’t quite figure out why. He had just given up the chance to claim every bit of the glory he desired, but he didn’t seem disappointed in the least to have passed it by. 301 felt conflicted, relieved to have been restored to Alexander’s inner circle but regretful it came by such a lie. There was a part of him that wanted to go back in there and set the record straight.
McCall was quiet and perturbed, eyes on the floor and lips thin as he retreated deep into his own mind. 301 detected a hint of sad nostalgia from the old admiral, and wondered if that was enough to confirm Sawyer’s claim, I trained McCall! Perhaps he mourned a teacher and a mentor…or even an old friend.
Sullivan proved more difficult to read. Both times 301 stole a glance at him, the Premier stared at him with an odd fascination, as though only seeing him for the first time. The constant, probing stare made 301 uncomfortable, and so he was glad when they reached the end of the hall. Sullivan would be going back down, while the Specters and the admiral would be going up to the landing pad.
“Farewell, Specters…Admiral,” Sullivan said as they waited for the elevators. “Again, job well done.” The Premier’s elevator arrived first, and he stepped inside.
As the doors closed and shielded him from sight, the Premier pulled out his earphone and put it in. He dialed a number using the watch on his wrist, and spoke, “Colonel Orion. I’ve just come across some information that might prove useful in your search. I believe I know the source of the discrepancy in the Shadow Soldier’s file.”
43
GRACE STAYED UP LATE into the night awaiting the strike team’s return, her mind still reeling from what she and Crenshaw had seen at the Capital Orphanage. It was painful to watch and brought her to tears just thinking about it, but it was also exactly what they were looking for. During the long trek back to the command center and after much argument, Grace finally convinced Crenshaw that the time had come to let her father in on their plan. In light of what they found, he couldn’t be kept in the dark any longer. But upon their return Crenshaw had gone to bed, leaving it to Grace to tell her father the truth on her own terms.
She jumped out of her chair at the sound of the hatch opening in the other room, but didn’t rush to meet them. The last thing she needed was a group of suspicious ears listening in on what she had to reveal. She went over the exact way she planned to tell her father the truth one more time, and set her eyes on the doorway.
From out of the darkness a silhouette emerged, but it was not her father. The figure paused in the doorway as he laid eyes on her, and then she heard Davian’s voice, “Give me a moment, men.” She did not see any of the others, for they took the longer route around the sitting room to leave her alone with Davian. Still her father did not show.
Her mind immediately went to the darkest places, and recoiled at the mere possibility. The worst couldn’t have happened. She would have felt it, would have known somehow—wouldn’t she? But then Davian’s face became visible in a strand of moonlight, and she knew. She could see it there, written all over him, from the hunch in his shoulders to the sorrow in his eyes.
She shook her head and mouthed the word no, unable to produce a sound.
“I’m sorry, Grace,” Davian said, voice near breaking. “He—” But the lieutenant commander could not bring himself to say the words, not while he watched tears pool in Grace’s eyes. So he finished only by repeating, “I’m sorry.” Then he stepped forward to embrace her, and she let her tears break loose. All the while the truth was left unspoken, but it didn’t make it any less real.
After a few minutes she stepped away from him, turning her back with embarrassment to wipe her tears away, “How did it happen?”
“Grace, I don’t think—”
“How did it happen, Davian?” she demanded, back still turned. “Please…I need to know.”
“Two Specters were trapped with us in the Research and Development Lab,” Davian explained. “They tried to stop us from using the Fusiosphere to escape, and the commander—your father—fought them.”
Grace hesitated. “Did you recognize them?”
“It was the Shadow Soldier…and his partner.”
She turned around to face him again, suddenly overcome by a new fear. She felt guilty granting it so much importance in light of what she had lost, but the answer to her next question could change everything, and she had to know. “The Shadow Soldier, did he—?”
“No,” Davian replied, anticipating her thoughts. “It was his partner.”
Relief washed over her, a strange companion to her newborn grief, “Blaine.”
“Stabbed him in the back as he stepped between us and the Shadow Soldier,” Davian went on. “I’ve gone over it many times since we got out, and every time it doesn’t make sense. The commander left himself open to attack to save the Shadow Soldier. Why would he do something like that?”
Grace averted her eyes—was it possible her father already knew the truth about 301, and that was why he stepped in for him? Or was it more likely that—even if he had known—he saved 301 for her sake, knowing as only a father could how much she cared for him?
And yet she had kept the truth from him—a truth that might have changed his strategy, had he known; a truth that might have saved his life, had she not withheld it. Fresh tears formed in her eyes and she turned away again, certain she and she alone had caused her father’s death. If only she had told him—or if she had stayed united with him, instead of joining Crenshaw’s crusade—maybe he would have let her go with him. She could have fought alongside him, saved him. A wave of other regrets came upon her. She refused to tell him how she felt before he left, believing with all her heart he would return. Now it was too late, and those things could never be said. She couldn’t talk to him—the only man she had ever really let into her heart—about what 301 had done to bring her emotions into such conflict. He would never give his advice on what to do with the pain and excitement she felt every time he crossed her mind—nor the constant fear that came with opening her heart to such a man. He would never walk her down the aisle, if ever there was an aisle down which to walk. Grandchildren would not know him, his hands would never hold them, his wisdom and strength would never guide them. He was dead, murdered…gone. And no power on earth could see that undone.
“Grace,” Davian said gently, having no desire to repeat his previous question. “I know this may not be the best time, but we need to talk about succession. It was the commander’s desire—”
“Later, Davian,” Grace interrupted softly. “In the morning, we will speak of it.”
“The other units are looking to us for leadership,” he insisted with greater force. “We need to have an answer for them when—”
“I said in the morning, Davian!” Grace said angrily. “My father has just died. You can give me that at least.”
Abashed with his own insensitivity, Davian softened his tone, “Forgive me, Grace, I didn’
t mean to upset you. You know, your father—”
“I appreciate what you’re trying to do,” Grace interrupted again. “But what I really need right now is to be alone. Please.”
Davian nodded, obviously disappointed in his failure to offer her comfort, “If that’s what you want. I will inform the general of what has transpired. No one knows the politics of Silent Thunder like he does.”
“Good,” Grace said, still unwilling to face him. “Thank you.”
Davian started to back away, but stopped, “And if there’s anything else you need—”
“I’ll be sure to let you know.”
He paused for one moment, searching for a final word of comfort that she would not reject. But to her relief, he chose to say nothing and left her in peace.
Feeling more alone in that moment than she had in her entire life, Grace could do nothing but return to her chair, where she cried for the remainder of the night.
-X-
301 barely spoke to Derek on the short journey back to the Specter Spire. He couldn’t get the image of Derek’s blade plunging into Sawyer’s back out of his mind, and the rebel commander’s final words continued to echo relentlessly in his ears as though willing him to seek out their meaning. Alexander knew, of that he had no doubt, but what about McCall? Did he know the mystery of Pax Aeterna?
The admiral did not seem up for questions that night—or conversations of any sort, for that matter. He bid them farewell as soon as the Halo landed, and was gone from the docking bay before they even made it halfway to the door.
“Seems to be taking it hard,” Derek commented suspiciously. “Maybe he’s upset he wasn’t there to see it?”
“This conflict has been going on a long time,” 301 answered. “And McCall is the only member of the first Specter unit still alive. Maybe he and Sawyer had unfinished business—scores that can no longer be settled.”