A Question of Will (The Aliomenti Saga - Book 1)

by Alex Albrinck

  “I don’t need to listen to this!” Will shouted. “Here I am, ready to risk my life to go do exactly that! Why on earth would you prejudge me like that?” He shook his head. “I’m going to go take care of the people who need me most.” He punched the Depart button, and the top closed. He could hear the engine warming up.

  “What I’ve been trying to explain to you is what I have always thought of you in the past, and why.” Fil spoke to him telepathically, and Will busied himself looking at the simple controls. “What I’ve learned, though, is that you truly are the hero I always believed you were when I was young. You’ve proved it beyond any possible doubt. Understand as you go back in time that the person who needs rescuing is your wife, though. Your son made it through just fine. With any luck, one day I’ll become the man you are.”

  Will looked up sharply at Fil. The man reached for those ever-present sunglasses and pulled them off, revealing a pair of shockingly blue eyes, eyes that revealed an incredible depth of intelligence and wisdom beyond their apparent years. Eyes that literally sparkled with Energy. Eyes that looked at him with admiration.

  Eyes that belonged to his son.

  “Josh?” he whispered, and for the first time, the man he knew as Fil smiled, a huge, joyful smile, the smile of a man who has finally figured out who he is, and that his beliefs as a boy of a heroic father were fully justified. It was a smile that reached his eyes, the eyes he’d waited so long to see just like this.

  “Save Mom, Dad. She’s the one who needs you.”

  Dad. It was true, then. But that also meant...

  He looked at Angel, and she too was smiling at him, tears of joy on her cheeks this time. “Love you, Daddy,” she mouthed, and blew him a kiss.

  The top of the time machine snapped opaque, blocking his children from view, and then he no longer felt their presence, losing them again in time just as he’d finally found them.

  XXVI

  Retrace

  2030 A.D.

  The Leader sat at the head of a large table in an opulent conference room at Aliomenti Headquarters, joined there by the three Hunters. It was the first meeting at this location since they’d failed to capture the outlaw Will Stark at his home. The news continued to be disturbing, suggesting that Stark, wherever he was, was cleaning up anything that could be used to trace him.

  There had been no sign of him. Porthos had spent nearly every waking hour in deep concentration, trying to detect even the slightest hint of the fugitive, but there were no Energy trails of Stark’s to be found. That wasn’t unusual; Stark had amply demonstrated to the Hunters, in their most recent meeting before the one in which Will Stark’s house burned down, that he could somehow hide his Energy, rendering himself invisible to Porthos’ skills. More concerning was the fact that the Energy of others the Hunters were charged with finding was also impossible to sense, as if the entirety of the Alliance had vanished. They couldn’t simply hope that the scourge was wiped out, however; they needed proof that the criminals had been destroyed. An Alliance that managed to hide its existence was far more dangerous, because it had the chance to grow and recruit new members without detection, without the true Aliomenti thinning their ranks.

  The news from the humans on Will Stark was also ominous. It seemed that the large sums of money that Stark had earned had vanished as well. The man had established accounts and processes through which his fortune would be disbursed upon his death, and yet the money had run out far too quickly. The two men charged with performing the distribution had accused their national government of stealing the money, and had various means of proving it to be true. Porthos found the story entertaining; then again, he’d been the one who had so enjoyed a book by a human that he’d insisted the Hunters adopt the names of the characters. Athos believed that Stark had simply taken his own money back — since he was not actually dead — and had not bothered to tell anyone. With the sums of money in question, he could certainly engage in his favorite form of recruitment — directly from the humans themselves. On the positive side, Aramis noted, it meant he wasn’t poaching anyone from the core group of Aliomenti, or worse, those working at Headquarters with the Leadership team.

  Outside his usual fatigue concerning the never-ending negative news about Will Stark, the Leader was distressed by two points after the mission had ended, both of which had been hinted at in their meeting immediately after Stark had escaped.

  First, The Assassin had not returned to Headquarters. Nor had he contacted them. Nor had the human or Aliomenti investigative teams on the scene of the fire located any suggestion of a male victim of the fire matching his description. That most assuredly meant, as they’d speculated previously, that the Alliance had gotten him, and it wasn’t simply a case of him trying to continue his mission until he was finished.

  “Gentlemen, with The Assassin’s capture, we must fill the role of official Assassin for the Leadership team. Thankfully, we were able to locate another bloodthirsty human-hater within our organization. While he’s not quite as skilled or creative as The Assassin we have recently lost, he will more than make up for the deficiency with sheer cruelty and hatred.” Porthos clapped quietly, stopping only after a glare from the Athos.

  The Leader resumed. “The Assassin was no lover of humans, as you well know. Yet he recognized that, despite his most fervent wish, he could not simply eliminate them with impunity. We strive for secrecy above all else, and massive numbers of deaths would lead to investigations we simply cannot risk. My greatest fear with our new Assassin is that he will lose control and carry out the type of rampage that could lead to questions that would be...uncomfortable. However, he is the best candidate we have.” He nodded to the door. “Come in, Abaddon.”

  The man entered. Like The Assassin, Abaddon was dressed in black. He had multiple tattoos left exposed by his clothing, each of which depicted gratuitous killing and torture. The Hunters each winced at the twisted nature of the images.

  It was his eyes that would give potential victims the greatest degree of concern, however. They were a deep brown, almost black, but there were streaks of different shades of red in each eye, as if the bloodshed he sought had reached the very windows of his soul. The eyes told of a man who was pure evil and chaos and a lack of self-control. The random nature of the streaks made the man look cross-eyed, as if to give an idea of the instability at his core.

  “Abaddon, please meet my Hunters, the men charged with finding and bringing to justice within these walls those who would violate our laws and Oaths. In the circumstances in which they find compelling evidence of interaction with humans, to the degree that the human or humans may be reasonably assumed to know of our existence or our advances, they will inform me. And in those cases, and only those cases, you will be authorized to fulfill your blood lust, limited just to the offending humans. This role does not provide you sanction or backing to execute humans for any other reason, and if you are found to be doing so, you, too, will be considered in violation of your Oath to not enable humans to learn of our existence. In front of the Hunters as witnesses, do you solemnly swear to carry out this role and abide by its rules and limitations?”

  Abaddon’s lip curled up, and it was apparent that his twisted mind was already trying to find loopholes. He nodded, a sharp, crisp movement that was barely noticeable.

  “Abaddon,” the Leader said, “we must hear you state your agreement. A nod is not sufficient.”

  “Agreed,” Abaddon said. His voice was reminiscent of nails scraping a chalkboard, and the Hunters glanced at each other, each to confirm he was not the only one frightened of this man.

  “Then you are hereby and officially the new Assassin for the Aliomenti Leadership. You will report to me. I expect that I will not hear accounts of any unauthorized activities. Am I perfectly clear?”

  Abaddon’s glare put a chill in the room. “Crystal.”

  “Phenomenal. Now leave us.”

  Abaddon left. Porthos waited until the door shut, and turned to the Le
ader. “While I’m not in the habit of questioning the mental stability of one of my Aliomenti brethren...that guy is a terrifying and insane monster. I’m quite fearful he is going to do something...imprudent.”

  The Leader shot a lethal glance his way, and Porthos lowered his head.

  “I do not appreciate the skepticism, Porthos. I am well aware of Abaddon’s instability. Sadly, most of my other candidates are far too soft. I am concerned that should the need arise, they would hesitate to execute humans, and would perhaps not even make the effort. Therefore, I had to appoint one of the opposite mindset lest the role lose its deterrence effect.”

  Aramis nodded, while Athos stroked his chin. “We need that. If word gets out that Stark was married and fathered a child, without being captured or executed...well, I fear that the wrong message may be sent to those who are less than fervent. The understanding that someone like Abaddon is hiding in the shadows to enforce Oaths...well, I for one would think twice.” At the Leader’s narrowed glance, Athos amended his statement. “Figuratively speaking, of course.”

  “And now, gentlemen, we must once more address the Stark problem. I have reason to believe that any child born to one Aliomenti-trained parent will be born with abnormally strong Energy stores and Energy control, and likely would be able to perform our most challenging tasks with ease, and perhaps perform others we can’t even fathom. Thus, Stark’s child is an inherent danger to us; he may spontaneously and publicly do things humans — or Aliomenti — should not be able to do. That will raise questions. However, it is worse than that.” He paused. “I have reason to suspect that Stark’s wife is an ancient Aliomenti woman long thought dead.” He glanced at the Hunters, who looked startled at this revelation. “The Energy ability enhancement mentioned with one parent is likely enhanced by orders of magnitude with two such parents. This child is not just a risk to expose us; he may well be able to destroy us. Alone. We must locate him. If necessary, we may resort to bringing Abaddon into play.”

  He glanced at the man wearing the cloak. “Porthos, you must begin traveling again. Interact with and travel around in the human communities as you have in the past. We must find the Starks. If you find the boy, the parents are sure to make an appearance, but be warned, the boy will be quite powerful. Should the boy become fearful, he may unleash enough Energy to kill you and destroy a human city block. Do not treat him lightly because he is a boy; he will be just as difficult to capture as his father, if not more so. Focus on him.”

  He turned to Athos and Aramis. “The two of you will travel as well, but stay separated from Porthos. They will be able to sense three of you coming far more readily than one or two. In fact, I recommend that the three of you stay separated from each other to the greatest degree possible.” He paused, gathering his thoughts. “It seems impossible that anything other than technology or newly-discovered Energy skills by the Alliance was responsible for the escape of Will Stark. Thus, he may be with them on at least a periodic basis. The two of you are to spend your time solely focused on finding the hidden Alliance base of operations. We seem unlikely to find them with traditional methods of Energy tracing; thus, use alternative means.”

  Athos nodded, and Aramis raised his hand. “Sir, what do you mean by ‘alternative’?”

  “It seems to me that, given the Alliance love of humans, we must look there. They wish to edge humans forward in terms of technological development, and as such I suggest that you look for reports of unique advances and search for Alliance influence there.”

  Aramis nodded. “Understood, sir. I’ll begin immediately.”

  The other Hunters affirmed this statement, and left the conference room.

  Alone, the Leader reached into his pocket and pulled out the photo he’d picked up at Will Stark’s home, during the time when the Hunters had gone to check for Stark inside the burning house. He looked at the picture there, the picture of a woman known as Hope Stark.

  The eyes told him that she had once been known by another name, in the far distant past. And that was the second thing that had him so distressed after the events at Stark’s home.

  That woman had died young, or so he’d long believed, the victim of horrific abuse that others had performed and that he had allowed. Her death had shattered him, and the guilt at failing to stand up for the young woman was a feeling he’d never forgotten.

  He had failed as her father.

  Now, though, he was looking at a current photograph. This woman was alive and vibrant. She looked older than he remembered, of course; she’d been only a teenager when she died, and Hope Stark was in her late twenties. But there was no denying it was the same woman.

  That meant that the man who had pronounced her dead so long ago had lied to him.

  It was yet another reason to hate Will Stark.

  He wouldn’t believe it until there was strong evidence to support it, stronger than a mere photograph. He must go to the source and verify. The Leader rose from his chair, entered the elevator, and rode down to the ground level where the flying craft were kept. The guard on duty saw that it was him, and waved to him to take his choice of vehicle. The craft was a long-range variety and completely fueled. He’d need the entire capacity of the tanks to make it to his locale and back. He was powerful, to be sure, but he had never taken to teleportation, living in fear that he’d somehow miss his target and stay in the realm between locations forever. So he used the crude, almost human-like private personal aircraft on his journey instead.

  He kept his mind blank during the hours-long trip; such mental quietude was beneficial, and the craft would handle navigational matters better without his interference. He eventually descended into a thick forest, well away from the large cities dotting England, and the craft came to rest in a small clearing.

  The Leader emerged from the craft, and memories flooded over him. He remembered the somber procession as he and the others had come to bury his daughter. Ironically, if they had held a trial for her murder there, everyone present at the grave weeping her demise would have been guilty, save for one. The box had been lowered and covered with dirt, and a small wooden cross served as the only marker and reminder that she’d ever existed.

  The Leader opened the rear compartment of the craft, where various tools were stored, and located a sturdy shovel. He could generate sufficient Energy to simply blast the dirt away, but he felt it appropriate to handle the excavation with a simple tool, a testament to where they’d been when the fledgling Aliomenti group had formed. And so he spent the better part of an hour, pushing the blade through the coarse soil, his arms and back aching from the unfamiliar form of exercise.

  At last, the shovel struck something solid. It was the wooden box, still there after so many years. He moved with great purpose and precision, clearing the dirt completely off the box, then used Energy to raise the coffin from the hole in the ground to rest on the grass near his craft.

  He raised the lid.

  He knew it would be empty, of course, but the shock was still powerful. There was no sign that any person, alive or dead, had ever spent time in this box stored in the ground.

  He spotted a pouch, however, and lifted it. Reaching inside, he removed a short handwritten note.

  If you are reading this note, you have finally come to the conclusion that Elizabeth did not die of the trauma she received at the hands of those she considered her extended family.

  Know this: I will never allow you to hurt her again, no matter how long either of us walk this earth. If I so much as sense that you are looking for her, your walk will come to a swift and certain end.

  Men such as you should never be permitted the title of father. May your guilt and suffering be eternal.

  WS

  The Leader crumpled the note, a surge of Energy and anger turning the ancient paper to dust.

  Will Stark had issued him a warning and a declaration of war from the distant past.

  He would get his wish. The Hunters would no longer be out to simply capture Will St
ark for a formal sentence of death. They would be under orders to kill the man on sight.

  2219 A.D.

  The Leader sat in his office at Aliomenti Headquarters, remembering his discovery about Hope Stark, reminded of his journey to her grave site in the aftermath of the failed attempt to capture Will Stark at his home. They’d never managed to trace Will after that day, and had not seen him again until he suddenly reappeared in what must have been the Alliance camp, surging massive amounts of Energy. He smiled at the memory of the stunned look on Porthos’ face when the man had rushed in to report that he’d just detected Will Stark for the first time in nearly two centuries, despite the searches his best Hunters had carried on during the interim.

  They’d bungled the operation, however. So fearful that the man would harm them, they’d tried to subdue him first, rather than simply kill him as they’d been ordered, and they’d failed. Stark had escaped them yet again. Then he’d given himself up, and Porthos, displaying what later turned out to be foolish thinking, had thought to bring the man in to see him before the execution. Porthos knew the Leader had many questions about Will Stark from years ago, not the least of which was why Stark had never bothered to tell the man his own daughter was still alive. And he had definitely wanted to know. But it became quite clear, only a few moments into the questioning, that the man would answer nothing, and so they’d gone ahead with the execution order.

  He should have gone with Aramis to Will’s execution, not because the man needed help, or even in hindsight so that he could have stopped Will from overpowering The Assassin and escaping. No, he should have gone because he’d personally vowed to see Will Stark dead, and he should have been there to witness the event.

  Nothing could be done about it now, though. You couldn’t change the past.

  He was tired, though. He was tired of the waiting, tired of the failure and the excuses, tired of being outsmarted and outfought. This battle with the Alliance, with Will Stark, was distracting them from their mission. Humans throve like never before, a mere century or so after the Cataclysm, and their numbers were growing. Commerce was growing. Prosperity and advancement were accelerating at a rate never before seen in human society.