The Hidden Reality (Alex Pella, #2)

by Stephen Martino

  It was as if time, for a brief second, stood still. The intensity of the situation forced Alex’s senses and thoughts into overdrive. Surrounded by the enemy and facing probable death, he began to see things much more clearly on the battlefield.

  Looking directly to his rear, he witnessed his valiant pikemen pushing the Persians back while his cavalry continued attacking their exposed left flank. In front of him he noted some soldiers holding their spears above their heads while others stood wielding either axes or swords.

  There is only one thing to do in a situation like this, Alex thought as his heart raced under his armor.

  Holding his sword up high, Alex nudged Bucephalus in the side and charged alone into the Persians in front of him. Foolish though it was, Alex did not want to seem cowardly in front of his men. To retreat, even just to regroup, would show weakness and set a poor example for the rest of the troops.

  “Ahhh!” Alex yelled as he took his first swipe at the Persian soldier in front of him. With only a felt tiara protecting his head, the man fell dead to the ground upon impact.

  Hastily surrounding him on all sides, the bodyguards immediately joined in the brawl. Wanting only to defend their king, they would all fight willingly to their own death.

  “Alexander!” yelled Philotas from a distance. “Get out of there! What are you doing?”

  Seeing no response, Philotas took 30 of the finest Companion cavalrymen and rode straight through the line of Persian soldiers in front of them. Not wasting time to defend themselves, many took blows to their chest and legs as they road to the aid of their king. They knew he would do the same for them, and to act in any other way would be dishonorable.

  “Get in close!” Alex yelled to his bodyguards. “Their spears are useless in confined spaces. Don’t give them room to…”

  Alex suddenly stopped mid-sentence. While turning to his right he did not see the Persian soldier charging toward him with an axe in hand. The attack was quick. The Persian struck Alex directly in the chest, knocking him onto his back.

  As their king lay on his back, Lyssimachus leapt from his horse onto Bucephalus. Bringing with him the large shield of Achilles, he placed it over Alex’s body, protecting him from any further assault.

  It would prove to be Lyssimachus’ last action. Leaving himself exposed to the enemy, he was instantly impaled by multiple Persian spears. With blood pouring from him, he committed one final act of bravery. Dying, Lyssimachus placed his body over the shield as a final gesture aimed at protecting the life of his king.

  “Alexander!” yelled Philotas, hoping somehow to rejuvenate his boyhood friend.

  “They killed King Alexander!” bellowed a grief-stricken Macedonian cavalryman as Alex’s body remained motionless atop Bucephalus.

  Philotas and the rest of the 30 cavalrymen finally joined up with Alex’s bodyguards and made a circle around their leader after hacking away at the Persian soldiers next to him. With lances at their sides, they made a highly defendable barrier, guarding Alex from any further assault.

  The oncoming Persian infantry failed to advance any farther. Whether the order was not given or it was deemed too risky an attack, they held their position, waiting for the Macedonians to make the next move.

  As the pikemen in their phalanx formation continued to surge forward, many of the Persian soldiers began to break rank and run. What at first had been just a trickle soon became a flood.

  “May the gods have mercy,” begged Philotas, looking upon the shield covering Alex’s body. Still dripping in blood from Lyssimachus’ mortal wounds, he was afraid to remove it to see what lay underneath.

  With a quiver to his arms, Philotas slowly lifted the Great Shield of Achilles. If Alexander were dead, he knew the rest of the Macedonians would lose their will to fight and the tide of battle would turn against them. For Philotas realized all too well there were over 100,000 Persian reserves, including the most elite Persian infantry force known as the Immortals, still eager to enter the fight.

  “Alexander!” exclaimed Philotas, amazed to see his friend alive. “I feared you had been killed!”

  Still lying on his back, Alex merely uttered, “Ouch,” after getting the wind knocked out of him. Upon sitting, he handed the shield to one of his bodyguards. In the process, a tight, leather strap that once surrounded it fell to the ground atop a few dead bodies. The leather must have been severed by one of the Persian soldiers during their assault on him.

  Just like the miniature shield that represented the key to gain control of The New Reality’s computer system, this one also boasted four circular, metal contact points around its perimeter.

  This isn’t a shield, Alex immediately concluded. It’s a key! This ancient artifact is a key and Albert Rosenberg knew it the whole time!

  The revelation shocked Alex.

  The riddle goes far beyond the extent of this virtual world or even that of The New Reality. But what does it all mean?

  “He’s alive!” shouted Philotas at the top of his lungs. “King Alexander is alive! How are you, my king?” Philotas asked while patting Alex on the back.

  “Ask me after we have won this battle,” Alex said as he grabbed the reigns of his horse and surveyed the battlefield as if nothing had happened. Despite acting uninjured, he in fact had broken three ribs from the force of the blow to his chest. The heavily quilted corselet he was wearing had saved his life. While cushioning the strike, it prevented the axe from entering his chest cavity and fatally severing his heart or other internal organs.

  Alex was pleased to see his left flank holding and his entire line of pikemen gaining ground rapidly against their enemy. Unfortunately for his army, he knew they grew exhausted, and with thousands of Persians still waiting behind Darius to attack, fatigue might yet bring about their ultimate defeat.

  That’s it! Alex thought to himself while continuing to survey the battlefield. “If I cut off the snake’s head, the body will surely die!”

  Turning toward Philotas, Alex pointed to his left. “Look ahead.”

  “Darius!” Philotas shouted. “And he’s only surrounded by his bodyguards!”

  King Darius stood atop his magnificently decorated chariot. Covered entirely in gold and decorated with an array of precious and semi-precious jewels, it resembled more a work of art than something that would be used in battle. The only thing militaristic about this horseless vehicle was the large circular shield decorated by a bronze sculpture of the late Persian King Xerxes’ head.

  Just as splendid, King Darius, too, was dressed more for a parade than a war. Wearing a long purple robe trimmed with gold and a blue tiara over his head, he appeared as if he were about to conduct a ceremonial prayer at Persepolis rather than lead his men into armed combat.

  “I know,” Alex said, “I’m just as surprised as you to see him so exposed.”

  “I’ll gather the rest of the cavalry so that we may all ride upon his position at once!”

  “There is no time,” countered Alex. “Opportunities like this do not wait.”

  “But what of your injuries?” asked Philotas. “You were just moments from traveling the Styx. Are you alright to continue?”

  “There is no other option,” replied Alex, wincing with pain.

  Taking Bucephalus forward, Alex addressed the few cavalry and bodyguards surrounding him. “Onward to King Darius himself. On my lead!”

  “Yes, King Alexander!” the men shouted.

  While keeping an eye on Darius and ignoring the other 8,000 Persians directly to his front, Alex grabbed a spare lance and sharpened sword from a nearby bodyguard. Now fully armed for battle, he watched as the Persians passed him by in the hundreds in their withdrawal from the advancing Macedonian phalanx. This retreat would give him the perfect opportunity to execute his plan amidst the chaos.

  Alex placed the lance at his waist and gripped it as tightly as he could.

  “Charge!” yelled Alex, nudging Bucephalus firmly in the thigh. On cue the horse strode into full gall
op.

  “Yaah!” screamed the rest of the cavalry and bodyguards around Alex as they followed his lead.

  Negotiating their way through the fleeing Persians, Alex and his men soon would be faced with the best Darius had to offer. Heavily armed and willing to die for their king, Darius’ bodyguards were a formidable foe.

  As if the battle raging around them had ceased, Alex concentrated only on those bodyguards hindering the path to King Darius himself.

  Charging full speed, Alex took no mercy on anyone creating an obstacle. Crunch went the ribs of one of Darius’ bodyguards as Alex impaled his lance through the man’s chest cavity. Within seconds another two bodyguards lay lifeless on the ground, both killed by the sharp end of Alex’s lance.

  The rest of the cavalry quickly followed into battle. Like Alex, they sent many of the Persians to their graves. One by one the bodyguards fell, massacred by the oncoming Macedonians.

  Now relying on his sword in such close quarter combat, Alex continued slashing away at the Persian enemy. Bodies began to accumulate all around, making his passage to Darius ever the more difficult. Bucephalus trampled the dead or dying underneath just to get a foothold as Alex continued his assault.

  After Bucephalus hurdled a dead soldier, Alex swung down with all his might at the one remaining bodyguard who stood between him and the king. In a mighty clatter his and the man’s swords met with a resounding clang. Neither moved as the two stared intently into each other’s eyes. They both bore the same look of determination.

  Withdrawing his sword, Alex again swung down upon his sure-footed foe. The bodyguard again blocked the blow. Unable to make any evasive actions, the Persian held his ground. He would do all in his power to deny Alex the opportunity to pass and gain access to Darius.

  Alex lunged forward and jabbed intently at the man only to be thwarted again as the bodyguard blocked the attack to the side. Noting Alex’s right flank exposed, the Persian decided now was the time to seize the offensive. Taking his sword above his head, he wound up for the kill.

  Just as the man was about to strike, Alex reached with his free hand for the dagger strapped to his left thigh and plunged it through the unsuspecting Persian’s throat.

  The man gasped for air as blood filled his lungs, sending him helplessly to his knees.

  In that instant Alex felt a burning pressure on the left side of his chest as he was suddenly jolted backwards upon Bucephalus. An arrow had struck him, piercing his armor and lodging in his chest. While the quilted pads once again saved his life, the pain proved excruciating.

  Alex looked up and saw, to his surprise, that Darius himself had delivered the arrow. He had been so consumed fighting the bodyguard that he neglected to recognize the threat posed by the Persian king.

  With blood running down from his armor onto Bucephalus, Alex lurched forward. His horse responded by charging toward the golden chariot. “This battle isn’t over yet,” muttered Alex as he began to catch his breath.

  To his utter amazement, King Darius watched as Alex advanced toward him. Thinking he had dealt the Macedonian king a deathblow, he was dumbfounded to see the man still alive. Not expecting to be attacked, Darius instantly grabbed another arrow and began to cock his bow.

  This time Alex was prepared for whatever the king had to offer. With the dexterity and speed of a master equestrian, he launched Bucephalus ahead while hurdling over the dead.

  Now beside Darius, Alex mustered all his strength and swung his sword, striking the Persian king in the neck.

  As sweat poured down over his eyes, Alex rode passed the chariot, unaware of whether his attack was truly successful. Hoping another arrow was not on its way, he quickly turned Bucephalus around to once again face Darius’ position. Blood continued to ooze from his chest wound.

  The magnificent golden chariot was empty. The great Persian king was nowhere in sight.

  “Alexander!” yelled Philotas, stunned to see an arrow protruding from his chest.

  As Alex went to respond a bloody object rolling along the ground suddenly caught his eye. It seemed as if Bucephalus had purposely kicked it into sight for him to notice.

  “What?” Alex gasped as he gazed upon the sight.

  The decapitated Persian king’s head lay on the ground with its eyes open and mouth agape. A look of horror still filled its face; a look that not even death itself could extinguish.

  Upon the sight of their deceased king, the Persians began to flee en mass. As word spread throughout the ranks, the entire army took flight.

  “We are victorious!” Alex shouted with pride, turning to Philotas. “Now let us…”

  Alex stopped midsentence. Sensing something was wrong, he suddenly lost track of what he had been thinking.

  What’s going on?

  The feeling grew more intense. Alex was overcome by a great sense of doom.

  “King Alexander!” shouted Philotas, “It is your injuries. I will call for your physician Philip at once!”

  Alex knew this feeling had nothing to do with either of his current injuries. But he was definitely not imagining the odd sensation. He attempted to speak once again, and still no words came to his mouth. Instead, he was thrown from his horse and landed on the ground.

  Feeling paralyzed and unable to breathe, the world suddenly went black around him. As Alex lay helpless on the ground, he could only come to one obvious conclusion.

  He had been double-crossed.

  Chapter_35

  Jules watched as the numbers around the three holographic images representing Alex and the two other clones in the canisters slowly ratcheted down to zero. Their holograms turned red and continued to blink in warning.

  With his complete control over the New Reality computer systems, Jules certainly did not require Dr. Harding’s assistance to terminate the cloning project. He had only asked for his help to expedite the process.

  Jules would not take his eye off the holograms until he knew the deed had been successfully completed. There could be no opposition to his rightful takeover of The New Reality and the ushering in of a great new Open Society. And with Alex disposed of, there would be no person who possessed the needed cunning and intellectual resilience to afford him any meaningful resistance.

  “And it is said that I cried when I saw your tomb,” Jules scoffed aloud, referring to the legend that the original Julius Caesar wept after viewing the body of Alexander the Great in his sarcophagus. It was said that the Roman Emperor felt that he had accomplished relatively little compared to Alexander and wept at his own lack of achievement compared to this mighty, former king.

  “You once controlled part of the ancient world,” Jules boasted, “Now I control all of the modern one.”

  Jules felt a sense of great accomplishment. He had surpassed what either the original Julius Caesar or Alexander ever had hoped to achieve.

  The three holographic images were now black in color with the words DECEASED written underneath.

  That’s one less obstacle, Jules thought.

  He then looked outside the computer room. The WOGs who were once attempting to break in had now dispersed, leaving the hallway empty. The planes flying above the building had also withdrawn.

  A stand down order had been given by the WOG Supreme Commander after witnessing Myra’s and Kevin’s execution. The time to fight was over.

  Though Jules had utmost confidence in himself, he still had some doubt about how The New Reality and rest of the world would react to the takeover. He then turned off all the security systems in the building and opened the doors to this room. Disengaging himself from the computer system, he took the necklace with the Achilles shield and placed it against his chest.

  Jules slowly rose to his feet. The pain he once felt started to dissipate as his body began to regenerate. Slowly, he walked over to the door and down the hallway. There he noted the dead bodies of the technicians. They had been accidentally shot before they even knew what hit them.

  The red lights had stopped blinking
and an eerie silence filled the hall. Weaponless at this point, Jules slowly walked down the corridor and up the steps. If victory were to be his today, he needed to march into the control room of this complex with complete confidence.

  A few bodies lay on the floor as he approached the room. Dried blood pooled around their mouths. Undoubtedly, they were also victims of the nanosplicers. The longer he walked, the more bodies he encountered. With so many people affected so quickly, it appeared most were simply left to die where they fell.

  The door to the security room remained open. Entering without proper authorization was considered treason and dealt with in the harshest of manners. As if he were the original Julius Caesar crossing the Rubicon River before taking Rome, he boldly crossed the threshold with his head held high.

  The men and women inside were frantically attempting to restore some semblance of order amidst the chaos. As a few people lay dead on the floor, the screens around the room depicted scenes of joyful cheering across the globe. In Paris the citizens stood atop a few of the heliocrafts and poured champagne over each other’s head, while in New York people danced in the streets.

  It was if a huge weight had been lifted. Fortunately, the demonstrations were mostly peaceful. With all the death caused currently by the nanosplicers and The Disease three years previously, no one seemed to want any more bloodshed. The WOGs had laid down their weapons peacefully and many even celebrated along with the rest of the citizens.

  At first the men and woman in the security room had not noticed Jules’ entrance. However, once the people saw him, they stood up and began to clap. The clapping turned to cheers as everyone in the room soon noticed his presence. Though still sickly in appearance, he looked to them as a strong beacon of hope amidst all the uncertainty around them. With their fallen colleagues still at their feet, they welcomed Jules as not only their new leader but also as a savior.

  The world had been through so much over the past few years, and the people longed for someone to lead them through these tough times. Even those most ardently loyal to The New Reality seemed to receive Jules without reserve.