by J. L. Lyon
301 only paused long enough to acknowledge Derek’s presence, and then returned to his fight, “Didn’t expect to see you for a while.”
Derek gave him a wide berth until he reached the opposite side of the punching bag, and then he began to approach, “I didn’t expect to be here, either.”
“So why are you?”
“Better than sulking in my room, with nothing but my anger for company,” he said with a sly grin. “Besides, I think I finally understand why you did it.”
301 landed an extra hard punch on the bag just as Derek took hold of it from the other side, “Somehow I doubt that.”
“I know what it is like to fear the past, Captain…to feel like no matter what you do you can never escape it. Sometimes, for a moment, it can even make you forget who you are.”
Silence descended suddenly as 301 stopped punching and straightened, avoiding Derek’s eyes as he attempted to catch his breath. The complaint in his muscles intensified to a burning ache, and his body longed for the relief of his bed. But he had known this conversation with Derek was coming, and he couldn’t walk away now.
“I’m not sure what you think you know, Derek, but—”
“I know what Liz said on the Infallible,” he interrupted. “That she helped you set Grace Sawyer free from the palace. I get it, Captain. You fell in love with her. I’m guessing you didn’t know who she really was the majority of the time she was with you. But you found out from Wayne Collins, didn’t you? That’s why you killed him, to protect her identity. Still, you knew that eventually her secret would be discovered, and so you conspired with Liz to set her free. How am I doing so far?”
301 crossed his arms and set his jaw. He figured it would only be a matter of time before someone put the pieces together. The only question was what Derek would do now. Would he turn 301 in, or keep quiet about the entire affair? Somehow he doubted his partner would be that understanding.
Derek nodded, taking 301’s silence for admission, “Do you know how many soldiers died in that Crippler explosion, Captain?”
His frown deepened, “That was not my doing. I asked for a distraction, not a disaster.”
“But you don’t regret it,” Derek said. “Just like you don’t regret freeing her, or pulling a gun on me tonight.”
301 sighed. There was no point in lying. “No, I don’t.”
“Because you feel trapped by your choice,” Derek said. “You chose to love her, to betray everything that you are to save her, and to go against that choice means that you have to admit you made a mistake. So you stay the course, and continue to protect her no matter what the cost. Even from me. But unfortunately you have made a mistake, Captain. She is not who you think she is.”
“I wasn’t aware you had spent much time with her.”
Derek sidestepped the bag and came closer to 301, expression grim, “I don’t have to. I have known plenty like her. Their every move is designed to manipulate, to deceive you into serving their cause. And when they’re done with you, they will cut you loose to fend for yourself. She doesn’t care about you, Captain. She only cares about what you can do for her.”
“That’s a big leap for a man who grew up in halls lined with gold. You know nothing about the Wilderness—or its people.”
“I wish that were true,” Derek’s voice was quiet, barely above a whisper. “But unfortunately, it isn’t. At the Communications Tower, you asked about my mother.”
301 shifted his feet uncomfortably and began to unwrap the tape around his knuckles, thankful for something to occupy his attention. Since his first visit to the Blaine mansion, he had wondered about the absence of Lady Blaine. Cues from Derek in the early days of their investigation into the benefactors were enough to reveal that his mother had been dead for many years. But beyond that, his partner had not been forthcoming. For him to mention her now…it put him on edge. He didn’t know how many more shocking revelations he could take.
“She was a powerful woman,” Derek said. “Rich. Resourceful. Caring. So when the rebels approached her with their offers of a better world, appealing to her empathy, she believed them. She joined them. They lured her in with their promises and used her knowledge and contacts for their own personal gain. But when my mother’s need became dire, when she was caught doing their bidding, they didn’t come to her aid. They’d already gotten all they needed from her. So they let her die, 301. They sacrificed her on the altar of their precious cause and didn’t think twice about it, and I won’t stand by and watch them do the same to you. They are a scourge upon this earth, and the sooner they are purged, the better.”
301 stood for a moment in stunned silence. He had always known something dark lay in Derek’s family history, but never had he imagined something like this. Suddenly Derek’s uncommon enmity toward Silent Thunder made perfect sense. But there was a rather large piece missing from the narrative.
“Who actually killed your mother, Derek?”
His partner’s expression darkened, “I just told you. The rebellion used her, then left her to die.”
“You hold them responsible, I get it,” 301 said. “But that’s not what I’m asking. I want to know who pulled the trigger.”
“Grand Admiral Spradlen carried out the execution personally,” Derek said, though he gave the answer begrudgingly. “Donalson’s predecessor.”
“Yet you blame the rebellion.”
“Spradlen would have been in my sights, too,” he replied, “had he not died soon after. As it is, I have only the ones who claimed to be her friends. The ones who betrayed her.”
Or the ones who gave the order, 301 thought. Only one man was powerful enough to approve the execution of Walter Blaine’s wife. But he could tell from the smoldering anger in Derek’s eyes that the conversation had already gone further than he wanted it to go. He and Derek were over their rivalry, true, but the man had never exposed his emotions quite like this. Pushing him would not be wise.
“I’m sorry, Derek, I had no idea,” he sighed and shook his head. “But…this is not the same. She is not the same.”
“Stop and consider it for a minute,” Derek challenged. “Think on it hard. Because if you’re not sure, you may still find her blade in your back before the end.”
Though he despised himself for doing so, 301 paused to consider the merits of Derek’s argument. Was it possible that everything he felt was just a part of some elaborate manipulation, some ploy to gain his trust and use him to bring down the World System? A Specter Captain would be a valuable asset to any resistance movement.
And that’s when he recognized it: he wanted Derek to be wrong. He wanted what he was feeling to be real, to taste of new things he had only ever dreamed about. But most of all, he wanted his relationship with Grace to be real. No matter what doubts Derek had cast in his mind, she still stood out as the brightest light, and he would abandon everything—even reason—to believe in that.
Derek took another step closer to him, “Now you know that I understand what it is like to have something in your past that you think defines who you are. For that reason, Captain, I’m going to look the other way with what happened on top of that Tower tonight. But hear me: you are the closest thing to a friend I have ever had, and I want to trust you, but if I find you have been working with our enemies I will have no choice but to bring you down.”
301 knew the look in Derek’s eyes. He might hate doing it, might even regret it afterward, but if forced into a decision between their friendship and his loyalty Derek would choose loyalty every time. That’s just who he was.
That’s who I was, once, too. But he had changed. It had been a gradual shift, but he could no longer see as many similarities between himself and that proud 1st lieutenant of the Fourteenth Army. That difference was a gulf between himself and his partner, one that would only widen as time went by.
“Anyway,” Derek’s tone lightened. “If you’re trying to clear your head, this is certainly not the way.” He motioned to the punching bag.
>
“Why is that?”
“Too rhythmic,” Derek replied. “It takes no thought, so your mind is still free to roam while your body does all the work. If you want to get those fears and regrets out of your head, you need to fill it with something else.”
Derek grabbed a sparring stick from the table nearby and tossed it to him. 301 caught the wooden Gladius replica and grinned, “What makes you think this will require any more thought than punching a bag?”
His partner retrieved a second wooden Gladius and stepped into the open space at the center of the floor, “A little full of yourself tonight, Captain. Let’s see if you’re still singing the same tune here in a few minutes.”
301 met him on the sparring floor and raised the Gladius into ready position. They had done this countless times as rivals, but not since their understanding in the Weapons Manufacturing Facility right before Jacob Sawyer was killed. For a moment 301 wondered if it would be different…if he should hold back more than normal.
Then Derek struck, and he realized very quickly that when it came to sparring their friendship had not changed a thing. Derek came at him with every bit as much fury as he had come to expect, and 301 barely managed to counter each blow. His arms were still sore from his overzealous session with the punching bag, and so he was a little slow on the uptake.
He focused all of his thoughts and energy into keeping Derek at bay, and even strove to forget the pain in his arms. Finally, he struck back. Surprised by the change, Derek barely blocked his blow and backed away, avoiding 301’s follow-up strike.
“Had enough?” 301 asked.
“Hardly,” Derek advanced again, and the two men locked into the duel. For a while the world around them seemed to fall away—there was nothing but the battle, an eternal string of parries and blows, as they each struggled to overcome the other. But it was like fighting a mirror image. Months of dueling together had made them equally matched in almost every way. What’s more, they knew one another’s weaknesses, and when to exploit them.
Then, when neither could take any more, the rhythmic crash of the practice weapons simply stopped. As both men struggled to catch their breath, they left the sparring area and made for the nearest chairs. By then 301’s arms were useless. They might as well have been made of water.
“Well?” Derek asked after a few minutes. “Did it work?”
301 nodded, “I have to admit, you have some skill. I held back a little, of course.”
“Of course,” Derek replied, voice dripping with sarcasm. “I thought it seemed a little too easy.”
They laughed, and it was the first truly light-hearted moment 301 could remember since Grace had left him more than six weeks past. It was good to feel that again.
The sound of footsteps on the hard floor stole his attention, and both he and Blaine turned to see Admiral McCall enter the training room. He surveyed them with a probing stare, “Am I interrupting something, gentlemen?”
Reluctantly, 301 rose from the chair and saluted the admiral. Derek followed his example. “No, sir,” 301 said. “Just…working though some frustrations.”
McCall’s eyes shifted between the two of them in an awkward silence, and after a moment he seemed to accept that 301 was not going to give him any more details. “Very well. There have been enough frustrations today to last us ten years, but unfortunately they are not quite done. I need to follow up on your report from today.”
“The Communications Tower?” 301 asked.
“No,” McCall shook his head. “We’re still looking into what happened there and at the Solithium Depot, but thus far haven’t been able to discern what the rebellion’s endgame might be. This is about the Infallible.”
301 nodded. The fact that McCall had sought them out in the early hours of the morning, when he had been up almost as many hours as 301 himself, did not bode well. They hadn’t gotten back from the Tower until late into the night, and the old man had all but ordered them to go straight to sleep. 301’s mere presence here was in defiance of that, but McCall didn’t seem to care at the moment.
“How can we help?”
“You reported that the Imperials powered their blackout device with a Fusiosphere,” McCall said. “The very same energy source that the rebels used to escape the Weapons Manufacturing Facility.”
“That’s right.” 301 felt a pang of regret. It was in the eerie blue glow of the Fusiosphere that Jacob Sawyer had died, and that he had first learned about Pax Aeterna. As long as he lived, he would always associate that event with the device.
“You also indicated that the Fusiosphere was unstable, that it had to be destroyed and recreated every 48 hours and that this made it considerably less valuable than even the Solithium required to make and destroy it.”
“Yes, sir,” 301 said. “Doctor Samuel Ryder, the head of R&D, told us as much.”
“The same Samuel Ryder who spent forty-five minutes copying all of R&D’s files before he was escorted from the premises.”
301 hesitated. “Where is this going, sir?”
A deep frown creased the admiral’s brow, “General Dryfus tasked some soldiers from the Great Army to dig through the remains of the Weapons Manufacturing Facility and see if anything could be salvaged. As I warned him, the Solithium blast annihilated everything it touched…except the Fusiosphere. They found it buried beneath the ruins, still intact—and stable.”
“So Ryder was wrong,” Derek said. “They had discovered how to stabilize it.”
“Wrong,” McCall said darkly. “Or intentionally misleading. The discovery was not logged on any of the facility’s reports—reports that are backed up nightly in the palace archives.”
301 could suddenly hear his own pulse, a gentle throb in his ears as the realization dawned on him. Ryder had approached them in the lab, had made a show of explaining several of the most complex items on the floor, and kept them occupied until the soldiers arrived to steal their attention. At the time he had seemed like nothing more than an overzealous researcher, protecting his investments of knowledge and time. But if the files were already backed up at the palace, he wouldn’t have needed to make a copy to preserve them.
“He was distracting us,” 301 said. “The whole time we were down there, showing us the keel of that ship, the Fusiosphere, all of it. He kept us from looking at the computer to see what he was really doing.”
McCall nodded, “So it would seem. And the presence of the completed technology on the Infallible suggests that Sullivan somehow acquired the data Ryder took. The blackout device was also on the list of secret projects under Ryder’s purview.”
“Have we brought him in for questioning?” Derek asked.
“The doctor is missing,” McCall replied. “We suspect he fled Alexandria yesterday along with the rest of those loyal to the Premier.”
“That doesn’t make sense, Admiral,” 301 said.
“Go on.”
“If Ryder was working for Sullivan, he took advantage of the situation at the Weapons Manufacturing Facility to steal the files—knowing that once the facility was destroyed it would cover up his theft. But that was a Silent Thunder operation. How could he have known?”
“How indeed?” McCall asked cryptically.
Silence reigned for several seconds, until Derek spoke the thoughts that were beginning to churn in 301’s mind, “They must have been in league with one another.”
“No,” 301 said, already a step ahead. “Not in league. Silent Thunder would never knowingly work with the Premier of the World System. But Sullivan would have no qualms with using them to do his bidding.” He focused on the admiral with narrowed eyes, “You think Sullivan is the Right Hand.”
If Wayne Collins’ final words to 301 could be trusted, the Right Hand was the mastermind behind the entire resistance network: the rebellion, the benefactors, everything. But so far they had learned nothing about him except that he had been present at a meeting of nobles that Collins had attended. Otherwise, he was a ghost.
&nbs
p; “Sullivan would have had the influence necessary to become such a figure,” Derek mused. “But I’m not sure he has the political acumen or the intelligence to pull off something so elaborate.”
“He staged a coup right under our noses,” McCall countered. “And who has benefited most from the rebellion’s presence here? If not for them, the MWR might have uncovered the Ruling Council’s plot before they put it into action.”
“Standard diversion tactics,” 301 nodded. “Bring back the MWR’s oldest foe to make the battle personal, and use them as a smoke screen for your own treasonous plans. It’s very possible. Probable, even.”
“We certainly can’t rule out the possibility,” McCall stroked his chin, deep in thought. “As they say, the enemy of my enemy is my friend.”
“If it is true,” Derek said. “What do we do?”
McCall shook his head, “Nothing, save what we are doing already. It is enough that we are aware. In the event that Sullivan is the Right Hand, his purpose for Silent Thunder will likely have shifted from providing a distraction to opening a second front in the war. Tactically, it would make sense to utilize the rebellion as a destabilizing interior force while his armies assault us from the outside. That makes finding and destroying Silent Thunder more important than ever. But to do that, you have to be able to stand firm on two feet, which will require sleep.”
301 grimaced. He was wondering when that would come up.
“Blaine, you can go. I need to speak with the Specter Captain alone for a moment.”
Derek’s hesitation betrayed his reluctance. There were undoubtedly things from their previous conversation that Derek still wanted to discuss, but he wasn’t about to disobey a direct order. He excused himself and left the training room.
As the door shut and left the two of them alone, McCall began, “The new recruits will be arriving later this week. I have a training regimen set for them, and under normal circumstances I would want you and Blaine to lead their sessions. However, with your other responsibilities that is just not going to be possible. I’m planning to ask Specter Marcus and Specter Dodson. Yesterday I had it in mind to ask Aurora and Tyrell, but with Tyrell dead and Aurora gone…they are my next choice.”