by J. L. Lyon
“I owe you a debt,” the Persian said. “And because of that I will defer to your decision. But I must advise against it. If we bring her into the camp—”
“Timing is everything, my friend. If we don’t do this right, we might as well have stayed in Persepolis. This is not a battle that can be won by swift action. We need to choose the field carefully.”
After a moment, the Persian nodded, “There is wisdom in what you say. And I hope, for all our sakes, that you lead us to success here. But you are up against forces much stronger than a man, on both sides. I hope you know what you are getting us all into.”
“So do I, Captain,” the warrior said, less than confident. “So do I.”
-X-
Barley ran as fast as they could make him, ascending the concrete ramp that led back up to the main road. Liz kept her eyes peeled for the Persians who had gone through the trees to cut them off, but so far saw nothing. Perhaps they had gone all the way up to the main road?
Her hand tightened around the handle of her sidearm, and her heartbeat thrummed to the rhythm of Barley’s hooves. It would come any moment now. An ambush out of those trees, from behind that rock, from below that ridge.
Except that it didn’t. No attack came. She didn’t so much as glimpse another Persian, and by the time she felt safe enough to look back all she saw was the orange glow of their campfires against the calm black sky.
But they had us, Liz thought, confused. All they needed was to get close enough. To shoot Barley out from under them, to form a blockade on the road, anything. But they hadn’t fired a single shot.
“They let us go!” Liz said over the thunder of hooves.
“I know!” Grace yelled back.
“Then what should we do?”
“What we planned to do,” the commander replied. “Maybe they just didn’t want to bother chasing down two women in the Wilderness.”
“Or maybe they want to follow us.”
“Let them,” Grace said with confidence. “By the time they catch up, we’ll be ready.”
27
THREE DAYS ON THE road and there had been no signs of a Persian pursuit. Still, that did not mean that Grace could drop her guard. The way they had simply been allowed to slip through the net just as it closed in upon them unsettled her. The Persians were moving almost recklessly fast toward the center of the continent, toward either Silent Thunder or Corridor Prime, but to what end? Vengeance? Was it possible they knew about the clue that Crenshaw thought lay hidden there? If so that was almost more frightening than the thought of vengeance. If the Persians got their hands on the kind of weapon Crenshaw believed was hidden somewhere in the old United States, it would not bode well for the world.
Barley carried them at a slow trot, enough to keep them ahead of anyone pursuing on foot but still slower-going than Grace would have liked. At this rate it would take them five or six more days to reach the city, precious time that Silent Thunder could use to prepare wasted. Her only consolation was that the Persians had the same problem.
In her fear of the threat that lay behind, she had nearly forgotten about the one that lay ahead. The Spectorium still tracked Silent Thunder across the Wilderness, and they likely stood between her and a return to her people. Then there was the Great Army. As they grew closer to Corridor Prime, the chances of crossing paths with a patrol would increase.
Despite the odds, she felt confident they would make it, and that confidence came in no small part because of Liz. Out of all the great warriors she knew, there was no one alive who gave her a better chance. Liz was ruthless in a way she could never be, and though it shocked her at times she understood its necessity. Liz came from a world where only the ruthless survived. Grace did as well, though she always seemed to have others around her more willing to put their hands in the muck. Her father. Her officers. Crenshaw. Perhaps it was high time she stopped allowing others to be what she should have been all along.
The majority of their trip they spent in silence, punctuated with only enough conversation to keep them both sane. But after three days of constant isolation together in the Wilderness, they had forged a bond that was difficult for her to express in words. Despite the reservations she knew she should harbor about Liz’s intentions, she trusted her with her life. For as long as she could remember, Grace had lived in a world where her only true companions were men. Now that was no longer the case.
Liz had not spoken of Eli since the night they escaped from the Persians, but there were traces of him in almost every conversation they had. Grace had never really considered the possibility that there was someone else in the world who felt the devastation of Eli’s death as she did. And to a certain extent, Liz felt the loss even more acutely. Grace’s only regret was that she had failed to save him, but even she had to admit that Eli made his own choice to go after Napoleon Alexander. Liz, on the other hand, had betrayed him not long before his death—an act she could never reverse or apologize for. It ate at her, even a year later, Grace could see it in the vacant expression she wore by the fire each night. Liz’s soul was tortured by so many things she could never understand, but this one she could.
The sun began its retreat below the horizon, and Grace grimaced at the thought of stopping. Every hour lost was yet another further from the Corridor. But stop they must, for Barley needed rest, and she could not risk him stumbling over the unreliable terrain and injuring himself in the darkness. Out here that would be death for a horse.
She kept her eyes peeled for any sort of structure in which they could take shelter, even as twilight came on and only the last traces of light remained. Just as she was about to take them off the road to camp in the trees, she caught sight of a gray spire rising above the forest—a perfect vantage for watching happenings on the road below.
Grace drew rein and cursed herself for being so careless. The old roads might still be the fastest routes between cities, but there was a reason Undocumented avoided them. Great Army outposts dotted the Wilderness, most often along these roads, a waypoint between the cities so that those who lived outside them must roam even less freely. To come too near would bring death as a reward, and she had led them right into one’s shadow.
She started to turn around, hoping against all reason that they had not yet been seen, but Liz stopped her with a low whisper, “It’s abandoned. The Great Army withdrew from all outposts east of the Corridor when the Imperial Guard landed in the gulf.”
“That was months ago,” Grace replied. “How do you know they have not returned?”
“It’s getting dark. If someone were there, we would see some light by now.”
Grace looked up at the spire, thoughts of danger suddenly swallowed in a rush of opportunity. Just when she had been ready to abandon the prospect of finding suitable shelter, they found something beyond anything she could have hoped for. Elevated out of the reach of animals, secure, and in position to watch the road so that the Persians could not take them by surprise.
“We’ll rest there tonight, then,” she said. “If the Persians catch up, we should be able to get away before they can get here.”
“They did not want us before,” Liz said. “Otherwise we would not have escaped. The danger is no longer behind, but ahead. The Spectorium is our greatest concern now.”
“I will never rest easy so long as Persians taint the region with their presence,” Grace replied. “Perhaps if we draw them close enough to the Corridor, the Great Army will make short work of them.”
“Pulling for a System victory?”
“I would back anyone against Persians,” she answered hotly.
She expected Liz to say more, but a tense silence stretched between them instead. Not a tension borne of anger or animosity...more one of uncertainty. Grace spurred Barley forward to the outpost at a slow trot, “You have something you want to say to me, Liz?”
“Not particularly,” she replied. “I’m just a little shocked, is all.”
“Care to explain?”
&nb
sp; “I find it strange that you bear the Persians more ill will than those who have tortured you all your life, enslaved you, and killed those you love. Have you ever even met a Persian?”
“There would be no World System without the Persians,” Grace said defensively. “They destroyed the world with their greed, killed countless millions—”
“Actions carried out by leaders are not always a true reflection of the people they rule,” Liz cut across her. “And those leaders were all killed when the missile from Waypoint leveled their capital. Silent Thunder took care of the rest. And then, once Napoleon Alexander had taken his cities, he bombed the remnants of the empire into oblivion, until the world believed Persians extinct. Whatever they owe the world for what they did, I believe you can count it paid.”
Grace gritted her teeth and did not respond, frustrated and a little offended at Liz’s chastisement. Was she being irrational, giving into childhood fears and adolescent prejudices? The emotion she had felt at seeing those men, glittering in gold with scimitars at their sides, she knew it well: hatred. She wanted them off the soil she had fought so long and hard to win, and she didn’t care how. Death, even, seemed a fate too good for them. But was her hatred justified? What had the Persians ever done do her, directly? And then she remembered, like a flame that consumed her doubt:
“They killed my people in the north. Slaughtered them all. You can’t tell me they have changed their ways, or that they are any less deserving of death than their fathers who sent the world into ruin.”
“According to a man who lives underground,” Liz countered. “What if his sources were wrong? What if he holds the same prejudices against the Persians that you do, and made assumptions based on a fragmented report?”
“What would you have me do, then? Walk back to their camp and give them a hug?”
“No,” Liz replied, and Grace could almost hear the smile in her voice. “It just alarms me that you are more concerned with less than a hundred Persians than you are with the thousands of Great Army soldiers that await us at the Corridor, and the two hundred well-trained members of the Spectorium that stand between us and your people.”
They reached the base of the outpost just past the treeline, and Grace breathed a sigh of relief that the conversation died on the wind. She wasn’t prepared to relinquish her hatred of the Persians, despite the nagging sense that Liz had the right of it. It had been more than twenty years since Persia’s last contact with the West. There was no telling where they stood now.
I’ll never trust them. They will always be the enemy.
Liz climbed down from Barley’s back and offered to help Grace dismount. Grace accepted the help readily, still somewhat nervous about putting too much pressure on her leg even though she knew it was completely healed. Habits were just as hard to break as fears.
The untame ground crunched beneath their feet as they approached the outpost entrance, cautious on the chance that Liz turned out to be wrong. Barley nickered softly, apparently at ease, as Grace reached out to try the door.
“Locked,” she said. “No surprise.”
“Good thing we have a key, then,” Liz drew her Spectral Gladius, and before Grace could protest the weapon flashed to life and made swift work of the lock. Liz returned the blade to her side and pushed open the door, “After you.”
Grace smiled grimly and stepped across the threshold into darkness, her hand immediately searching the adjacent wall for a light switch. After a few seconds of fumbling across gritty stone she found the lever on the wall and pushed up with a low grunt, at once priming the Solithium generator and restoring power to the outpost. Lights flashed to life overhead and she covered her eyes by reflex.
“Well now we stick out like a sore thumb. We’ll keep these on long enough to set up a fire on one of the upper levels. Then we should go dark again. Can you get Barley—” Grace cut off when she saw that Liz’s face had gone white, and turned her attention to the interior.
Bodies littered the floor, at least twenty at first glance, twisted into grotesque angles over tables thrown haphazardly on their sides. Most were made of reinforced steel, riddled with dents that could only have been made by gunfire. She caught the glint of shells strewn throughout the room, and at that same moment the stench of decay hit her like a physical blow. She staggered back against the wall, hand over her nose and bile rising in her throat. She didn’t breathe for fear that if she did, she might vomit.
She and Liz both fled back out into the darkness, and Grace breathed in the precious fresh air.
“I suppose we aren’t staying here tonight, then,” Liz said wryly. She reached to pull the door closed.
“Wait,” Grace stopped her. “This is still the only good shelter we’ll find. Let it air out for a few minutes and then it should be bearable.” She was not unused to seeing death, but this—freshly decaying corpses, shut up in an airtight tomb—was more than she could handle.
“I’m not sure we should,” Liz said, a slight waver in her voice.
“Why?”
“Someone massacred the soldiers manning this outpost, if I had to guess not more than one week ago. The Imperial Guard is a continent away, both Silent Thunder and the Spectorium are busy with one another, and the Persians have not yet made it this far. Who else in the region could do this?”
Grace knew of only one: other Great Army soldiers. But why they would be killing one another she didn’t know, and if she was honest she did not care. Those men who lay dead on the other side of the door would have killed her as soon as they spotted her on the road, or worse. By her count, whoever had done them in had probably saved her...though that didn’t mean the victors were any better.
No, she was not sorry they were dead. And yet a possibility occurred to her, that whatever battle had taken place here had left in its wake something that could be of use to her, something that soldiers in the heat of a fight might have neglected to hide.
“What city staffs this outpost?”
“Corridor Prime,” Liz answered. “Why?”
Grace grinned at her sideways.
“You’re not serious about passing through Corridor Prime, are you? I thought that was a joke.”
“I don’t want to pass through it.”
“Good, because—”
“I want to take it.”
“Take it?” Liz’s eyes narrowed with hard skepticism. “You’re kidding.”
“No, I’m not.”
“You’re insane, then,” Liz snapped. “The Corridor is a fortress, sealed on both sides by a Solithium barrier and guarded by five divisions of the Great Army.”
“Five divisions spread out over thousands of square miles,” Grace answered. “That changes the equation.”
“At least two remain concentrated in Corridor Prime at all times, the same as what you faced in Alexandria. And if what I saw at your camp is any indication, your numbers have dwindled significantly since then. What you’re talking about is suicide.”
“Maybe,” Grace conceded. “Or maybe it’s so daring, so unexpected, so crazy, that it just might work.”
Liz shook her head, “All you will achieve is to get yourself and all those who follow you killed. Present company included.”
“No one is forcing you to stay.”
Liz clenched her jaw, undoubtedly holding back some cruel retort. But apparently she thought better of it, for when she spoke it was anything but cruel, “Truthfully, Grace, I don’t have any choice but to remain with you. I’ve burned all my bridges, offended the most powerful people in the world, and probably guaranteed myself an early death because of it. But even if I had options, I could not take them now. You are the only hope this world has of overthrowing these tyrants, and I will help you any way I can. That means telling you hard truths. I landed at the head of hundreds of thousands of soldiers on the Eastern coast, only to be repulsed. Then we landed in the Gulf of Mexico. Repulsed. You cannot take one of the System’s most powerful cities with only a few hundred men.”
/> “By force, no,” Grace said. “But there are many other ways to seize power. We just need to find the right opportunity. What that is, I don’t know, but I’m hoping there might be some clues in there.” She jabbed her thumb toward the open door of the outpost, and Liz gazed in that direction with dread.
“I’m not going back in there. I’d rather take our chances with the Persians.”
Grace frowned at the doorway. She wasn’t eager to go inside herself, browsing through a tomb of dead bodies in the silence of the night. But she could not pass up the chance to find some advantage for her designs on Corridor Prime. It would take a miracle, yes, but miracles happened all the time. It was the people who missed them.
“I won’t ask you to,” she said quietly. “Stay with Barley and make camp. I’ll return within the hour. If you run into any problems, just yell.”
“Something tells me I won’t be the one yelling,” Liz said grimly. “Don’t spend any more time in there than you need to. As long as the power’s on, it’s a beacon for several miles.”
“Noted,” Grace took a deep breath, relishing the last taste of fresh air. “Might as well get started.”
28
SO FAR THE JOURNEY had proven more difficult than even he could have imagined. He had been through worse, truthfully, but that knowledge didn’t do anything to sweeten his bitter mood. To be yanked from his comfortable life as an officer of Central Command, for the most part kept safe from threats of execution by the favor of his superiors, to wander in the Wilderness in the dead of winter—it curdled his blood with hatred and anger.
He owed his cushy life to his master, there was no doubt of that. But did that mean he had to be reduced to the status of a slave? To answer the man’s every call and carry out his every whim? Yes, his master’s voice answered. You have always been and will always be mine.
Unless he could somehow buy his way out. This mission was unusual in its suddenness and scope. His master would have had to pull ample strings to excuse his prolonged absence. And he could count the number of times he had been sent on a mission with no prior warning on one hand. There was something different about this mark...something important. And if he could—