Shadow Fall (The Shadow Saga) (9 page)

“I suppose I’m…angry. Confused. Sad. Liz and I have been friends for a long time, sir. I can’t wrap my mind around why she would do this.”

“The same old reasons, I suppose,” the MWR said absently. “He must have something she wants. Betraying you—betraying
everything
, really—was the price to get it. Though unfortunately, this does lead to some questions that might be a bit…uncomfortable. Such as whether or not you knew anything of this plot, given your intimacy with Specter Aurora and the apparent favoritism the Ruling Council lavished upon you.”

301 paused. He needed to tread lightly here, to skirt the truth but not get caught in a lie. If Alexander even suspected that he knew about Sullivan’s betrayal beforehand, that would be the end of him. “I knew there was tension between the Ruling Council and yourself, sir. And to be honest, the Premier approached me several times with offers of friendship in exchange for my loyalty. However, I understood that loyalty to be subservient to my duties as a soldier, and never imagined it would go this far.”

“I see,” Alexander frowned, and for a moment 301 worried he had not been convincing enough. But then the MWR went on, “It just so happens that I believe you, Specter Captain. Not because of that shining example of sincerity you just spouted, but because I know Sullivan. He turned Aurora the moment she arrived, and attempted to use her to gain your allegiance. Had he succeeded he would not have left you behind. You would have gone with him, or been disposed of.”

301 thought of the knife stuck into his side table, suddenly glad he had forgotten to include that in his report. Liz had been instructed to kill him…orders she did not follow.

“In any case, when you came out of the Hall of Mirrors alive that day three months ago, Sullivan and I made an agreement. He would choose five of the ten trainees for Specter, and I would choose the rest. You were on my list, not his. So you see, from the very beginning you have been
my
champion. We have had our differences, it is true, but I have faith in your abilities. And on that note, there is something you need to know before you arrive at the Solithium Depot.”

“What is that, sir?”

“As I said, the reports coming in from the depot have been unsatisfactory, but they did send this over for me to review.” The MWR raised the lid on his laptop computer and spun the device around where 301 could see. “Surveillance from one of the cameras Silent Thunder neglected to destroy.”

The screen displayed a still shot of a group of rebels as they made their way across the fields between two Solithium pylons. At their center Grace Sawyer was clearly visible, as were the new rank stripes on her shoulders.

“You see the situation this places us in, Specter Captain,” Alexander fixed on 301 with an icy stare. “The woman who was your slave, who escaped from this palace under mysterious circumstances and was able to rejoin her father, now commands the Silent Thunder rebellion. From the outside your improprieties with both Sawyer and Aurora would seem to point toward treason.

“However, we have already been down that road, haven’t we? You delivered Jacob Sawyer to me. Now you will put any misgivings I have about your relationship with this woman to rest, and deliver his daughter to me as well. Failure in this case would not be wise. Do you understand me, Specter Captain?”

301 nodded immediately, though he was unable to fully suppress his reluctance, “I do, sir.”

“Good,” Alexander sat back in his chair. “Perhaps your intimate knowledge of her will give you an advantage. If possible, I want her alive. Joyous though her father’s death was, it did disappoint me that I could not witness his final moments. I’d prefer not to be so disappointed again.”

301 clenched his jaw and decided now was not the time to speak. No matter what he said, he could never be sincere about agreeing to deliver Grace into Alexander’s hands. He knew what that would mean for her, and he would die first.

Why did she have to go and put him in this position? Hadn’t he asked her to leave Alexandria? That if their paths crossed again he could not be so cordial? He gritted his teeth in frustration. If events continued on their current course, Grace would be dead soon. A person did not survive long once they became Napoleon Alexander’s primary target. What if he came face-to-face with her again? What would he do?

My job
, was the first reaction of his mind. But then he recoiled from that thought. He could never play a direct role in her death. It would destroy him.

“Thank you for your time, Specter Captain,” Alexander concluded. “You may go.”

301 rose and bowed slightly in respect, then withdrew.

-X-

Napoleon Alexander watched the Specter Captain leave, and smiled to himself. The man truly was a champion. Young, passionate, full of dreams about his future glory…he had been like that, once. He sighed and opened the top drawer of his desk, where two objects lay atop several notes and reports. The first—an old, tattered Spectral Cross—brought a sense of satisfaction. Jacob Sawyer had sent it to him three months before as a warning, a subtle taunt that retribution would soon follow. But now Sawyer was dead, and his opportunity for retribution gone forever.

The second object was one he had stumbled upon earlier that morning. It had been out of his mind for so long that he had nearly forgotten he had it, and seeing it again gave him pause. To the eye it was a simple ring set with a round blue stone, but to him it was so much more than that: a gift from a man who at the time he had respected above all others…a bastion of nobility, valor, and leadership.

A man whose world, even then, was fading.

In the beginning, Alexander had thought he could fill the man’s shoes. But leaders like him weren’t born every century, and once he figured out there would be no measuring up, Alexander forced himself to become something else. Something stronger. It took more to rule a world than to lead a country.

He had become more than that man could ever have been.

A beep sounded from his laptop computer, still open from when he had shown 301-14-A the shot of Grace Sawyer. He spun it back around to face him and saw a small red window in the lower right corner that read,
Incoming Transmission. Origin: Unknown.
His blood pumped with anticipation. There was only one person who could possibly have gotten a transmission straight to his personal computer.

Alexander sat up straight and masked his expression with the usual calm indifference, and then touched the window on the laptop screen. Premier Sullivan appeared, smug and confident, the very picture of all the emotions he had been hiding for months and even years. Now that he was out from under Alexander’s shadow he looked like a kid on Christmas morning, though the gifts in this case were of a much more sinister nature. Alexander contented himself to glare at the screen with intense dislike, but waited for Sullivan to speak.

The silent standoff did not last long.

“Alexander,” Sullivan smiled cordially. “What a pleasure to see you again.”

“The pleasure is all mine, Premier,” he replied with biting sarcasm. “Though I am a bit hurt you didn’t bother to say goodbye. After all we’ve been through together.”

“It was for the best,” Sullivan’s smile broadened. “I’m sure you know what this is about, Alexander, so let’s not waste time. I have contacted you to announce the official separation of the Ruling Council from the World System, effective immediately. All the division leaders and generals in the Eastern Hemisphere have pledged their loyalty to us. Apparently you have become a bit of a tyrant, and they’ve had enough.”

“So now you will make war against me,” Alexander frowned. “But to what end? Will you raze the earth and kill countless innocents until one or both of us is dead? Somehow I have trouble accepting that. You, ever the voice of reason and restraint, plunging the world into the most destructive war of all time? Help me understand, Premier.”

“Some causes are worth the price we must pay.”

The MWR laughed cruelly, “And so at last, Sullivan, you become no different than me.”

“I will let the historians be the judge of that.”

“Save the sanctimonious drivel for someone else. You think to ride in, a conquering king, the hero who vanquished the oppressive tyrant. You are a fool, Sullivan. What do you know of cost? You will sit back and send other men to die for you, just as I do. When the people of the cities you have stolen see their streets run red with the blood of their sons and daughters, we’ll see if they declare you
savior
then. When all of this is over, no one will even remember your name.”

“Care to make a wager on that? I know how much you love games.”

“I believe we both know the stakes in
this
game, old friend.”

“Agreed. Still, there is an alternative to violence.”

“Oh?”

“The Imperial Conglomerate of Cities is willing to see reason in this matter. I’m prepared to offer you your life and a comfortable retirement, on the single condition that you step down as MWR in favor of me.”

“Do you really expect me to accept those terms?”

Sullivan’s sickening smile faded to a sly grin, “No. But I thought history would appreciate the gesture. So, for the record: you refuse our terms?”

“Allow me to put it in words you can understand,” Alexander’s tone darkened. “You can have my throne, when you have purchased your passage in the blood of millions and pried the World System from my cold, dead hands.”

Sullivan leaned in, “Words can’t express how happy I am to hear you say that. Let the games begin.”

8

E
YES LOWERED AND HEADS
bowed in respect as Councilor Gordon Drake strode up the colonnade outside St. Peter’s Basilica, flanked by six of his royal guards. A chill hung on the air that ran deeper than the winter cold, as the soldiers had abandoned their Great Army greens for the white of the new Imperial Guard. Over the past three months there had been a slow but subtle drawback of communications with the cities in the West. Now, what lines of contact remained had been severed. Most telling of all: Drake no longer walked like a Chief Advisor of the Ruling Council. He strode like king.

Christopher Holt—second of the three former members of the Ruling Council that had masterminded the separation—waited at the top of the basilica’s steps, his expression grave.

“Good to see you again, old friend,” Drake said as he reached the top of the stairs. His guard split off to attend other duties while the two councilors began to stroll deeper into the basilica. “Though I did not expect you to make the trip so soon. We aren’t due to convene until the emperor arrives.”

“The plan is in jeopardy,” Holt said. “And I did not want to discuss it over open airwaves.”

“Are you concerned about Alexander or someone else?” Drake asked with a knowing smile.

“I couldn’t help but notice that the emperor didn’t seem too enthusiastic about the proposed government of the Imperial Conglomerate of Cities, and that is a concern. The constitution of the new government has been drafted, but if the emperor refuses to sign I don’t know what will happen. Many of the generals and division leaders have pledged to us only because we have promised change.”

“Oh, we will bring change,” Drake nodded. “You can be sure of that.”

“
Democratic
change,” Holt clarified. “What do you think will happen if they learn the ICC is the same farce as Alexander’s Tour of Reconstruction?”

“They will get in line or new generals will be found. We both know how this works, and surely you see the wisdom in Emperor Sullivan’s decision. We cannot hope to form a functioning democracy
and
wage war against the World System. Alexander will probe every flaw, irritate every weakness, and only through absolute unity will we be victorious.”

“And for absolute unity it will take an absolute ruler, I know,” Holt waved off the argument as the two stopped in the portico, and he lowered his voice even further. “But this war, Gordon, is about more than a feud between the Ruling Council and the MWR. It’s more than one man seeking revenge for years of wounded pride. Hundreds of thousands if not more will die in the coming years, and that is a high cost to pay if our only goal is to replace one tyrant with another.”

“Careful, Councilor,” Drake warned, his expression hardening into a frown. “You may be the Premier’s oldest friend, but that does not make you immune to treason.”

“Too much is at stake to remain silent. We are all traitors for the moment, and until Napoleon Alexander lays dead we may yet meet our end in a pile of ashes. Just like the traitors who met their end on this very ground.”

Drake resumed walking, leaving the portico to make his way up into the nave. Evidence of the Roman rebellion’s final battle still lingered, as it likely would for years to come. Indeed, those traitors had failed. But they did not have the weight of the Ruling Council behind them. They were fools, all of them, to fight a cause that could not be won. But this was different. This would not end the same as that.

“So you have inspected the city’s defenses since your arrival, I hear,” Drake said, changing the subject. “How do you find them?”