Shadow Fall (The Shadow Saga) (13 page)

Donalson cast a wary glance at 301, obviously unsettled by the realization that he really
had
been about to die, but the anxiety was brief. 301 lowered his blade, repulsed by the look of victory on Donalson’s face. The major had broken…the grand admiral had won. But he was not satisfied, “The Communications Tower, you say? When, and how many of your people?”

Graves—resigned to his betrayal—opened his mouth to answer, but cut off at a commotion on the screen. Shots rang out, and for a moment 301 feared the soldiers had been given orders to murder the family after getting the location. But a shout of joy from Major Graves dispelled that thought, and 301 focused his full attention on the screen. A Spectral Gladius threw the sergeant down to the floor where his two comrades already lay dead, and four Silent Thunder operatives moved to release the Wilsons from their bonds. But it was the fifth man who caught 301’s eye, a man who wore the rank of lieutenant commander.

“Godspeed to you, Major Graves,” the lieutenant commander nodded respectfully. “Your family is safe now.” He raised a pistol toward the camera and fired. The feed went dark.

Donalson regarded the screen with disbelief—Silent Thunder had thwarted him yet again. He turned to face the major, who in his relief seemed to have forgotten where he was. A smile stretched across his face from ear to ear, and he ran his hand over his forehead to wipe away the sweat that still dripped from his hair. He looked up at Donalson with an expression of victory.

In one deft motion, the grand admiral drew his sidearm and fired a round straight through the major’s skull, splashing blood and gore across the glass behind him. The rebel’s dead body slumped in the chair, still bound beyond the ability to move.

“Why did you do that?” Derek demanded, horrified. “He could still have given us more information!”

“No,” Donalson wiped away the trickle of blood from his neck. “Without his family for coercion he was useless.”

“You didn’t even try to have them re-apprehended!”

“That’s because it’s
pointless
, Blaine. No time to waste tracking down insignificant pieces on the board, not when we have another rebel attack to prepare for.” He holstered his weapon and took a look at the blood on his hand, then eyed 301’s blade with disdain.

301 deactivated the Gladius, and Donalson—emboldened by its absence—took a threatening step toward him, “Clean up this mess.”

As the grand admiral attempted to push past him toward the door, 301 shoved him backward. “It’s your mess. Clean it up yourself.” 301 led the way out of the Hall of Mirrors and continued on toward the hallways of the North Wing. Derek followed him closely, but one look over his shoulder confirmed that Donalson did not.

“You should be more careful, Captain,” Derek warned as they made their way back up the hall. “Donalson wasn’t bluffing when he said you don’t want him as an enemy. Not you, and certainly not Specter.”

“I’m not afraid of him,” 301 said. “His days in power are numbered.”

“That may be true, but if I were you I’d watch my back.”

“Worried about me?”

“Someone has to,” Derek said grimly. “What was that back there? That’s the second time you’ve nearly passed out in the last few hours.”

“I told you, it’s been a trying day,” 301 replied. “And apparently, it’s about to get worse.”

“You think Graves was telling the truth?”

“I think he was ready to tell us everything, and would have if those rebels hadn’t arrived.”

“That concerns me, Captain. It took a concerted effort and decent resources to find Elena Wilson and her family. Apparently Sawyer’s daughter has managed to keep them from fragmenting as we had anticipated.”

301 couldn’t help but feel a spark of pride for her. She had done well, there was no question. Silent Thunder was every bit as much a threat as they had been under her father, despite the fact that they would soon be overshadowed by the coming civil war.

They paused in front of the elevator and 301 caught Derek staring at him with deep concern.

“What?”

“I need to ask you a question, Captain,” Derek said carefully. “But I don’t want you to take it the wrong way.”

301 nodded. He had a suspicion what was coming. “Go ahead.”

“You spent a lot of time with this woman. I don’t know what happened between the two of you, or if what Aurora said on the deck of
Infallible
today was true—”

301 opened his mouth to respond, but Derek cut him off as he continued, “And honestly, I don’t care. All I need to know is that you will be able to do what is necessary when the time comes.”

What is necessary
… 301 had thought of almost nothing else since learning that Grace had become Silent Thunder’s new commander. For the past several weeks he had tried everything to forget her…to
hate
her, even. She was an enemy of the World System. So why could he not see her as
his
enemy? Even drowning out his feelings by attempting to fall in love with Liz had not worked. She was still with him, her voice an echo in his ears, her touch a memory of fire and affection.

But now she was the World System’s prime target. That he loved her did not change that fact. And—much as he longed to see her again—it meant that if their paths crossed at the Communications Tower that night, he could not rejoice at their reunion.

Because he would have to kill her.

“Captain,” Derek said more forcefully. “I need to hear you say it.”

301 hesitated for only a moment, and then replied. “Yes. I can do it.”

11

I
T TOOK THE BETTER
part of the afternoon for Napoleon Alexander to decide what to do about the impending rebel attack. 301 managed to convince him that Major Graves, desperate and driven by despair over his daughter’s torture, had not deceived them. The MWR did not wish to send a huge force to the Tower and risk the rebels sneaking inside as they had at the Weapons Manufacturing Facility, but in the end they had little choice. The Tower had to be defended.

Thus it was early evening by the time Specter left the docking bay bound for the southwest corner of the city. Alexander had moved the whole of the Fourteenth Army to bolster the Tower’s security, and no one in any position of power believed the rebellion had enough strength to take it.

But none of them knew Grace like he did, and 301 was certain she would be every bit as dangerous a commander as her father. The fact that no one else took her as seriously ensured that when battle came, the rebellion would find them unprepared.

There was also something deeper on his mind—something beyond unpreparedness or even his fear of seeing Grace at the Tower. This would be his first actual engagement with the rebellion since the death of Jacob Sawyer. More specifically, since learning he might be the son of Jonathan Charity. All his life he had thought the truth would be a sort of salvation, that it would deliver him from a life of obscurity. But in reality it was a curse. The son of not just
a
rebel, but
the
greatest rebel of all. He still had his doubts about the validity of Jacob Sawyer’s last words, but the dream and the visions were making an outright denial impossible. He had to at least accept the possibility.

If it turned out to be true, no one else could ever know.

But someone does know
, he thought grimly.
Whoever wrote that message on the wall, for one
. Was it Grace? Was it her way of reaching out to him, of trying to trigger something in his sub-conscious mind? To eliminate all trace of this secret he would have to eliminate her, and buy his life with her blood. He hoped it did not come to that.

“We’re coming up on the Tower,” Derek said at his side.

301 shook himself from his thoughts and focused on the sight outside the forward window of the Halo. A cool blue sky gave way to warmer yellows and reds as the sun drew nearer to the distant horizon, and just at the edge of his vision he made out the shape of the Communications Tower—at first nothing more than a pinprick, though it grew steadily as the Halo sped south.

As they closed the distance, 301 saw that the structure of the Tower was very similar to that of the Specter Spire. It didn’t quite have the Spire’s same flare, however, as it was built more for practicality than luxury.

A large satellite dish protruded from the top of the black cylinder, and rows of multicolored lights—wireless uplinks that connected all of Division One—ran down the sides all the way to the ground. 301 remembered from officer training that the Communications Tower functioned as the central hub for all of Division One’s contact with the outside world. Only the Master Dish on the roof had the codes to feed into the World System’s network of satellites, and that security filtered into the Tower’s uplink system as well.
Yet another method of control imposed upon the world in the name of order
, 301 thought dryly. How the rebellion had managed to communicate across distances without access to uplink control remained a mystery.

The entire Fourteenth Army swarmed upon the field surrounding the Tower, an open area that thankfully would not provide an opportunity for the rebels to sneak in wearing Great Army uniforms. The army officers made a last ditch attempt to form their men into lines as the two Halos touched down on the grass outside the perimeter, and all 301 could see was a mass of jumbled soldiers who didn’t seem to have a clue where they were headed. The doors on the vessel slid open and 301 walked with Derek, McCall, and two others to meet the rest of the force disembarking from the second Halo. As they began their walk toward the Fourteenth Army ranks, the Halos returned to the sky.

“Here comes our welcoming committee,” McCall motioned toward the two men approaching from the scattered lines. 301 recognized them immediately.

“Admiral,” the general smiled. “It is an honor. And you, Specter Captain…we are proud that one of our own was chosen as captain of the Specter reformation.”

301 nodded and stole a brief glance at the man by the general’s side. Major General Wilde didn’t appear pleased to see the Specter Captain again so soon. But fortunately, the sour old officer was not obliged to speak just yet.

McCall broke the silence as they continued to walk in the direction of the Tower, where most of the confusion had abated and the soldiers stood in formations at least resembling battle lines, “Thank you for the kind welcome, General Brooks…but let’s get down to business. How prepared are your troops for battle?”

“My men are ready to face whatever rebel group assaults this Tower,” Brooks replied. “They are eager to prove themselves after the debacle at the Weapons Facility.”

“Intelligence indicates that Silent Thunder may possess an army of Spectral-adepts,” McCall went on. “So let me rephrase the question: are you prepared to hold the Tower if this intelligence proves true?”

Brooks puffed out his chest in a display of offense, “As I said,
any
assault by the rebels would prove futile.”

“You have heard tell of the Phantom Army, General?”

The old man laughed, “Please, Admiral McCall. Old wives tales and fables about an army of ghosts roaming the Eastern Hemisphere during the Persian Resurgence cannot possibly factor into the actual battle plans of a
real
counterattack. The Phantom Army is a legend, a hoax!”

“The Phantom Army was as real as you or I, General, and made up not of ghosts but men. Men who fought with the Spectral Gladius.”

“I hardly think we will be facing an
army
of Spectral-adepts, Admiral. Judging from the covert operations they were forced to employ at the Weapons Manufacturing Facility, their numbers are hardly substantial enough to—”

“Your only chance in the event of such an attack is to surround the enemy,” McCall interrupted. “Otherwise you will be cut to pieces. I need Specter to guard the uplink control systems on the upper floors and the Master Dish in case the rebels break through, so it will be up to your men to hold the lower floors. Two thirds of all those on this field must be moved to the interior immediately. By forcing the rebels into smaller spaces, you will stand a better chance of holding them off until reinforcements arrive.”

“Reinforcements?” Brooks asked incredulously. “Just what kind of attack are you expecting tonight, McCall? What could break the entire Fourteenth Army?”

“You should know that the Phantom Army has never been defeated in a head-on attack,” McCall said. “If the worst
does
happen, we will all be lucky to survive. General Dryfus and the main force of the Ninth Army are standing by along the southern border of the city, and can be here in twenty minutes if the Fourteenth cannot hold. But beware: twenty minutes may be much too long.” Brooks opened his mouth to object again, but McCall cut him off, “You would also do well to remember, General, that Specter has been given charge over the defenses of the Tower. All of your forces—including yourselves—are subject to the command of the Shadow Soldier. And since at the current time I am acting overseer of Specter—to me. I expect my counsel to be taken to heart.”

The general took the hint and replied with a sour look, “Understood,
Admiral
.”