Shadow Heart (3 page)

Darker shades on the map indicated the populated areas of each division, vast urban domains that were large enough to be nations in their own right. Examining the strategic placement of these super-cities, she couldn’t help but acknowledge Napoleon Alexander’s genius. The Persians had destroyed the world’s infrastructures, and so when Alexander began his Tour of Rebirth the survivors gathered in those places where he offered them the comforts they once knew. But Alexander only rebuilt those cities that would be of strategic use to him once the time for his betrayal was at hand.

He had chosen well. The 21 civilized cities stood in prime locations for control of their continents, and though there were vast stretches of uninhabited Wilderness between them, Alexander had designed each as an entirely self-sustaining entity. Sieges had therefore proven useless, as the Conglomerate’s countless forays into the Wilderness proved. Each city maintained jurisdiction over the Wilderness areas of its division, monitoring Undocumented activity and reacting accordingly to wipe them out. But when the Imperial Guard landed, the Great Army remained behind the defenses of their cities, inviting the invaders to break themselves upon the walls.

Those Imperial generals who had tried did not return.

The civil war, to put it mildly, was at a standstill. No territory had been won or lost by either side in the year since the separation, and the World System had not taken a single offensive action. It was not hard for Liz to figure out why. Both Napoleon Alexander and his new second, Grand Admiral Derek Blaine, were brilliant tacticians. All they had to do was bide their time, counter the Conglomerate when necessary, and wait.

They may not have to wait much longer. One thing the cities were not built for—and that the High Council had not foreseen—was separation from the System’s central computer. For two decades the economies of every city had been meticulously managed by data patterns and Systemics formulas, rationing where there was shortage and distributing where there was plenty. As a machine it managed with impunity, immune to accusations of favoritism or corruption. Without the central computer, the economic stability in each of the Imperial cities had immediately begun to deteriorate. Sullivan had his best minds working on a replication of the Systemics equations, but rumor had it that the task would take years. The Conglomerate would either consume itself or beg to be restored to the World System before then. That was, no doubt, Alexander’s master plan.

Liz did not care to be there when that plan came to fruition.

Her eyes traveled to the part of the map that most concerned her: two islands colored in black, as though any who traveled there might fall through a void into the center of the earth. The way her superiors in the World System had spoken of the place, they might actually believe it. The islands, now known as Domination Crisis Eleven, had been sealed away from the world after the System’s expedition of conquest met with mysterious disaster and ended up at the bottom of the sea. Since then no one had seen or heard from the inhabitants. Most presumed them dead, starved out by loss of contact with civilization.

But that was where her family was reported to have been last, so regardless of the risk that was where she now must go. Her year of service to Sullivan’s empire was up, and the agreement met. She had seen enough of blood and death.

A knock sounded on her door, and she looked up expectantly, “Come in.”

“Chief of Command,” one of her subordinates—loyal, the rarest kind—entered the office with a reverent bow. “There has been a summons from the emperor. He wishes to see you at once.”

To wish me a happy anniversary, no doubt
, Liz thought.
And to find some way to retain my services for another year.
She could not abide that, no matter what threats he leveled against her.

“Have you done what I asked, Major?”

“Yes, Chief. A vessel, the
Golden Queen
, awaits you across the Wasteland in the Arabian Sea.”

“My Halo?”

“Ready.”

“Thank you, Major,” Liz sighed. “Where am I to meet the emperor?”

The major’s eyes narrowed, “I’m confused, Chief. Everything is prepared. You need not bother with the meeting.”

But she did, she knew. There was still a chance—however slight—that Sullivan meant to keep his word. And if she had learned anything about the man, it was that he made a very powerful friend. If she could go without making an enemy of him, she would.

“I need to hear it straight from his mouth,” she said. “Where, Major?”

“The Chamber of the Citadel,” the major replied. “You are to appear before the full session.”

Liz didn’t know whether to feel alarmed or relieved. A public forum made it less likely for Sullivan to go back on his word, but an appearance before the full session of the government made her uneasy. It had all the marks of being summoned to trial. Perhaps she should flee after all.
No
, she decided, placing a hand on her Gladius,
I won’t be cowed by a few old politicians
.

It wouldn’t have mattered, anyway. She left her office just in time to see a squad of Imperial Guardsmen emerge from a door at the other end of the hall. None were on her personal staff. The major’s body went rigid as he came up beside her, and she gave him a look of warning. While she appreciated his loyalty, the last thing she needed was for him to do something stupid.

“Chief Aurora,” the leader of the guardsmen said. “We’re here to escort you to the Chamber of the Citadel.”

“I gathered that,” Liz said dryly. “And while I appreciate the emperor providing my escort, I assure you that
Ignis
is the only protection I need.”

The guardsman’s gaze shifted to the ruby-cased Gladius on her hip, and he licked his lips nervously, “All the same, Chief, we have our orders.”

Liz smiled, “Then escort away.”

The Chamber of the Citadel was within walking distance of Saint Peter’s Basilica, and stood in the place that had once housed the Vatican’s audience hall. Liz’s dealings with the elected body of the Conglomerate had thus far been limited, but while she had been off in the West fighting the war, Sullivan had found himself in a different kind of battle. The Citadel had attempted to wrest control of the Imperial Conglomerate away from the High Council at least twice in the past year, and there were many who believed a third time would prove successful. Sullivan’s democratic farce was becoming a democracy in truth, and the old tyrants seemed powerless to stop it.

In the foyer just outside the main chamber, yet another squad stood guard, and the eyes of every man followed her. She was used to stares of lust and interest, but these were looks of trepidation—as if they expected her to draw her weapon and kill them all at any moment.

A man in a freshly pressed suit stepped out from behind the squad, out of place among the white-clad soldiers. He flashed a bright but condescending smile, “Good of you to come, Chief Aurora.”

“Magistrate,” Liz inclined her head and tried to keep her disdain in check. If there was one man in Rome she despised more than the emperor, it was Cirillo Costa, Magistrate of Rome. Of the ruling class, Costa had been magistrate since the death of his predecessor in Justus’s rebellion. After his selection Costa assisted in Grand Admiral Donalson’s purge, in which over half the city’s population had been exterminated. Many Citadel members and citizens still called daily for his death, but his loyalty to the High Council had protected him thus far.

“I’m afraid I am going to have to ask you to surrender your weapons,” Costa said. “They are not allowed in the Chamber during full session, I’m sure you understand.”

Liz crossed her arms, “I am Chief of Command over the Imperial Guard, Magistrate, and I have been armed during the full session before.”

“Rules change.”

“You are not a member of the High Council, Costa,” she challenged. “You are not even a representative of the Citadel. What you are is a dog, scrambling after scraps from the table of your masters. Don’t stand there and presume to place yourself over
me
. You oversee the civilian operations of one city. I oversee the military might of the entire Imperial Guard. Step aside and stop wasting my time.”

Costa’s smile turned sour, “You are as obstinate as you are useless. Remove your weapons, or they will be removed for you.”

Liz took one look at the guardsmen that surrounded her, and saw in their eyes that they were afraid of being forced to do just that. Her heart sank. Costa did not have the power to command the military, which meant these orders must have come from the emperor. With a sigh, she relinquished her sidearm and her knives.

“Your Gladius, Chief Aurora,” Costa sneered. “I may be a dog, but I am not a fool.”

She unclipped
Ignis
and slammed it down next to her other weapons, “Touch it, Costa, and I will have your hand.”

The Magistrate moved aside and allowed her to pass as the guardsmen pushed open the doors. A great cacophony of noise washed over her, the rabble of hundreds of politicians from the Imperial Cities, all faceless to her. The only ones that really mattered were on the raised platform on the opposite side.

A hush fell over the Chamber by the time she reached the center of the floor, and the click of her boots on the marble floor echoed ominously from the walls. Sullivan sat higher than his peers, who were arrayed symmetrically to his right and left in two groups of four. Holt was there, his expression grim and filled with frustration. Orion, who had taken the seat of Gordon Drake after his assassination, seemed particularly pleased. She acknowledged them both, one a friend…the other an enemy.

Liz turned her attention to Emperor Sullivan, whose stark eyes bored into her with dull resignation. Whatever was about to take place in the Chamber, he did not like it…but he accepted it all the same. Sullivan stood and his voice cut through the silence, “Chief of Command Aurora, that is quite far enough.”

She stopped walking about halfway between the floor’s center and the High Council’s platform, and stood at attention with a calm dignity.

“You have been summoned here to answer for a grave matter,” Sullivan went on. “It has been reported to this body that your leadership this past year has been erratic and irresponsible. Withdrawing troops when your generals press for aggression, lifting sieges as soon as our lines break…even going against the advice of the Citadel in the war’s prosecution. The original plan called for a strike against the Chilean-Argentine Alliance, from there to strike against the South American capital at Rio.”

“That plan was drawn up by politicians, Emperor, not soldiers.”

“It had the approval of three-quarters of the generals!” A voice shouted out behind her. The rabble roared their anger, and Sullivan’s face turned red with a rage of his own. No one would dare have spoken out of turn in a court held by Napoleon Alexander.

“The generals were all part of the World System’s machine, so it is no wonder,” she said as they quieted down. “The most valuable skill a Great Army general knows is how to say ‘Yes, sir.’ Well I am no general. I was an intelligence officer before I became a Specter, and I promise you that to take the southern tip of that continent will be the end of us. Their population is not concentrated, and they have been arrayed on the defensive for the better part of twenty years. We would win, but it would cost more than I am willing to pay—not to mention raising up a second enemy to harass us from the rear. One enemy is enough, gentlemen, and better the enemy we know.”

“But after you scrapped that plan you also refused the second,” Sullivan went on. “General Gavin believes that a Solithium Concussion Missile could break apart Rio’s defenses and allow us to storm the city.”

“It would also kill a hundred thousand civilians,” she retorted. “Some victories are not worth the collateral damage necessary to achieve them. If it is blood you want, let it stain your own hands.”

Sullivan sneered, “There is also the matter of Charles Justus, who you released from confinement to create havoc in Division One. The mission to cover his insertion cost us three ships and damaged ten more. Yet we have heard nothing from him for a year.”

Liz grimaced. That much, at least, she could not explain. Justus had not made contact, and there had not been so much as a whisper of him anywhere in the World System. After months of waiting, she had no choice but to assume him dead. And with Silent Thunder dispersed in the Wilderness, his mission was near useless anyway.

“These instances have given rise to beliefs that you no longer defend the interests of the Imperial Conglomerate of Cities,” Sullivan went on. “Some have suggested that you might work for some rebel group, recruited, perhaps, during your time in the Triad. Still others say you are a World System spy.” The emperor leaned forward. “But I say you have served only yourself, biding your time until I release you from service. Incompetence, perhaps, but not treason. That is why I offer you the chance to redeem yourself, with one additional year of command.”

She opened her mouth to object, but Sullivan cut across her, “You will implement Gavin’s plan to take Rio. You will occupy Division Seventeen, and then employ this same tactic on all of the remaining System cities that will not yield. You will also train Imperial Specters in accordance with our original agreement, to combat the rise of Alexander’s Spectral Army.”

Liz shook her head in frustration. She had not yet faced the Spectral Army, but some of her generals had. Two of her former comrades had survived 301-14-A’s defection in the Central Square a year ago, the two she cared for the least: Blaine, and his Specter General Tony Marcus. Together they had rebuilt Specter to a force nearly a thousand strong, in addition to raising up a smaller band of elite warriors that made up Blaine’s special rebel-hunting corp.: the Spectorium. Sullivan had called them Alexander’s army, but in truth they were Derek Blaine’s, and they had never lost a battle. It was said they knew no fear.

“Thank you, Emperor,” she said. “But I am afraid I must decline.”

Shocked whispers rose up around the chamber, and Sullivan’s voice lowered into a tone of challenge, “You understand, then, that I will have no choice but to confine you here until such a time as your loyalty can be proved.”