It was twelve hours to the Iota gate station from Notosia. While Clay tried to remain optimistic that he was at least going to get out of the system alive with most of his mission objectives completed, he knew there were too many things that could still go wrong. He sat at the bar on the lounge level of the shuttle. Massive windows showed a view of black emptiness; multiple holo-monitors kept the two dozen or so passengers who wandered in and out occupied with the latest news.
Despite Saleh’s assurances that the fighting would usher in his new alliance, the war appeared to be over before it began. News footage showed the fighting in the metroplex seemed to be dissipating as local law enforcement, with the assistance of the Tokusha, had rounded up most of the resistance and swiftly and efficiently held military tribunals. Guilty verdicts were handed out en mass within hours, each carrying a mandatory death sentence.
Clay watched as dozens of men and women were lined up and made to kneel in front of Prevo on the steps of his palace residence. Beside him stood Ursza – identified in the captions as “Warmaster Hēi Gēzi,” – wearing the same gray and red tunic and cape she always wore, but this time with the hood up, and sporting a gaiter that obscured the lower half of her face, presumably to provide anonymity while at the same time giving her a more intimidating appearance. The eyes were unmistakable, however, still gray, lifeless orbs that observed the prisoners without compassion or anger as she paced around them like a predator.
Prevo, in the same black tunic Clay had seen him in earlier, stepped in front of the prisoners, calling for calm from the excited crowd. The holographic footage cut to a montage of Prevo’s image being projected on screens all over the metroplex as millions looked on and cheered.
“My loyal subjects, my faithful citizens,” he began, his voice smooth and sympathetic. “Today marks the beginning of a new era of peace, safety, and prosperity for all of you. Today, the last remnants of chaos threatening our great world’s stability will be silenced. They have sown disorder, disrupted our progress, and filled your hearts with fear. These traitors, these enemies of the state, claimed to fight for freedom. But what freedom did they truly offer? They wanted to tear apart what we have built. They wanted to see our streets burn, our families torn apart, and our world brought to its knees. But I would not allow it. We would not allow it.” There were screams of triumph and celebration from the crowd in front of his palace, which seemed to number in the thousands.
Prevo continued. “For you, for your children, for the future we are building, I made a promise to rid this land of their corruption—and today, I fulfill that promise. Behind me, kneel three-dozen leaders of this doomed resistance. Look at them — powerless, defeated, broken by the very strength they sought to challenge. Now, with their elimination, the last threat to your safety has been removed. You no longer need to fear the violence in the dark. The chaos they sought to unleash has been contained. Order has triumphed. Stability has been restored. The days of uncertainty are behind us. Under my leadership, the future will be one of unparalleled prosperity, unity, and peace.” He raised his hand, and the view went to a wide shot of the kneeling prisoners as Hēi Gēzi drew her sword. Next, the image moved in closeup to each prisoner, their names and affiliations displayed in an information ribbon on the holofeed as the sword came down, neatly removing each of their heads one by one with a single neat stroke.
When Clay understood what was happening, he wasn’t sure whether to cry out in frustration or laugh at the hollowness of the deception. He recognized the faces of almost all of the prisoners. He had met them the previous day as they were gathering in the conference room at Omari’s office. This was confirmed when he watched Omari herself, suddenly very much alive again and being executed for the second time. The entire broadcast was a sham, another correction created and directed by Mother Eye as a way for Prevo to double down on his earlier actions. It was a desperate attempt to squelch the rumors of organized riots in the metroplex that must have spread across the planet by now.
The images cut from the gruesome decapitations to the screams of delight and admiration from the assembled crowd, which was growing larger with each shot; Prevo held up both arms and began yelling. “Nothing is standing in our way. The time for fear is over. The time for greatness has begun. The traitors are dead, and the world stands united under one banner—my banner. Today, I grant you the gift of security and, with it, the certainty that your leader will always protect you. Your future is mine to shape. And it will be glorious!”
More footage of crowds chanting, Prevo waving, heads being cut from bodies by Ursza’s sword, bloodied heads lying on the steps of the Chancellor’s palace, happy citizens celebrating all over the planet, spurred on by the inhuman violence.
Then, suddenly, everything went black and silent.
Everyone in the shuttle’s passenger lounge stared expressionlessly at each other. Clay was amazed that none of them seemed as happy as the millions of citizens they had just watched. No one in the shuttle was celebrating or even speaking.
The darkness was slowly replaced with the image of Tarak Saleh, slightly out of focus and poorly lit. After a few seconds, the image sharpened. Saleh cleared his throat and began speaking. “My brothers, my sisters—people of this land—our time has come. For too long, we have been bound by the chains of fear, watching as our homes crumble, our rights vanish, and the hands of a corrupt leader strip away our dignity. We’ve seen our families struggle, our friends disappear, and our hopes dwindle under the weight of oppression.” In contrast to Prevo, Clay thought Saleh’s voice seemed less sure, less rehearsed, but more honest. He didn’t speak as a leader to his subjects but as a friend in the darkness. His was more of a plea than a call to action. Of course, Saleh was unaccustomed to speaking with the mantle of leadership, but Clay was certain he would find that voice soon enough.
“We are not born to be slaves to a tyrant’s whims. We are not meant to bow before a leader who cares only for his wealth, power, and comfort. We are meant to stand tall. We are meant to live free. Our enemy believes that he is uniting us under a single vision by marginalizing or censoring that which is different or original. Instead, he keeps us weak and silent. But look what that has done.” The camera perspective pulled back to reveal a collection of a dozen men and women who surrounded Saleh. “Mere hours ago, we represented a dozen different factions and organizations, fighting among ourselves. But with this unjust, unlawful, and brutal execution of Notosian citizens, denying them the essential human right of due process, Chancellor Prevo has done in a single moment what his armies and Tokusha have failed to do for a decade. He has united us.”
Clay smiled, knowing full well who was responsible for the alliance, though he knew Saleh could not give her the credit she deserved. He quietly and subtly raised his glass in salute. “Way to go, kids.” He took a long drink.
“And now, Chancellor Prevo, it’s no longer a battle between dozens of tiny forces. There is only us and you. What do you see? You see strength. You see loyalty. You see a people bound not by chains but by something far stronger—our love for freedom, justice, and each other. You believe we are nothing and can be crushed, silenced, or bought. But you do not know us. You do not understand the power of a united people. Most of all, you do not see that we are everywhere—in every village, every city, possibly even among the people you trust most. We are the storm you cannot escape.”
The camera closed in on Saleh once more, and his eyes gleamed with satisfaction and pride. “To the rest of you, who have supported some of us in the past, possibly feared others of us, I ask you, put all of this aside and stand with us now. We need to fight, not as divided souls or factions, but as one. Fight for a world where we decide our future, where our children can live without fear, and where justice rules instead of greed. We are not powerless. We are the many, and he is the few. If we rise together, no force can stop us. So, raise your heads. Raise your fists. Raise your voices. And let the world know that we will finally claim what is ours. For freedom! For justice! For the future we deserve! Victory is in our hands!”
Again, the transmission went dark, and the faces in the lounge turned to each other silently and without expression. This was a new normal for Notosia, and it would obviously take some getting used to.
“Only the dead ever see the end of war, it seems,” a familiar voice behind Clay spoke. He turned and saw Abil Halferne, hands tucked in pockets, transfixed with the broadcasts.
“Why am I not surprised to see you here?” Clay asked. “Are you coming to arrest me, or did your good graces with the Chancellor finally run out?”
“Unfortunately, the latter. I’m headed for Midway and then to Thurin. I regret that events played out the way they did. I had to have all the puzzle pieces, however.”
“And you have them now?”
Halferne frowned. “Sadly, yes.”
“So, as soon as you have Keraunos, you’ll have pretty much won the game, then. Please don’t insult me by not having at least four big goons ready to disembowel me with dull knives for it. I’ve already been tortured and killed for it once today.”
“No goons, as you say. I’m alone.” Halferne frowned. “I was hoping to appeal to your better nature.”
Clay scoffed. “I left my better nature back on that planet when I let Prevo and the girl get away in exchange for Keraunos. I can convince my superiors that leaving her alive was a judgment call. She is, technically, a Government official. At least by getting Keraunos and the cipher back to my superiors, the mission is still a relative success.”
“That’s the other reason I’m here.” Halferne looked from Clay to the holo-monitor, then stroked his chin. “I’m afraid,” he said slowly, “that there never was a mission, Clay.”
Clay stared at Halferne for a long moment. “You’re lying.”
“You didn’t find your orders a bit vague and nonsensical? You didn’t wonder why your superiors let Locke get all the way to Notosia and then chose you of all people to stop him? They know all about your daughter and your personal hatred of human trafficking. You’re exactly the wrong person to send on a covert mission to a planet like Notosia. Well, the wrong person for Division 5, anyway.”
“But a ready-made Achilles for your purposes?” Clay laughed in frustration. “You took a real chance that I didn’t take matters into my own hands and cause an international incident.” He thought for a moment. “Except that you’d already read my psych profile and carefully orchestrated everything. I must have been so predictable. How do you know Division 5 encryption codes and field protocols anyway?”
Halferne smiled briefly, attempting to be reassuring. Then he turned stone-faced again. “It’s just information. My unique skill is collecting, interpreting, and putting rare information to proper use.”
Clay stared at Halferne, dumbfounded.
The little man continued, “In reality, Sol Directorate has no idea Keraunos exists. Division 5 closed the books on Locke when they found nothing suspicious in the wreckage of his factory on Titan. They’re considering investigating his death on Notosia. Given the current climate, however, it’s unlikely the Directorate will approve those operational expenditures now, and they’ll write it off as Locke simply being in the wrong place at the wrong time.”
“Unless they were to find out about Keraunos.”
“In that event, despite not knowing what Keraunos really is, it’s likely to be war not just on Notosia but on an interstellar scale, yes. Hundreds of thousands, possibly millions, will die for nothing more than a rumor with a name. After that, things will get truly bad. Do you understand why I did all this yet, Mr. Clay?”
Clay shrugged. “Frankly, no. I see a greedy little man trying to play chess with empires the way he did with his own people back at the starport the other day. I don’t even know what Keraunos is, but I have trouble believing Sol Directorate would go to war over a name. Whatever it is, it can’t be as earth-shattering as you say.”
“I understand.” Halferne nodded. “Believe me, though, it’s best that you don’t know.” He wasn’t sure he liked Halferne before; he was more certain now.
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