Shadow Heart (6 page)

Sullivan’s heart sank.
No, you old fool. That secret is ours alone, sworn never to be spoken of again. The most monumental mistake of my life and career.

All eyes in the room turned to the emperor, but it was the Citadel representative who spoke, his voice thick with a German accent, “What does he mean by this?”

“You gave him the fleet,” Orion answered, and the emperor heard disbelieving voices begin to whisper among one another around the table.

Sullivan merely glared at Holt, and Holt back at him, “When the Persians invaded, President Crenshaw signed an executive order to hide the fleet so that our enemies could not make use of our technological advancements, namely our Tetra-class ship
Infallible
. I was the chair of the senatorial committee that approved the order, and Councilor Holt was the Admiral who carried it out. So yes, when the time came, we entrusted our most powerful weapon to the man we saw as our last hope. We gave him the fleet.”

“But he had fooled us,” Holt said. “His goal was not restoration at all, but the creation of an entirely new state where he would wield absolute control. He manipulated us, drew us in by playing on our deepest desperation, and by the time his true intentions were revealed it was too late to stop him.”

“And you think he is doing the same thing now.” Orion said.

“If I know the man at all, I am certain of it.”

“Except that Alexander is not the same man he was back then,” Sullivan said. “He was a passionate warrior fresh from the field of battle. All these years holed up in the palace have changed him. Now he is a shadow of what he once was, a madman who only knows how to follow his latest whim. He does not muster forces to Rio because he does not care, Councilor, but we shall see how he reacts when we make it as far as The Corridor.”

“No one here questions the MWR’s madness,” Holt said. “But he is not a fool, and if we don’t proceed with caution we will fail. I implore you all to see reason. Attacking the cities in this manner and at this pace is a disaster waiting to strike.”

“What would you have us do, Councilor?” Sullivan asked. “Continue for yet another year of war with no progress?”

“I would have us consider how we might achieve victory without this grievous loss of life. One hundred thousand dead in the initial strike, many more thousands in the invasion. We have stained the ground of Rio red with blood, and yet we do not bat an eye as we move to do the same at Lima.”

“Blood is the price of victory in war, Councilor,” Sullivan snapped. “You above all others here should realize that.”

“I commanded men on the high seas,” Holt replied. “I ordered them into battle. I encouraged them to die if necessary for their countrymen and their homes. But
never
did I ask them to sacrifice life needlessly. Those people at Rio died because of your impatience, and our tactics are becoming far too similar to those of the World System for me to tell the difference between them.”

Sullivan rose from his chair to exert a dominating presence on the room, “I am sorry you feel that way, Councilor Holt—and even more sorry that it must lead to this. Given the councilor’s continued disregard for the well-being of this government, his vocal sentiment that we should dissolve the Conglomerate and return power to the Old World nations, and his repeated lack of decorum in Council proceedings, I recommend that he be removed from the High Council of the Imperial Conglomerate, effective immediately.”

Holt paled, and his expression turned to shock just as surely as if Sullivan had slapped him. The emperor felt a spark of guilt, but pushed it away. Holt had made his own bed; now he must lie in it.

Orion spoke first, as Sullivan suspected he would, “With all due respect, Emperor, Councilor Holt is the most respected man at this table, with a service record that goes back before the Persian Resurgence and even to the Golden Age. In my short time on this Council I believe he has always offered constructive, honest opinions, and to remove him would weaken the Conglomerate.”

One look at the faces of the others told Sullivan that they all felt the same. If it came to a vote at that moment Holt’s position on the Council would be confirmed, and his own position might become precarious. The
most
respected man at the table? Orion’s failure to exclude Sullivan from that statement spoke volumes.

What would Alexander do in this situation?
Sullivan smiled.
Kill them all and be done with it, no doubt
.

He did not have that luxury, but he did have something else: a tool that was almost certain to sway them all: the twin forces of fear and doubt.

“I do not question the Councilor’s integrity,” Sullivan said. “Nor do I suggest tossing him to the wind. No, what I suggest is that Holt be allowed to return to his former trade, to be appointed Admiral and Supreme Commander of the Imperial fleet. His gifts and his knowledge will continue to serve us well, but his ideas are simply too antiquated for him to remain on this Council.”

“Too antiquated?” Holt demanded. “Because I place value on human life and mourn its loss?”

“Because you value things that no longer matter,” Sullivan said. “You pine after a dead civilization that will never return. You fill our meetings with your constant complaints and warnings, and offer no constructive solutions. Truthfully, my friend, age has made you weak. And the Council needs strength.”

“We will need more than that, if we are to expel one of our own,” the German said.

Sullivan scowled. As if the man had any real right to be there at all. “Council members,” he began. “We once held session where we declared the Old World and its laws, borders, and nations to be dissolved. With the exception of Orion and our friend from the Citadel here, you were all there. The declaration was unanimous. The nations of the Old World are dead. Forever. Councilor Holt, you added your vote to that declaration, did you not?”

Holt’s eyes narrowed, “I did.”

Sullivan pulled a folded cloth object from the side of his chair and unfurled it on the table, spreading it to its full width. Red and white stripes shone alongside a star-strewn background of blue, an iconic sight that almost made the emperor feel nostalgic.
Almost
. He pulled a box of matches from his pocket and tossed them onto the table. “Then reaffirm your declaration. Burn this flag.”

Holt’s face turned even whiter, and his eyes shifted between the matches and the flag, which he looked upon with great affection.

Of all the men in the room, only Sullivan and Holt were from the former United States. The rest came from the South American, European, and Australian peoples Alexander had needed to secure his rise to power, and those looked on the event with relative indifference. Sullivan took that as a good sign. They did not empathize with Holt, at least not in this.

Nearly a minute passed with no sound or movement, so Sullivan pressed his old friend even further, “If the Old World is dead then this flag means nothing. It is just a piece of cloth. The only flag that matters now is the one we all wear: the black, red, and silver of the Imperial Conglomerate of Cities. If you believe this, Councilor…light a match, and burn it.”

Holt stared long and hard at Sullivan before he finally answered with firm conviction, “No. I will not.”

Many of the councilors were surprised by the refusal, but not Sullivan. He knew exactly what had been brewing in the old man’s mind. “I thought as much. You no longer hold to the laws and decrees made by this Council. Your allegiance is to the nation of your birth.”

“Of
our
birth,” Holt reminded him.

“A father loves his child more than he has loved any before, even his parents,” Sullivan sneered. “The Conglomerate is my child. The Conglomerate holds my allegiance.”

“Your allegiance is to yourself,” Holt said. “I agreed to this coup because I believed in you, because I knew the man you once were. But the World System changed you, I see that now. You are blinded by your own vanity, caught up in the legend you see yourself playing out—just as Napoleon Alexander was all those years ago. There is no greater tragedy than the man who becomes what he was born to destroy.”

Sullivan snorted, “Alexander would have you burned alive for quoting Charles Crenshaw. I offer you a distinguished position in the Imperial fleet—
the
distinguished position—and yet you compare me to that monster? Just further evidence that your mind has been tainted, overcome by guilt at all the life lost since our error in giving Napoleon Alexander the lost fleet of the United States. A noble regret, and one I share—but if we followed your reasoning, Councilor…if we kill the Conglomerate and resurrect the Old World, it will all be for nothing. Alexander will roll in and take them all, one-by-one, and every man in this room will be a pile of ashes on the executioner’s pyre—if we are not hanged first by the very people we set free. Is that what you want? Is that what
any
of you want?”

“You know what I want, Scott.”

“Yes, I do,” Sullivan said. “Redemption, at any cost. Well you can seek it to your heart’s content, but I will not allow you to risk the security of this government any further with this hopeless agenda.” He looked the councilors over and saw that their expressions were troubled. They were ready now. Like him, they knew what had to be done. “I call the vote. Those who believe Christopher Holt’s talents would better serve us at the head of the fleet than at this table, make it known by standing.”

No one moved for nearly half a minute, an eternity of stillness during which Sullivan fought not to panic. To take a stand against another council member and fail would seriously damage his standing within the government. He could not afford to lose here.

But then the councilor to his right rose, followed closely by the man on his left.
One more
, Sullivan thought.
One more and the vote will be mine
. It didn’t matter which way the Citadel member swayed, for this was a matter for the High Council alone. In the event of a 4-4 tie Sullivan’s vote counted as the tiebreaker.

Still no one else moved. Sullivan felt heat rising from his collar, and sweat trickled down his back.
I am undone
.

And then—to the shock of every man in the room—Councilor Holt rose to his feet, fists planted on the table in front of him and his expression resolute, “Let us not continue this farce and engender division among us, gentlemen. If it is the emperor’s wish that I no longer sit on the Council, I willingly offer my resignation. I have never been much of a politician, and so I have no interest in these political games. Let the emperor speak his will in the matter and we will be done with it.”

Sullivan paused and glared at Holt across the table. Was the man trying to entrap him? To make him look a tyrant in the eyes of the remaining members?
No
, he decided, noting the tired expression in his eyes.
He does not test his emperor now, but his friend
.

And as much as a part of him wanted to give in, he had to act for the greater good.

“I accept your resignation, Christopher,” Sullivan nodded. “If you will please remove yourself from these proceedings and report for duty…
Admiral
.”

Holt tore his gaze from the emperor and gazed down longingly at the flag still spread across the Table of Nine. His eyes glazed over as his fingers came to rest on the red and white stripes at its base, “I wonder if I might have this, Emperor—a parting gift, in return for all my years of service on this Council.”

Sullivan bit back the automatic refusal that threatened to erupt. He had known Holt would not burn the flag; it had been a bluff from the start. He could not allow fire to consume something so valuable. Oh, he had been truthful about the sentiment: as the United States was dead, the symbolic power of its star-spangled banner was dead as well. But it was one of the few American flags left in existence, probably worth more than every Council member’s weight in gold.

He had taken something valuable from Holt, and Holt responded in kind. Sullivan had no choice but to agree, if this meeting was to end amicably. “Take it,” he said grudgingly. “But see to it that she never flies again.”

Holt bundled up the flag with care, “I will give her the retirement she deserves, I promise you that.” The former chief advisor and now deposed high councilor nodded his farewells to the other members, and spared Sullivan but one disappointed glance before departing from the Table of Nine for the last time.

My list of allies grows thin indeed
, Sullivan thought.
And my list of friends stands empty.

“Well then,” his voice cut through the silence. “We will follow the same procedure for the selection of Holt’s replacement that we did when Orion was raised. Make your nominations and we will cast our votes in the coming days.”
And who would I like to fill the empty seat? Someone easy to control. Someone like that fool who now held the title of the Magistrate of Rome. Costa, was it?
“But for now, on to other matters. There has been some disturbing news from the ships we sent after the
Golden Queen
. Orion?”

Orion, who Sullivan knew must be shocked and angered by Holt’s removal, spoke with his normal cool authority nonetheless, “The vessels chased Aurora’s band of traitors deep into the Indian Ocean, where they engaged and destroyed it. The
Golden Queen
and her crew now lay at the bottom of the ocean.”

“And how is that news disturbing?” the Citadel representative asked.

“Because our ships soon joined them,” Orion replied. “Our last communication from the captains indicated they were under assault by seven Persian cruisers.”

“Persian cruisers?” the representative asked. “But that’s impossible. Alexander laid Persia to waste, and those few who survive hide in their desert caves. They don’t have the technology to float a raft, much less launch seven cruisers. They must have been mistaken…or tricked, even.”

“Could be,” Sullivan admitted. “a design to draw our eye away from the System and toward a phantom target within a dead empire.”

“But how did they know the location of our ships?” Orion asked. “If not for the
Golden Queen
we would have no reason to sail that far south. More likely, they happened upon our ships while en route to another location. Their trajectory suggests they were headed for Domination Crisis Eleven.”