on you to show the others how a member of the Society should behave. I had faith in you. I love you! And now this... this stupidity."
"I can explain," she said softly.
"No, you can't!" he roared. "I saw the picture of your knife. There is no possible excuse. I'm going to hate myself forever, but there's only one thing I can do. The Society has rules, damn it, and it's my job to enforce them. I'm so, so sorry."
Aaron pulled the trigger.
Somebody took his gun away before the bullet fired. The motion was so quick he couldn't follow it with his eyes. He found himself staring at his empty hands.
As far as he knew, only one person in the world could pull that trick. He turned around and found Ethel standing there. She was holding his gun.
When he had first met her, strands of gray had salted her black hair. Now it was all white as snow. Her skin was still dark though, and her eyes were even darker. It was like looking into a pair of black holes of infinite depth. They weren't human eyes. She was an older woman of medium height, and a casual observer would've assumed she wasn't much of a threat. In fact the legatus legionis of North America was a creature straight out of a terrifying nightmare.
"Hello, ma'am," Aaron said in a shaky voice. "It's good to see you. Can you please explain what's going on?"
She cocked her head. "Guess."
Blood was pounding in his temples. His thoughts were a tangled, emotional mess. Somehow, he managed to fish out an insight from that quagmire.
"This was a test," he said slowly.
She nodded. "Correct."
"Marina didn't do anything wrong."
"Also correct."
"Barney Simpson doesn't exist. The whole story was faked."
Ethel smiled. "This is one reason why you're such a great commander. You always figure things out."
Aaron sat on the edge of the bed. His whole body was shaking. He tasted salt and realized it was his own tears.
Her bodyguard, Guthrum, stepped out of the shadows. Aaron had never heard him speak a word. Guthrum was tall enough to play professional basketball. Veins were clearly visible in hairless skin as white as paper. Steel gauntlets with sharp spikes covered his hands. It was difficult to guess his age, but if Aaron had to pick a number, it would be forty five.
Marina crawled across the bed and gave Aaron a hug. "It's OK," she whispered.
"I tried to shoot you," he murmured.
"That's good. I'm proud of you. If you hadn't tried to kill me, Ethel would've killed you."
"Who came up with this crazy test?"
"I did." She grinned. "It's good to know I can still fool you when I really need to. Thanks for saying those nice things about me."
He stared at her.
"Aaron," Ethel said in a serious tone, "the test was necessary. I had to be absolutely certain of your loyalties. You had to show me the Society was more important to you than the life of the woman you love."
He faced her. "You doubted me, ma'am?"
"Unfortunately, I have to be extremely selective with my trust these days. In fact, there are only three people in the world I trust completely. All of them are in this room. We have a problem."
"What?"
She looked around. "Not here."
"My bedroom isn't private enough?" He raised his eyebrows.
"We have a huge problem."
* * *
Aaron, Marina, Ethel, and Guthrum were standing on the roof of the John Hancock Center in downtown Chicago. They weren't in the warm observatory with the tourists. Ethel had insisted on going all the way to the top.
There was a reason tourists weren't allowed up here: it was dangerous. Crunchy snow and ice made the surface so treacherous that Aaron had to take slow, careful steps. A bitterly cold wind buffeted him from random directions, and there was a real chance of getting blown off the building. Gigantic radio towers emitted a disconcerting hum. He didn't want to know how much radiation was passing through his body. High voltage signs and power cables were everywhere.
Everybody was heavily bundled with hats and gloves, but Aaron still wasn't comfortable. The
"I can explain," she said softly.
"No, you can't!" he roared. "I saw the picture of your knife. There is no possible excuse. I'm going to hate myself forever, but there's only one thing I can do. The Society has rules, damn it, and it's my job to enforce them. I'm so, so sorry."
Aaron pulled the trigger.
Somebody took his gun away before the bullet fired. The motion was so quick he couldn't follow it with his eyes. He found himself staring at his empty hands.
As far as he knew, only one person in the world could pull that trick. He turned around and found Ethel standing there. She was holding his gun.
When he had first met her, strands of gray had salted her black hair. Now it was all white as snow. Her skin was still dark though, and her eyes were even darker. It was like looking into a pair of black holes of infinite depth. They weren't human eyes. She was an older woman of medium height, and a casual observer would've assumed she wasn't much of a threat. In fact the legatus legionis of North America was a creature straight out of a terrifying nightmare.
"Hello, ma'am," Aaron said in a shaky voice. "It's good to see you. Can you please explain what's going on?"
She cocked her head. "Guess."
Blood was pounding in his temples. His thoughts were a tangled, emotional mess. Somehow, he managed to fish out an insight from that quagmire.
"This was a test," he said slowly.
She nodded. "Correct."
"Marina didn't do anything wrong."
"Also correct."
"Barney Simpson doesn't exist. The whole story was faked."
Ethel smiled. "This is one reason why you're such a great commander. You always figure things out."
Aaron sat on the edge of the bed. His whole body was shaking. He tasted salt and realized it was his own tears.
Her bodyguard, Guthrum, stepped out of the shadows. Aaron had never heard him speak a word. Guthrum was tall enough to play professional basketball. Veins were clearly visible in hairless skin as white as paper. Steel gauntlets with sharp spikes covered his hands. It was difficult to guess his age, but if Aaron had to pick a number, it would be forty five.
Marina crawled across the bed and gave Aaron a hug. "It's OK," she whispered.
"I tried to shoot you," he murmured.
"That's good. I'm proud of you. If you hadn't tried to kill me, Ethel would've killed you."
"Who came up with this crazy test?"
"I did." She grinned. "It's good to know I can still fool you when I really need to. Thanks for saying those nice things about me."
He stared at her.
"Aaron," Ethel said in a serious tone, "the test was necessary. I had to be absolutely certain of your loyalties. You had to show me the Society was more important to you than the life of the woman you love."
He faced her. "You doubted me, ma'am?"
"Unfortunately, I have to be extremely selective with my trust these days. In fact, there are only three people in the world I trust completely. All of them are in this room. We have a problem."
"What?"
She looked around. "Not here."
"My bedroom isn't private enough?" He raised his eyebrows.
"We have a huge problem."
* * *
Aaron, Marina, Ethel, and Guthrum were standing on the roof of the John Hancock Center in downtown Chicago. They weren't in the warm observatory with the tourists. Ethel had insisted on going all the way to the top.
There was a reason tourists weren't allowed up here: it was dangerous. Crunchy snow and ice made the surface so treacherous that Aaron had to take slow, careful steps. A bitterly cold wind buffeted him from random directions, and there was a real chance of getting blown off the building. Gigantic radio towers emitted a disconcerting hum. He didn't want to know how much radiation was passing through his body. High voltage signs and power cables were everywhere.
Everybody was heavily bundled with hats and gloves, but Aaron still wasn't comfortable. The