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James Axler – Exile to Hell

He quickly took stock of his surroundings. The room was as large as a courtyard, lit by clusters of tall scented candles in each of the four corners, but the ceiling was so high that no light reached there.

Salvo stepped forward, placed his right hand on Kane’s breast, over his heart, and after a moment, Kane followed suit

In a deep, stentorian tone, Salvo said, “You are about to take the oath of the Trust. You are expected to obey its conditions. There are sound reasons behind the oath, and it is easy to see why it is necessary, but not so easy to see how you can live up to it. But live up to it you must, and that means you must make difficult choices. All former loyalties are superseded, swept aside by the oath. Do you understand?”

Kane said, “I understand.”

“Repeat after me.” In ringing tones, Salvo declaimed, ‘”Resolve is our armor, will is our weapon, faith is our mission. Personal ambition is our scourge.'”

Salvo nodded at him, and Kane repeated the words, adding a fanatic’s fevered flair.

“‘We solemnly vow that we will face death rather than disclose the secrets we learn here. We sanctify ourselves in the service of humanity. We accept our responsibilities in the world as ministers of the Archon Directorate. We promise to discharge our duties as befits servants of the future and to hold our knowledge sacred and inviolate.'”

There was more. Kane intoned the words, imitating Salvo’s cadence and delivery of them. Once the oath was completed, Salvo moved aside and Abrams took his place, intoning the same vow for Kane to repeat back.

Each member of the Trust administered the pledge, and Kane parroted it back to every one of them. It took a dismally long time. When the ceremonial give-and-take was over, Kane had memorized every word, every nuance of the vow. He was tired and thirsty, and it wasn’t until the last man stepped away from him that Kane realized what an emotional ordeal he had undergone. He felt wrung out, enervated, numb.

And that, whispered a mocking voice in his head, was the entire point.

The Trust shifted away, a few of them smiling at him. Abrams gave him a direct, iron-grim stare, nodded brusquely and stalked out of the room.

Salvo draped an arm over his shoulders. “Guess you’re feeling pretty limp by now.”

Kane acknowledged the comment with a self-conscious chuckle.

Salvo guided Kane out of the vast room, beneath a wide, low arch. Another room lay beyond, and another, all feebly lit by an unseen light source.

“Go home and get some rest, Kane. Business as usual during your shift, for appearance’ sake.”

Kane cleared his throat. “Does that business as usual include doing something about Guana Teague?”

As they approached a set of tall, ornately carved double doors, Salvo stopped abruptly. He turned to face Kane. “Is Teague still important to you?”

Kane presented the impression of seriously considering the query. “No,” he admitted. “Not now.”

“Good,” replied Salvo. “What about the Baptiste woman?”

“That depends. Did her arrest have anything to do with the computer disk I found in Reeth’s slaghole?”

Earnestly Salvo answered, “Unfortunately yes. The Dulce operation is our mission. Due to you, she found out too much.”

“Is she a Preservationist?”

“She is. We have the proof. She used you, Kane.”

“What’s her relationship with this warlord’s army?”

Salvo waved a dismissive hand through the air. “That, admittedly, is a stretch. Frankly the rumors we’ve received from the field about the warlord are third-hand. The last bit of Intel indicated they were filtering in from overseas, Asia most likely. If that’s the case, there is nothing to concern us. But she’s a Preservationist nevertheless.”

“And Reethwhat connection did he have to the Dulce mission?”

Salvo’s response was so smooth and practiced, Kane knew immediately he was lying. “Contract labor. We of the Trust must occasionally use men, and men make mistakes. Reeth made a very big one, a fatal one. He had no idea how crucial the operation is, so he got cute, he got greedy.”

“And he learned too much and he got dead.”

“Exactly. Just like Brigid Baptiste.”

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