Chapter 50 Elder Clarke Maxwell

Sara spent the next week dropping messages for her father. She knew they wouldn’t risk contact with him in the field, so had to time them carefully. Making sure the messages stayed behind her father’s movements.

She got one message from him, left at an outpost as he passed through. A simple message to say he was fed and fighting fit. She missed him, but that started long before command sent for him.

Sara had Jen feed Collins a lie based on something John told her. Something about a virtual door to practise on. She didn’t really understand it, although neither did John. Collins may have, but he’d never admit it if he didn’t. The upside was Sara got help with the paperwork, and good company.

“Head Scribe Collins, I was just coming to see you.” Sara lied. She’d been going to the gym when they met in the corridor. “I left word for the elder. No response yet.” She’d ignored his requests to do it himself.

“Not to worry. I left word with a colleague at Lost Hills.” Collins smirked, having found an end run around her. “He’ll arrive any day now I should think.”

“Good idea.” Sara masked her contempt. “Carry on.”

Half a world away, Elder Maxwell knelt to take a bearing with his compass. The arid featureless landscape stretched out before him. “Not far now.” He stood, keen to reach his destination, so he could turn around and head back.

“They don’t know.” Callum reassured him. He’d brought only a single companion on his journey. Recon’s lead scout made a more than adequate bodyguard. And stood as one of his oldest friends. He’d even been his best man when he married Brandon.

“I know.” Clarke thought he’d hidden his fear of being found out. “Come on, let’s get this done and get back to work.” He trudged on, savouring what could be his last walk in the sun.

The only structure for miles soon edged onto the horizon. An old broken down field station. The only thing new about it, the winged sword and cogs etched in the door.

Elder Maxwell punched in his security code and the door opened. He and Callum rode the lift down. It opened to a small room and a pair of armoured knights in the cleanest suits he’d ever seen.

“Elder Maxwell, welcome sir.” His name still carried some weight. A young man in fatigues came in.

“Elder Maxwell, Lead Scout Marks. I need to take your weapons.”

“You are welcome to try.” Clarke growled. He felt bad for the young officer trying to do his job, but wouldn’t disarm if the high elder himself asked. No one tried to stop him as he strode through.

He stepped through into what felt like a summer afternoon. Artificial sun lamps warming from above. Greenery growing in the centre of plush seating and along the walls. The sound of running water. He ignored it all and kept walking towards the lift.

It occurred to him on the way down that Maxson himself rode this lift and walked these halls. The orphan boy had been so enamoured with tales of his bravery, he’d given himself a last name to honour him. He’d taken his first name from his favourite comic book character. That brought a moment of reverence he smothered as the doors opened to level four.

“Elder Maxwell, we didn’t expect you so early.” A high ranking scribe came from behind a desk and tried to stop him walking. “If you’d like to follow me, I’ll have a room prepared so you can freshen up from your long journey.” He kept walking towards the large steel doors and gave Callum the merest of glances. “Elder Maxwell please, the council is in session. I can’t allo—” The scribe fell flat as Callum subtly tripped him.

“Careful there friend.” Callum knelt as if helping, putting a knee in the scribe’s chest. Elder Maxwell summoned his nerve and burst into the council chamber.

The scent of fresh coffee and pastries felt like salt in a wound. “What is the meaning of this interruption?!” Elder Finch banged his weak fists on the round table as he stood. Two more elders in attendance and an empty chair. “And you dare come before this council armed! Do you mean to assassinate one of us?” His dramatics were not appreciated by the other two elder’s at the table.

“I assure you Elder Finch,” Clarke rested his hand on the hilt of the sword on his hip. “If I did want you dead, it’d be far better for you if I had a sword.” His quip brought smirks from the other elders.

“As for the meaning of the interruption, you sent for me.” He tossed the pipboy recovered from a Vault onto the table. He regretted taking the rotting arm from it. “The data on a ‘cure’ for Filth. Although I've found a bullet usually works.”

From his pack he took the heavy cube of depleted uranium they’d recovered. He slid it to Elder Harwood, a man he’d served with proudly.

“And the warhead?” Finch asked without looking up from his paperwork.

“Too unstable for transport. I have it secured.” The order he’d given haunted him still. “Plus you bitched about me bringing a sword in here.”

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“Not much to show for five and a half years.” Finch sneered. “And we’d have troubling reports. Sentinel Cross and his team are missing.”

“How Sentinel Cross conducts his operations is his business.” He snapped as Finch touched a nerve. “I don’t micromanage my people, you want to know what he’s doing, ask him.”

“We tried.” Elder Oakes spoke up, his tone concerning. “How prevalent is the Abomination?”

“They’ve spread out there. We’ve had sporadic contact.” He saw worry on the faces at the table. “I’ve lost three to them in the last year.” The guilt burned under his skin.

The elders took a moment to show respect, that Finch interrupted. “We’ve also had reports of the wanton desecration of armour.” Finch prodded his finger on the files.

“We don’t have the luxury of backup out there. My people need to get in and out unseen. Can’t exactly do that in power armour.” Clarke began to lose his grip. “I’ve sent back hundreds of suits of armour. Enough energy weapons to arm a division. I haven’t had a resupply in three years. I don’t have time for this.” He turned his back. Finch stood and barked, going quiet as another door opened.

“What is going on?” High Elder Bolton asked as he entered. He’d aged more than Clarke imagined.

“High Elder.” He stood to attention and saluted. “Elder Maxwell reporting as ordered.”

“As you were.” High Elder Bolton put him at ease. “Thank you gentlemen, that will be all.”

Bolton dismissed the council, leading Clarke into his private chambers. Clarke had to resist offering the old man his arm to steady himself. “Brandy?” Bolton pointed to the crystal decanter and fine glasses.

“Thank you sir.” Clarke poured them both one. Bolton’s hand shook as swirled the glass.

“I sent for you Clarke.” Bolton sipped his brandy. “You’ve done good work, but it’s time to come home.”

“I’m close to finding it, Hank.” He couldn’t share what he knew, not without compromising the high elder.

“Then your chapter will be able to carry on without you.” The high elder fixed his gaze on him, no hint of compromise. “Did you know that the high elder’s seat on the council is an honorary position. I’m within my rights to appoint a proxy.”

“You want me to take your seat on the council?” He felt entirely unworthy of such an honour.

“No. I want you to be the next high elder. Putting you on the council will give you chance to build up political power.” Both men had a disdain for politicking. “I’m old Clarke, and I worry for the future of our Brotherhood. I need to know someone I trust will take over when I’m gone. The Enemy is moving, and we still know nothing about them.”

“Have the medics told you something?” He worried for a man that had been like a father to him.

“It’s progressive. Two years at the most. Which is why I sent for you. It’s time to come home and start a family.” His friend and mentor gave him a knowing look.

“I have Sara.” He tried to hide the pain, knowing the damage he’d done to their relationship.

“And if I thought for one second she’d have come I’d have sent for her too.” Hank had a warm smile, he’d always liked Sara. “She’s her father’s daughter, a fighter. I bet you the rest of that bottle you’re on my side of this conversation in a few years. Legacy Clarke, that’s what matters. You need to come home and raise sons to carry on your name.”

“Are you ordering me to come home?” He threw back his brandy, waiting for an answer.

“No one says you have to like it Clarke.” Hank looked away, uncomfortable. “What you do behind closed doors is your own business. I’m asking as an old friend. Come home, help me set the Brotherhood on the right path.

“I’m sorry sir.” Elder Maxwell stood, filled with shame. “I have to finish what I started.”

“I’m disappointed. But I suppose there’s a first time for everything.” His friend and mentor stood and saluted him. “Good hunting Elder Maxwell.”

“Thank you sir.” He saluted and walked away with his head hung low, hoping to have time to make things right.

“We good?” Callum asked, his relief palpable.

“We are.” He didn’t let himself relax yet. “I want to stop and get something for Sara.” He’d always brought something back from a deployment for her. A tradition she’d outgrown years ago, but something he hadn’t yet.

“Fine.” Callum rolled his eyes, but he wasn’t a father.

The crowds parted and gawked as Elder Maxwell strolled through the marketplace. It felt fake. Like someone had described a bustling market to someone who’d never seen one. Everything clean, neat, the traders fat and lazy. He saw an old world ice cream parlour and thought of Brandon. He’d have raced in and bought ice creams for everyone and anyone. Elder Maxwell walked on.

He found a well organised stall selling comic books. He picked out a few he knew Sara needed for her collection and didn’t bother haggling.

He stepped out of the lift and headed for the security checkpoint. He picked up on the subtle movement of an armoured knight getting unpleasant orders over the comm. He stopped short, leaving himself room. Callum stepped in front of him.

“Elder Maxwell, sir.” Two armoured knights blocked the door, advancing on him. “Hold here, please.” She sounded young.

“Name and rank, knight.” He barked, masking his fear with feigned indignation. “Who is your commanding officer?” The lift began to ascend behind him.

“Knight Walden sir. My commander is Elder Finch.” Her answer made him place a hand on his sword.

“Move aside Knight Walden, or be moved.” The lift reached the floor below. It lingered before starting again, now potentially filled with a security team.

“Sir, you don’t understand.” She took a step forward, the mechanised hand raised. Clarke shifted to give himself space and planted his feet. He drew in a deep breath as the lift doors pinged and opened.

A single, elderly scribe shuffled out and handed him a folded note. He read the coded message, transposing the numbers for letters in his head. The armoured knights moved aside, clearing his path to the lift. He pressed the button and the doors slid closed.

They rode up in silence, keeping quiet till they were out of sight of the field station.

“Well?” Callum broke the silence.

“They don’t know.” He let out a resigned sigh.

“And the note?” Callum asked.

“Sara did it. She found it!” The word from Collins came as welcome news. Finding out what Sara had done gave him a boost that would carry him back. “We get that Vault open. Use whatever we need to find Jones and end him.” It made the bile rise in his throat to use that name. “Time to finish what I started.”