We are reborn into shadows, so then why must we walk in the light?

Stage 2

We are reborn into shadows, so then why must we walk in the light?

It took longer than she liked to leave the military complex, having to check out and do some last minute signing and receiving of paperwork for her approved leave.

Once all was in order, she noticed that she had an electronic message from her building manager. A package was waiting for her. With this new information she did not hesitate to make an executive decision as she exited the building, she would drive straight home.

As she drove through the winding parking garage of the complex and out the main gate, her anxiety started to grow. She wanted to see what her dear friend and mentor had sent her.

His curious words kept haunting her and she puzzled over them as she drove. She kept an eye on the speedometer, choosing to forgo the verification of the electronic signature of the pin. Instead, she simply decided to treat it as hostile. Within thirty minutes she managed to get to her apartment without having maimed herself or others on the road.

As quickly as she could muster in her high-heeled shoes, she rushed to the main door of the apartment building and headed for the building manager's office.

Just as she opened the door a smiling face greeted her.

"Good afternoon, Ms. Grey! How can I help?"

Miranda returned the building manager assistant's warm smile.

"Good afternoon, Vyacheslav. Did a box come for me today?"

The young man stood up.

"Just a moment. Preeti messaged me that a few packages arrived while I was out for lunch." He made his way into the back room.

While Miranda waited, her attention drifted to the low voice coming from a televised news source.

"In other news, a local terror group known as the Crimson Knights has once again issued a warning against the use of private property for covert governmental use. This is the fifth such warning in five years, and though authorities have previously issued a comment on the matter, this will mark the first year that no official word has been…"

"Ha! So here it is Ms. Grey." Vyacheslav had returned with a package. "If you could sign here please."

He waved his hand over the carrier package, and a rectangular outline appeared on the package, a large X residing within the outline.

Miranda couldn't help herself, as she picked up the box and looked it over with a sudden burst of curiosity. It was far heavier than a standard carrier box, about eighteen centimeters wide and about thirty long and almost as deep. Made of some sort of alloy she couldn't identify. She noticed that on the side of the carrier box, an angry red "Awaiting Authorization" notice blinked every seven seconds.

Curiosity sated, she laid it back on the counter, offering the now chuckling assistant a rather sheepish smile. Using her finger, she signed were directed, and after a few seconds, the blinking red turned a happy yellow and issued a "Thank you, Ms. Grey!" response. There was a subtle "click" as the lock disengaged.

Much like a book cover, the helpful assistant opened the lid for Miranda.

"There we go. The contents are all yours, Ms. Grey."

Miranda nodded, retrieving a rectangular brown package from within. She looked it over but there was nothing written on the exterior. The brown package was held together by wide black tape.

"Thanks again, Vyacheslav. Give Preeti my best, will you? Let her know we need to have lunch again sometime."

"Of course, Ms. Grey! I'll let her know, by and by."

With a nod and a smile, she turned and exited the manager's office. As she walked over to the row of mailboxes, she landed on a perfect solution to her troublesome insignia pin problem. She stopped at her mailbox and placed her thumb over the biometric sensor, then flipped open the lid. She paused to consider the antique device.

Who really needs mailboxes anyway?

Then the reality of her thought struck her.

Other than the occasional printed adverts that still plagued humanity, most physical media related to official government business. A reminder of the government's nostalgic need for physical records.

She took out what little mail she did have and placed the pin inside it.

It would be another month before any physical mail was delivered, so there was no harm in leaving it there for the time being. Closing the lid, she made her way to the staircase and, mindful of her heels, climbed up to the first floor.

It wasn't long before she was walking down a familiar hallway. Upon reaching the door to her apartment, she placed her thumb up against the biometric scanner, input her pin on the keypad, and with a click, she opened the door and stepped inside.

She dropped her mail on the floor and started to rip the tape off the box. Her heart hammered within her chest as she walked over to the dinner table and set the box down, settling into a chair. She opened the box and removed the three wrapped items. She took the one that looked most horse-like and began to unwrap it. Layer after layer, she pulled away the tissue paper protecting the figure, careful to make sure nothing was hidden within the layers.

It was indeed the horse she remembered hating so much, not so much for the craftsmanship, but for what it represented. An icon to the ridiculous fall of a once powerful civilization. She couldn't help but see a half a million subtle hints Richard was trying to give her. Though beautifully carved, nothing about the gift made sense. She searched again through the tissue to see if there was a note, but found nothing.

She moved to the second item. The mahogany box, an assumption based on weight.

She unwrapped it carefully, then opened it to find…nothing. Further investigation revealed that the edges were far too thin to hold any secret compartments. Once again, her search through the tissue paper was for naught.

She was less careful unwrapping the third item: the marble chessboard. The board itself was about eleven centimeters thick, with a hollowed out section where another smaller box held all the chess pieces neatly in place. She removed the smaller box and opened it. The pieces were all there, polished in black and white marble.

She exhaled a sigh. This all had to mean something, she was certain of it. He had given her two items that she had no interest in, but the chessboard was a different matter altogether. It represented one of their favorite pastimes together.

She sat back and studied the Trojan horse, the jewelry box and the chessboard; items with a plethora of meanings, but which ones mattered?

She closed her eyes and started to visualize the possibilities. The Trojan horse was representative of deception, the jewelry box could refer to wealth or the locking away of something precious. The chessboard on the other hand was just that, a game of strategy, a representation of cunning or thoughtful, analytical theory.

Exhaling, she opened her pale blue-green eyes and moved a slender hand to pick up the black queen. Her long graceful fingers played with the chess piece as she remembered how Richard had always spoken of each piece as if they were actual people.

He had anthropomorphized each piece, commenting on their role and behavior. She picked up each and every one in succession, gently inspecting the quality of the workmanship. Each was in their own particular grouping, bishops with bishops, towers with towers and so on. Only when she reached the knight grouping, did noticed something was amiss.

One of the four Knight pieces was different than the others. Each Knight piece was represented as a horse, of which they were all posed in a galloping stance.

All save two.

She picked up one of the knight chess pieces and looked it over. Up until that moment she had never paid it any mind, but this particular white knight was different. Miranda then picked up the black knight. It too was different than its other match.

Four knights, two with the same stance, two with differing stances and not in any way the same as the other.

Why would two knights share the same stance? And two differ from each other and the rest?

As she looked closely at the white knight, her eyes drifted out of focus to the Trojan horse on the table.

It struck her like a hammer's fall: one of the mismatch chess piece was reared up in the exact same stance as that Trojan horse.

Setting aside the white knight, she looked again at the jewelry box, hoping for a similar revelation. But after opening and closing the lid, and turning the box in her hand, she still found nothing of note. She set it down and started to give the other chess pieces a more serious look.

The crown of the black queen!

With a white knight and a black queen in her hand, she looked over the other pieces. Miranda found them to be, to the best of her ability to classify, the same stone as the other pieces. She didn't see a seam as she twirled any of the pieces in her hand. There wasn't anything extraordinary, about the white knight and black queen, at least in their construction.

She realized she was holding her breath. Exhaling, she placed the white knight next to the statue of the Trojan horse and sat back again to watch the two pieces, hoping for inspiration. After a moment of that fruitless endeavor, she set the black queen on the chessboard and started to tap the base of the chess piece against the board.

What exactly caused her hand to move closer to the edge of the board, she couldn't answer, but the moment she did she felt a strange pull on the queen.

She furrowed her brow. The pull was measured and steady as if one were playing with magnets.

Her reaction was instant. She followed the magnetic pull and the moment she let go of the piece it snapped into place with such force that Miranda jumped out of her chair.

Tentative she reached over to the piece and pulled on it.

It didn't want to move.

She applied more pressure on the piece, then let go. Instead of fighting it further, she grabbed the white knight and placed the piece on the board. After a moment of gliding the piece over random squares, the wandering knight ripped itself from her grip an into a square diagonal to the black queen, six spaces away.

As her mind focused in on the problem, she recalled a discussion she'd had with Richard about smugglers and their trade. They had talked about hidden locking mechanisms and the use of magnetic locks. The plunger lock, in particular, involved the use of two magnets, a small non-magnetic cylinder and a magnetic sliding trigger mechanism. The trigger system was held in place on the adjacent end of the cylinder by one magnet. On the opposite end one would place a more powerful magnet, which would overwhelm the weaker of the pair and move the trigger mechanism to its unlock position. Depending on the level of complexity and construction, sometimes a twist was required to complete the unlocking action.

Using this knowledge, she gripped one of the pieces and started to turn it on its base, until she heard a minute "click." Then she did the same with the remaining piece. The same sound was heard, but this time the center area of the chessboard opened up.

The opening appeared to be in four parts and each part was precision cut in an asymmetrical fashion. The pattern reminded Miranda of a black and white argyle sock she had in her sock drawer. She mused at the clever way to obfuscate the edge of a hidden compartment. She would have to remember this little trick.

Shaking off her appreciation of cleverness, she reached into the small cavity and pulled out two devices. One was pulsing purple; the other pulsing in an emerald green.

Both devices had a standardized connector common in the generic electronics market - an octagonal interface featuring four center connectors. Miranda's eyes widened when she recognized the green pulsating device as something she had manufactured when she was at the Paradoxical Training Corps. A huge emphasis was placed in electrical engineering as every student had to make, out of scratch parts, a device that could hold encrypted information. Each device had its own encryption key set. Miranda had chosen the 16,384-bit elliptic curve cryptography enabled public key algorithm. This public key was then transmitted throughout the InterGrid on various forums and repositories where only other Branch Cell members could access it. Her private key, on the other hand, was only given to one other person: her handler.

Miranda kicked off her heels and sprinted to her closet. Sliding to a stop, she yanked opened the closet door and got down on her knees. She moved some boxes to the side to clear open free space. She carefully positioned herself over a floor board and, with a firm and practiced press of her palm, pushed against it. The floor board slid open like a piece of a puzzle box. She pulled at the neighboring boards and removed them to reveal the face of a moderately large floor safe.

With a few deft turns of the dial and the touch of her finger to the biometric lock, the safe opened. Careful not to make a mess of things, she moved some folders around and removed a small box and a rectangular device.

Leaving the small box behind, she climbed out of the closet, standing she walked over to her bed and sat down. A latch kept the device from folding open on whim. With her finger, she slid the latch to the side and lifted the top portion to reveal a screen and a curiously arranged twenty-key pad with no numbers or letters.

The female end of that octagonal connector was pulsating gently with a soft white light. Without any hesitation, she inserted the device into the connector and turned it on. The process was simple; the private key was always stored on the PSSX Mobile Station or PSSXMS. The insertion of the PSSX activated the OS, which allowed access to the private key. Having three layers of authentication enabled her to have a highly secure and effective means of communication and information handling. If the PSSXMS was ever tampered with, the unauthorized hacker would be rewarded with the device's self-destruction, in the fashion of a thermite ignition, with no consideration to the well-being of the perp.

The device powered on and started to boot. After a moment a screen popped up with a written message:

For shadows cast, when in reach of light, and never cast, when in dark. For in light, we do fright and trouble remains. Oh, harken, the plighted sorrow! Find us a land, where shadows remain, a land where we shall call our Hallowed.

After a moment, Richard appeared on the screen.

He looked every bit as dignified as she remembered him. Clearing his throat, he spoke to the camera, his voice carrying the weight of authority.

"Miranda Grey, I am activating you."

The words hung in the air like the sword of Damocles. She had to force her attention back to what Richard was saying,

"…know this is sudden, my dearest daughter. If you're hearing this it's because a terrible set of events has taken place. Your activation was delayed for an important reason. I couldn't let them find out about your paradoxical Gift. You are unique, my daughter. So unique and the first of a class we, at the time, had no definition for. I will not ask you to forgive me. We knew about your paradoxical Gift and how dangerous it was, but decided against telling you."

There was a hint of pain in his eyes. Offering her a sad smile.

"Miranda, there is so much I wanted to tell you, but you were…" he stopped a moment and then corrected himself. "You are my star pupil. You always have been. This is probably going to come as a shock to you, but you didn't fail the Final Milestone. Not only did you pass that test, but you did so in a far more advanced way than anyone of us thought possible. Had it been my choice, I would have done this in a far more personal manner, but timing denied me that privilege."

"Your activation, Miranda, is of critical importance not only to you, but also to another: the owner of that secondary device in your possession. His name is Zechariah Fairchild. He is the Operations Chief of Branch Cell. Your assignment is to deliver that PSSX, by any means necessary. You cannot go through the standard chain of command. No one must be able to trace your steps to Branch Cell, not even Zechariah's people can know you are coming. Your mission is as follows:

Find Zechariah FairchildDeliver the PSSX to him and him onlyDo this within three weeks of my death.

"Miranda it's imperative that your mission is a success, I cannot stress this enough. This mission is classified as Priority One, you must reach Zechariah or…" he paused, "…you only have three weeks."

After a moment his expression took on a somewhat more softened, if not sadder look,

"Be well, my daughter and be cautious about whom you trust. This key will be destroyed after this video ends. There is a copy of this message in what you will deliver to Zechariah. The truth of things will be made known to you, Miranda. Whatever you learn in this endeavor, please don't think ill of Zechariah. Just remember this is all my doing, my ambition."

And without notice, the screen went blank and the device stopped pulsing.

Tears were streaming down her cheeks and her hand covered her mouth in agony long after the video had ended.

She was so upset, so confused by all of this.

What you mean "it was all your doing, you ambition"?

Why would I have any reason to think ill of this Zechariah?

The one man she had trusted for years had been keeping secrets. Including the most devastating secret of all - she hadn't failed her Final Milestone.

She had no other choice but to move forward.

She had a mission to complete.

She stood up and felt waves of adrenaline as her training kicked in. She was a soldier first and a woman second. She was not going to throw away a decade of respect and love for a man she considered her second father just because he held back a few secrets. There had to be a reason for it all and this mission would give her answers.

She would have to pack light.

Escape and evade was the primary mode of operation.

She had to assume she was being tracked. She thought of the insignia pin. Then she turned to look at the apartment she knew so well, yet cared little for. Her eyes scanned the art and furniture she barely remembered purchasing.

She had little that she held precious. Everything that was near and dear to her would fit in a medium sized bug-out pack.

Miranda then started packing.

As her first order of business, she started with clothing for the mission. Once she finished, she walked back to the safe.

Kneeling she grabbed the black lock box she had placed on the floor. Using her ring finger fingerprint, she unlocked it and removed the contents: a few identification cards, some paper money, a multi-band frequency smartphone and a complete poly-composite ceramic pistol.

The phone ran an OS custom-built from a widely available source code, with applications designed to make the hacking of most cellular and satellite communications that much simpler. Considering that she had to develop the concept and design of each application so that she could lead a group of elite programmers from its alpha to build stage, this device had the DNA of her former training built in.

The pistol was an unauthorized gift from her handler. If she were caught with such a weapon, it would mean an immediate court martial and stripping of her rank and station without any opportunity for appeal. She tentatively picked up her weapon and tested the weight of it.

It had been years since she fired it, yet even with the separation of time it felt as familiar in her hand now as it had after firing a thousand rounds in a practice session

Miranda's exhale was imperceptible. She was in need of a shower and a change of clothing. She took a moment to look at her uniform and smiled sadly as she began to unbutton her blouse. She walked over to the walk-in closet and, with great care, meticulously removed every article of clothing.

She wore her uniform with the dignity and respect that gave it merit. She placed her skirt and blouse on hangers, careful to remove her ribbons, rank insignia and metals. Everything had its place within this particular closet.

Miranda ran her fingers over each and every piece of military clothing she owned with a gentle touch, and once again tears welled up in her eyes. She recalled the day her life was turned upside down. She shivered as she recalled the cold dank cell that bore the bitterness of her pending court martial.

She mourned the men and women under her command that had perished. She mourned the loss of such devoted military personnel.

She pictured the letters she had handwritten to each of their families. How strange to remember the tear-stained paper, ink smudges on cream colored parchment, the poor articulation of words into sentences.

She shuddered as she remembered the terrifying realization that filled her mind as she lay in that cell; the possibility that she would never be able to wear the uniform again.

The memory of that day and the nervous breakdown that followed pulsated through every fiber in her being. Gasping she clutched her hand over her breast.

Not again! No!

Miranda struggled to stay standing, but she couldn't bear her own weight. She sank to the floor, wrestling with herself to maintain control over the paradoxical power that threatened to emerge.

Please not now! Not now!

In that moment of utter desperation, a long-forgotten sensation manifested itself. She found comfort in it, for it held memories from long ago and with them, the strength to overcome. That gut feeling, her nudging conscience, returned in full force.

After a few agonizing minutes she was able to restrain her fearful manifestation.

Panting, shaking, she stood and leaned against a wall. The harsh reality of Richard's statement struck her.

"Do this within three weeks of my death."

Zechariah had the answer to the control she was in desperate need of.

A sudden exhaustion overcame her, but that familiar sensation, like an old friend, held the darkness at bay.

Steeling herself, she turned her back on her former life and set her mind to next most important step of her mission.

The serenity of a hot shower.