A.N. Okay, a new chapter, and as promised a swift one. I hope you enjoy it and that a little of my old skill has returned with practise. As always, my thanks to all of you who reviewed my last chapter and I hope that you will continue to provide feedback with this latest instalment. As for the comment about my use of speechmarks I would like to point out that using "" is an American technique that has become popular recently. As a British student I was taught to use the single marks and therefore have done so in my writing. I apologise if this has caused confusion but in my writing single marks will always indicate speech. Oh and for those of you who were curious, I'm male. Now that that's all cleared up, on with the story.

The Visionary

Chapter Nine- A Child Shall Lead Them

"Inside the palace"

The hall was wide but dimly lit, crates stacked at odd intervals all along its length. At one end a wide, spiral set of stairs ascended to ground level and the rest of the palace while a half dozen side-passages and corridors led off to the various cellblocks. The last of them, the worst of the cells was behind the last door at the end of the corridor, the thick bolts slammed home and held in place be heavy, mechanical locks, virtually impervious unless one had the correct key. All along the corridor automated defences rested lifelessly in their posts, the firepower that should have protected against any prison break deactivated along with the rest of the city grid. It was unusual indeed to see servants down this low but the last few days had seen a multitude of unusual events, compared to some this was positively mundane.

Samantha could never remember being this scared, not even when the guards had taken her away to be beaten. If they were caught doing this then she would not be beaten, she would be killed. Michaels was worse than the Baron, maybe even worse than Erol, he would never let any of them live, but they had to do it. This was their only chance. She crouched in the corner outside the doorway, trying to melt into the shadows as she held the pack in her hands close to her chest, hunched over it as though to protect it's precious contents.

She glanced up at her sister, a tall, slender woman of twenty-four, her curly hair blonde just as Samantha's was, enough of a similarity in their soft features to make their sisterhood obvious. Both were dressed in the white of servants their dresses light and flowing despite the tepid air. Miranda smiled down at her reassuringly, nodding once before she pressed the call button beside the cell block door. A few moments later a helmet appeared in the opening, the elite staring out at Miranda as he brandished his fire lance.

'What do you want? Slaves aren't allowed here!' He snapped.

Miranda lowered her eyes, her fear only half an act, 'His Majesty Michaels sent me Sir. He wanted me to tell you that you are needed at the western sub-gate. The rebels have begun a push there.' She hid her trembling hands by clasping them in front of her, willing herself to stillness.

It was a half-truth, Torn had been doing a masterful job of keeping the palace's outer defences off balance for the past two days since he had retaken the rest of the city. Artillery, rockets and surgical strikes by flights of hellcats and infantry had kept Michael's troops in constant movement trying to guess where he would attack or bombard next. Yet for all of this he had yet to make it within the palace walls for the inner defences could not be touched by his long-range counter-measures. Any attack that strayed from beneath that protective umbrella was immediately cut to pieces by cunningly engineered kill-zones or in some cases simple armour. He had probably heard some of the com chatter caused by their latest attack, but if he called central for confirmation of the orders they were dead. A moment stretched into eternity as Samantha and Miranda both held their breaths before the Elite let out a laugh.

'Finally!' Turning he called down the corridor to the rest of his squad, 'Hey Boys, get your gear together. We're finally getting a bit of action with the rebels at the west sub-gate!' As funny as it was to think, this plan would not have stood a chance with Krimson Regulars but with the various psychoses that were instigated into most Elite the last thing they wanted to do was avoid an opportunity for a fight.

Miranda stood back as with the sound of old mechanics and grinding gears the door was unlocked and swung open. In the lee of the door Samantha screwed her eyes shut as the Elite raced from the cellblock control room, trying to make herself as small as possible behind the satchel. As the Elite disappeared up the stairwell Miranda pulled her swiftly to her feet and through the closing door, dragging the satchel with her. The cell block was huge, dozens of tiers of cells stretching up from the ground floor, their doors just as solid as the one through which they had gained entry. Samantha stared around her, forcing her gaze to avoid the horrible table in the centre of the control room, the various instruments and machinery that surrounded it stained a dirty red with the blood of years of torture.

'Which one is he in Miranda?'

'Cell Twelve Samantha, quickly, it's over here.' Talking in whispers the two hurried across the floor, heading for the numbered door that held the man they had put their faith in. Hurrying up to the door Samantha threw the satchel down, pulling frantically at the zip. It was too late that she heard the warning called out from the cell.

'Watch out! Behind you!' The two span to find an Elite standing not two paces behind them, his fire-lance cocked and levelled at the pair.

'You two should have known that the Elite never leave someone like him unguarded. His Majesty is going to be very interested in why you thought he should be freed early.'

With her back pressed against the wall beside the cell Miranda pulled Samantha close, her younger sister clinging frantically to her leg as she whimpered in terror. But something else caught Miranda's attention as the Elite pawed at his belt without taking his eyes or lance from the pair, looking for the control that would switch his helmet radio's frequencies and allow him to call in their transgression. A voice, low and steady by her ear spoke in a whisper.

'Listen to me, cover Samantha's eyes.'

Her eyes darted towards the cell, as she whispered back under her breath, 'What?'

'Cover her eyes! I don't want her to see what's about to happen.' The voice was an order and Miranda, with no course of action left open to her, obeyed, sliding a hand over her sister's eyes as she turned her head away from the man who would doubtless be their executioner. But no sooner had Samantha's head been turned into the fabric of Miranda's dress than a knife seemed to sprout from the Elite's throat. For a moment he was still, shock running through him before his hand rose slowly, grasping faintly at the blade lodged in the gap between his breastplate and helmet. A horrible, wet, choking sound coming from beneath that mask as he stumbled a few steps before finally collapsing to the ground. Jak smirked inside his cell, a knife they didn't know you had. You'd be amazed what you could do with a knife they didn't know you had.

Outside, Miranda stared in shock for a moment longer at the stricken Elite before she span and wrenched open the satchel, digging out the key with shaking hands before sliding it in and turning it, the sound of gears and moving metal sounding as the door opened. From the darkness inside Jak stepped out into the light his eyes sweeping the cell block in an instant before coming to rest on the two. Still clinging to Miranda's skirts Samantha stared up at him, her eyes wide with amazement. He smiled as he knelt in front of her, stretching out a hand to ruffle her blond curls.

'Hello Samantha, I remember you. You've just done a very, very brave thing, I'm very proud of you.' His smile was friendly, his voice soft, unmatched to the harsh surroundings or the victim lying not two paces away.

But they called Samantha's attention away from these things and she beamed at him as he stood to look Miranda in the eye, her height meaning that she was his equal. 'Miranda, right?'

She nodded, stroking Samantha's hair slowly, relief flooding her system, it had actually worked. They had actually done it. 'Yes, I'm her sister, I managed to get you your weapons from the lock-up too.'

Jak stooped and pulled his gun belt out of the satchel, his morph-gun still slung in place, noting with pleasure that Miranda had restocked it with a full compliment of ammunition and grenades. 'Well then I've got to thank you as well. But freeing me does no good, if I do anything against Michaels…' His eyes lowered, one of his hands clenching into a fist, 'well he's got a hostage. I can't let anything happen to her.'

Samantha smiled again, tugging on his shirt, 'It's okay King Jak, I found out about her when me and Miranda were trying to get the key to free you. We know where she is!'

Jak's eyes darted to her before they rose again to Miranda, 'You know where Keira is?'

Miranda nodded, 'Yes, she's being held not far from the throne room in a special set of cells. Usually they're used to discipline us servants but they've got about five guards in there watching her.'

'Five? Why did he put so many on her?' Jak knew he could take five... but it would be hard.

Miriam smiled as she recalled watching the events unfold, 'Yeah, on the way in she sent three to the hospital, two with broken jaws and a third one who'll be walking funny for a week. Michaels didn't want her getting hurt in an escape attempt so he had to set five men to make sure she could be easily restrained.'

Jak's eyes shone with new hope even as a smirk crossed his face at the thought of Keira's temper. 'Can you take me there?'

Miranda shook her head, 'It won't do any good. There may only be five guards watching her but to get to the cells from here you have to go past the barracks. There's dozens more Elite in there. They'd spot you in a moment and then you'd both be dead.'

Jak's jaw tightened, there had to be a way. Think Jak think! If Keira was here she'd find a way! She'd always found a way, right back to when she had discovered how to activate the…

His eyes rose to find the structure at the far end of the cellblock, 'The warp gate!'

Miranda turned to the inactive ring, 'That won't do you any good, the only other exit in the palace is right in the middle of the Barracks, you'd be walking into a death trap.

Jak smirked, 'I know, but it'll be easy to switch the settings to another destination.'

Miranda gave him a perplexed look, 'What good will that do? If you escape he'll probably kill her anyway.'

Jak smashed open the panel on the back of the portal with a well-aimed jab from his rifle butt. 'Who said anything about escape? That security detail will join in the action at the West Gate and I timed the security checks, the next one's not for half an hour so until then we've got a free hand. How many Krimson Regulars do you think will be able to get through this portal in the next half-hour?'

She stared at him for a moment before a slow smile spread across her face as he continued. 'When they get here I'll lead an attack on the barracks. They won't be expecting it and we should be able to take over the barracks without giving them a chance to alert the control room, especially if there's a serious assault from the outside at the same time. Any calls for back up will be lost in the com chatter.' He grinned as he set to work splicing the wires in the panel. This would work. He'd be able to rescue Keira. His expression darkened, and once she was safe, oh how Michaels was going to pay, oh how he was going to pay for what he'd done.

"Resistance Slums Base"

In the Resistance base Ashelin's room was large but dimly lit, most of the light generated by the holo-screen in the centre of the room. The tabletop showed 3D schematics in an eerie, blue glow, notes and data scrolling across the intangible walls, telling the viewer their composition, and the defences imbedded within them. In front of them Ashelin sat in a chair, the remote for the viewer held loosely in her right hand as she rotated and zoomed in on the images again and again.

Ashelin sighed as she sat back in her chair, rubbing her eyes, as she sighed, staring at the palace schematics was not working. She had been at this for hours, going over every inch of the plans, using every memory of her time within its walls to try to find some weak spot, some way that she could get a force within its walls. But the only way that the palace had ever fallen was through treachery from within. Even Jak, at the height of his power had only managed brief forays before the defences drove him out. She knew the palace defences like the back of his hand. There were no weak spots, Erol had been an expert at what he did and had made sure that the palace was as impenetrable as possible. With a million they could do it easily, but how many thousands of men and women would they loose if they simply rushed in. Inside it was a labyrinth designed to funnel attackers into hundreds of cunningly crafted death-traps and kill-zones, each of which, when defended by Elite, could claim dozens of lives before they were over-run.

The time she had spent working showed, her normally pristine, sleek and deadly appearance deteriorating through lack of care, her clothes wrinkled and tarnished through days of constant wear, and though she hid it well her face too showed the signs. Sunken cheeks and dark eyes marring her normally sharp features, lack of sleep evident to those who knew her. Even her poise had faded, her position in the chair lethargic, tired. But still the spark of fervour showed in her eyes as her fingers danced over the keys and changed the view to the next floor where she once again resumed scanning it for any sign of weakness or fault, anything that would not mean horrific losses in an assault. As she fruitlessly scanned through them once more her communicator went off, the small device at her belt emitting a the rapid beep of an emergency call. As she snatched it up the display showed her an unfamiliar set of numbers, whoever was calling her had better have a damn good reason. Flicking the on switch she answered in bad-temper, her raw nerves showing in her voice.

'Ashelin here.' Her eyes widened as the signal was picked up and her screen showed her the caller, it was Jak, looking like he had during the Praxis Wars, his clothes torn and dirty, his face showing signs of fighting. But before she could ask him a thing he was talking, his voice low and urgent but bearing an undercurrent of excitement that lit the same in her. He had something.

'Ashelin, listen close, I don't have time to explain what's happened but I'm in the palace and I'm loose. I'm down in the cells and I've got a warp gate under my control, if Torn keeps the firefight going on the western side we've got maybe half an hour until the Elite realise what's happened.' He paused for a moment, glancing around the cell-block.

'How many assault troops can you get through the power-station warp gate in half an hour?'

Ashelin smiled, a genuine expression as she felt the tension drain from her body for the first time since the battle at the palace. It showed in her voice as she replied, 'As many as can fit through.'

'Start sending them. Get a hold of Daxter, have him send his wastelanders through first. I'll be leading them, I've got… something I need to take care of.'

She knew what, or rather who he meant and thought of Keira brought her pause for thought. 'How do I know that Michael's isn't forcing you to do this? How can I know that this is not a trap?'

Jak's eyes smouldered for a moment, not quite the fury of Dark Jak but as close as a human could come, 'Because once the Wastelanders are here I'm going to rescue Keira, and then I'm going to find Michaels and kill him.' He said it as though it were fact, Ashelin knew Jak well, he had never been the best actor and not even the best actor could fake that tone, and those eyes, this was for real, this was the chance she had prayed for.

She forced herself to remain calm as she nodded confrimation, 'They're on their way Jak, I'll see you in the throne room.' Before he could reply she had switched frequencies, a little of the energy and disbelief that ran through her showing in her haste, Daxter's face appearing as he climbed into view on the counter top at the Naughty Ottsel.

'Hey Babe, what's cookin'? You found my man Jak or something?' She could hear the hope in his words and smiled as she replied, her tone eager and sure.

'Actually, yes I have. He's in the palace and he gave me a message for you.' Daxter's jaw dropped open as she continued. 'He's opened up the warp gate in the cells and connected it to the power station. He wants you and your wastelanders to join him. Once you've secured the cell-block Regulars will start to join you. It ends today Daxter, Michaels is going down.' She said the words as much to hear them as to explain the importance of what Jak had given them. Her whole life all she had known was a city at war, soon, very soon if God would let her, she would bring it peace. For a moment she understood how Jak must have felt all those times war called him from Keira's arms and why he fought so desperately to return to them. They were so close. She could almost taste it.

"Haven City- The front line outside the palace"

Beneath the palace the city all around had been torn apart by war. Once the palace had overlooked the pinnacle of Haven City's wealth and architecture, even the section of the slums that it overlooked kept in better repair than the rest of that squalid sector. Now however, even the shining facades and intricate stone-work of the business districts and high-streets that had neighboured it had become more akin to dead town than the thriving hub of Haven City that they had once represented. Bombardment from the palace had levelled entire neighbourhoods, fires still smoking among the rubble, gutted buildings and collapsed roofs staring emptily up at the foreboding mass.

But the palace itself no longer held the same pristine display of power that it usually presented to the world. For it too showed the scars of war, entire sections of it's armoured walls simply gone, rubble and twisted steel raining minute by minute onto the streets below as the bombardment from the Krimson Regulars reduced its outer defences to nothing.

From a mostly-intact building in the Bazaar Torn watched the process, nodding a signal that sent another wave of shoulder held rockets into the western sub-gate. Fire blossomed and the shock tore new holes in the metal, the sound washing over him in a powerful wave even these two blocks away from the impact. As the dust settled a cheer from the front-line told him that he had timed the strike right and caught an elite patrol out of cover. For a full day now it had been a sniping game, his men on the streets, with the benefits of the Krimson Guard armouries throughout the city had all but reduced the outside of the palace to rubble. Artillery still pounded it day and night, blasting holes in its meter thick walls and preventing any sort of fire from being returned.

But unless they could find a way into the core of the palace where the layout was simple and easily fought the artillery was just pretty lights. When Michaels repaired the city's automated defence grid… that would be it, it would be over, with that much firepower at his command he could wipe their rebellion out in hours. Slowly his strikes and numbers were wearing down the elite, keeping their patrols from breaking free of the palace and notching up small victories in skirmishes and swift hit and run attacks into the palace itself.

His vantage point in the bazaar some two blocks away from the palace allowed him to see the latest barrage slam home, flame and noise blossoming in the air as rubble and dust rained down onto the street below and another strong-point was reduced to nothingness. All around him and all around the palace almost twenty thousand men and women waited for the order to attack, throughout the city eighty thousand more were ready to join them at a moment's notice. But he could not give that order, he would not sacrifice that many lives, Ashelin would never forgive him, more, he would never forgive himself if he allowed what should have been an easy victory to degenerate into a blood bath.

He had already lost almost two hundred men in attacks, any attempt to take it from the air was similarly futile. The wreckage of a dozen Krimson Guard carriers and many more hellcat speeders littered the rooftops and roads all around the palace where they had crashed. As he turned away from the looming presence of that final stronghold a call went up as a messenger burst onto the flat-rooftop, the command centre in the building below housing the equipment needed for a forward command post.

'Commander Torn, a message from Governor Ashelin! She's made contact with King Marr inside the palace, he's opened up a warp gate!'

For a moment Torn stared at him in incomprehension, his mind spinning around the words before realisation hit him, he snatched the message from the guard's hands , his eyes scanning it for an instant before his voice rose in a bellow.

'Captain Fellianus!' His shout brought an officer to his side in an instant, his armour stained with dust and eco-burns showing that he had not been shy when it came to the fighting to retake the city.

'Sir?' He was a veteran who had abandoned the Krimson Guard alongside Torn long ago, they had known each other for years. When Torn had assumed command, he had been the first to be reinstated into the new guard.

'We've got a way into the palace but we need to draw their forces away from the insertion point so we can establish a foothold. Gather five hundred of our best men, spearhead an assault along the entire western side, we've already been pushing here so they've massed slightly but without any entrenchment you should be able to punch through to the interior. I'll allocate you two thousand malita and enough air-transport to get a fight going on a few different levels. Get into a heavy fire-fight, hold them there for half an hour and your jobs done, the rest of the palace will be all but ours by then.'

The Captain's helmet hid his emotions but renewed vigour seemed to have entered him at the prospect of victory. 'I'll hold them as long as I need to Sir. Where will you be?'

Torn turned toward the stairs as he checked his twin pistols in their holsters by his side, 'I'll be in the palace Captain.' He chambered a round in one of his weapons as he felt the anticipation of battle and victory creep over him. 'You start from the outside, I'll start from the inside. Meet you in the middle.' The captain smirked beneath his mask as he moved off at a jog and Torn's voice rose to set his plan in action. So the king had come through for them after-all, he'd never been one to put his faith in rulers, but if he could pull this off, then long live King Marr.

A.N. Sorry if it seems as though this chapter sort of stands still however it is the start of the closing of the story and builds up to the events of the next chapter which will see hell, or at least Jak unleashed inside the palace. I look forward to seeing you all then. As always, feedback is welcomed so if any of you have a comment about this chapter please don't hesitate to review.

Go With God

The Visionary