The Suns of Liberty (Book 2): Revolution

by Michael Ivan Lowell

  “You know it's not safe there,” Ward grunted, surprised at her mental lapse.

  “Oh, right. But it's not safe for you to go out there, either. Not now. Just let the others do this one. Stay with me. We'll go back to my place and wait it out. That's all I'm asking.” She replaced the lid and put the cream back down.

  “I have to go, honey.”

  “All right, how about this? I'm not telling you this as me I'm telling you this as The Source. If you go, you're going to die. That's what I think. I've kept you alive so far. Why can't you just listen to me this one last time?” Alison looked at him like she'd said something she instantly regretted.

  “It's not going to be the last time. He and Saratoga have a plan, and Lantern's already on it,” he said. He tried his best to sound reassuring, but he knew she wasn't buying it. She was certain about her feelings. She really thought Revolution was going to die. That he was going to die. Ward had to admit, it gave him pause. She’d never been wrong before.

  “I know their plan, and it's not going to work. Please just stay here with me.” Alison stepped back from him, pulled her arms out of the nightgown. It glided down her naked body. Gingerly, she slid into the bed next to Ward and placed her mouth on his, and they kissed for a long time.

  “So, we got our shit together for tomorrow, Mr. Director?” Ramsey Hollis asked his old friend John Bailey from across the room. Bailey raised his eyebrows.

  “Well, we better. It’s gonna be rough,” Bailey answered.

  “We've been through it before.”

  “Yes, we have.” Bailey sighed, thinking of the past. “If they come your way though, buddy, you may just have to drop your knickers and run. You know that, right?” Bailey asked him.

  “Well, I figure we gotta protect these kids from themselves. 'Sides, they're never gonna see me, John. They're as blind as wombats down there when it comes to me.”

  “Don't you mean bats? Wombats aren't blind, Hollis, they're marsupials.”

  “Well, they’re blind down there.” Bailey just stared at Hollis for a second then rolled his eyes. The two men laughed, and Bailey poured two shots of Southern Comfort for them. “What do we toast to this time, pal?” Hollis asked as he kicked his shoes off and took the glass.

  “How about your skinny ass coming back here in one piece?”

  Hollis glanced up at Bailey's shaved head. “And to your shiny noggin not blinding Lantern when he rides that hog.” Hollis smiled at him. Bailey lifted his arm and flexed his massive bicep, then turned the motion into an arm extended at Hollis—giving him the finger.

  “I hate your southern-fried fucking guts, you know that?”

  “I know you do. And I slept with your sister.”

  “I'll drink to that. And I don't have a sister.” The two men downed the whiskey. “You got the letter?” Bailey asked.

  “You kidding? I'm superstitious, you know that.”

  “Yeah, well, hand it over then.”

  Hollis pulled out a letter explaining his death in the event that he was ever killed in the line of duty. By writing the letter, he believed he would not be killed. He would handwrite a new version of the letter for each mission. Each time he addressed it to someone different. He also had a theory, as Bailey well knew, that whoever he gave the letter to would also be spared, since they had the letter. Since Bailey was usually the boss when the two had worked together in the past, Hollis had made it a tradition to give it to the, now former, CIA special director.

  Hollis got serious for a moment. “Are you gonna miss it? SHADOW, I mean? You were in them long enough. Seems like being out in the daylight could be awful bright.”

  “You can only lead a double life for so long. I just told myself I was protecting the people and the cause I cared about most. But I made decisions...gave orders...you know. You know what I did.”

  “I know.” Hollis peered around the room for something to cheer his old friend up. He wondered how he had done the job for so long. Been a double, triple spy. Ordered the deaths of patriots in the service of thieves. All to keep the Resistance with a man on the inside. A man at the top of intelligence. It had been an incredible advantage for the Resistance, but at what cost to his old friend? A deep cost, judging from the lines in his face and the weariness that now rolled across Bailey’s body.

  Bailey peered back up at his friend, and a smile broke his lips. He smacked the letter with his finger. “Who's it going to this time?” Bailey asked.

  “That ne’er-do-well brother of mine, what's his name?” Hollis handed him the letter, and Bailey stuffed it in his jacket that was laid across the chair next to him.

  “I believe your brother's name is Roscoe.”

  “Yep, that's the one.” Hollis smiled “Only brother I got.”

  As she strolled down the hallway to her room, Sophia Lihn was thinking about the night she found her father murdered. Murdered by the gangs she had dedicated the last two years of her life to taking down. Freeing San Francisco had not been easy. She thought about the pain and the loss. She had sacrificed plenty to do it. And now this struggle for Boston was looming. For the nation, really. For its soul. And it would hurt. Everyone here would need to be at their best. They would need to stay serious, focused, professional.

  Sophia opened the door and entered her room…and saw her roommate, Rachel Dodge, standing in their full-length mirror buck naked, applying her lipstick slowly and carefully. Had Sophia needed to come up with a poster child for what not to do, for whom not to call on in a crisis, there she would have stood. Fake tits and all.

  The anger swelled in Sophia’s temples—it had been a long, stressful day. She couldn’t contain herself.

  “For Christ's sake, put some clothes on. Better yet, put your damn coat on and disappear.” The anger in her voice was palpable.

  “You're just jealous.” Rachel smiled back competitively but trying to keep it friendly. She looked at her body in the mirror. She was slender and muscular, just like Sophia. But she was taller and her breasts...she lived in LA, what could she say?

  “I'm not jealous. I think you're going to get us all killed. We're being hunted night and day. You strut around here distracting every penis on the premises.” Sophia then had a thought and turned back to her with a scowl. “Or are you trying to get the girls, too?”

  Rachel made a face. “Don't flatter yourself.”

  “You know, you're a smart-ass slut. You've probably never had a real relationship in your whole life, have you?”

  “I've had plenty.” Rachel’s tone had changed. That last comment had pierced her steel veneer.

  “Oh, I'm sure you've had them all right. But could you keep one? Without screwing his best friend or his brother? Take Lantern in there. He's hot, isn't he? I bet you'd like to get your claws all over him. Except, guess what? He's got too much class to go for a skank like you.”

  Rachel didn't respond immediately. Then she dropped the lipstick onto her dressing table. She turned with anger burning in her eyes. “Yeah, I make you uncomfortable, I get that. I make a lot of people uncomfortable. But you know what? I’ve read all about you. The only thing you know about people is how to hurt them. So congratulations, honey. You’re real fucking good at it.” And with that she stormed into their small bathroom and slammed the door.

  Sophia sunk onto her own bed and sighed. I do have a knack for hitting people’s buttons. Still, she was surprised Rachel had taken it so hard. She projected an “eat shit and die” attitude any other time.

  “Goddamn it,” she breathed to herself. It was the wrong thing to do to lash out at Rachel like that, even if Rachel did piss her off. It irritated her to no end that they had actually bunked the two of them together. Just because they were women. Still, she knew how to work with teams. NASA was all about that, and yet she’d just attacked a fellow teammate for no other reason than she was naked in her own bedroom.

  If she was honest with herself, she knew why Rachel pissed her off. The team needed power, and Rachel was wea
k. Worse, her flirtatious manner was a distraction and possibly a danger. No team needed that.

  As she sat there, however, she realized that those things weren’t all there was to Rachel. The woman had invented invisibility after all, when others had given up on it. She acted like a vacuous tramp, but she really wasn’t one. Well, not vacuous, anyway.

  If the General thought she could be of use to the team, then she probably could be, and Sophia knew it was her job to get along with her. Who the hell could know what kind of demons were in Rachel Dodge’s head? She was here, she’d come. Despite the risk.

  Sophia slumped there for a long moment then trudged over to the bathroom door, feeling contrite. “Rachel, look. I'm sorry. I'm just on edge. I didn't mean to take it out on you.”

  The bathroom door flew open, and standing behind it was a completely transformed, confident Rachel Dodge. Hair fixed, mascara just right, lips perfect, and still buck naked. She trotted past Sophia and opened their small closet. What she brought out of it made Sophia roll her eyes and turn away. Better not go there, she thought. Instead, she said, “There's going to be a firefight, you know. Either tomorrow or the next day or the next. It's coming, I guarantee it.”

  “I guess.” Rachel pulled a tight shirt over her head.

  “You gonna know to duck when the time comes? Bullets don't have to see their target to kill.”

  “I'm not new to this, Helius.”

  “No, I think you are. We're not talking about covert ops, or whatever the hell you all call it. We're talking about street warfare. I know what that's like and it's ugly and it costs lives and bystanders and even pretty, invisible girls.”

  Rachel had finished dressing. With what she was wearing, it hadn't taken long. “I'm a woman,” she said as she crossed the room, snagging her cloak. “And if you haven't noticed, I'm very visible,” and with that she opened the door and strutted out into the hall.

  CHAPTER 51

  Diego Alvarez opened the door to his workroom. He was a quietly devoted man. Far too reserved to wear his faith on his sleeve, but step into his sanctuary and it screamed at you from every corner. Crucifixes adorned the walls. Pictures of Christ and the Pope centered above his wall of monitors where he spent most of his time. Old-world faith, new-world tech.

  Lantern strode into his workroom and stopped. Seated at the reading chair directly in front of him was Rachel Dodge. She had on the cloak as usual and wore a tight, white tube top that allowed lots of cleavage and a bare midriff. Her skirt was short and her boots were long. Her legs were crossed. If Ward had seen her he would have thought trouble. Lantern was out of his Lantern gear, in just a ratty T-shirt and sweats. Just back from a workout.

  Rachel thought he was still easily the best-looking man in the complex. Lean and muscular, five o'clock shadow, and everything tall, dark, and genius was supposed to be.

  He nodded to her, tried not to look at anything inappropriate, said nothing, and proceeded to his desk, where the bevy of screens awaited his attention. Rachel watched him, waiting for a response that never came. She shrugged and pulled out a cigar and lit it up. Blew the smoke over in his direction. This got his attention.

  “Really?” he said, swiveling his chair toward her, irritation on his face.

  “Is it the smoking or the blowing you don't like?”

  Lantern narrowed his eyes at her but turned back toward his screens.

  “Fine,” she said. Rachel searched for a way to extinguish the stogie. “I like you better with your helmet off, by the way.” She gave up looking, dropped the cigar on the concrete floor, and crushed it out with a boot heel. “Leslie and Sophia seem to think a big fight's coming. What do you think?”

  “Doesn't matter what I think. Only what I see.”

  “What do you see here?” she said, leaning in his direction; the little girl voice was back.

  Lantern only glanced out the corner of his eye. “A woman who is trying to keep me from my work.”

  “That's my point. Haven't you ever heard those this-could-be-our-last-night-on-Earth lines? Why don't you take a break from that work; I've got something else you could work on.”

  Lantern nearly turned away from his screens, but stopped himself. “I don't want to have sex,” he said, sharper than he'd intended. He tried to soften his tone. “Rachel, if I don't finish here, you're all probably going to be dead.” He stared at the screen, trying to contain his rising anger at her. And then he realized she'd said nothing and that she was no longer there.

  “Who said anything about sex?” came her reply from somewhere Lantern couldn't place. She sounded hurt or mad or both.

  Lantern scanned the room, but there was no way to see her. Even with his helmet he would have had trouble. “Where are you?” he asked finally.

  “Leaving,” her voice trailed out the door.

  The next morning, Ward kept his promise. He went to see the General about staying out of the fight. The Revolution was camped up in a space that was half-office, half-laboratory. It reminded him he had never seen Revolution's living quarters at the old HQ. He explained Alison's concerns to the General. To his surprise, the Revolution seemed sympathetic.

  “Alison thinks it's going to be pretty bad. A full-scale invasion, was how she put it,” Ward said.

  “So does Bailey, so does Lantern.”

  “How does Lantern do that stuff? How can he find them without them finding him?” Ward wondered about the mysterious, quiet man. Alison had her contacts in the Council, Bailey had been an insider too, but Lantern's technical know-how made him seem almost like a mystic to Ward. It was such alien technology to him. He had trouble getting his brain around it. Not a feeling he enjoyed.

  “Well, you're asking the wrong person, but you know the digi-sphere-cube he used for the destroyers? He's working on one for the whole country.”

  “The whole country?” How could that be? The first one at the harbor seemed impossible, let alone a scan that could encompass an entire continent. Lantern cribbed off satellites all across global orbit, but maintaining a cube like the one at the harbor for the whole country was a mathematical problem of unimaginable complexity.

  “At least the lower forty-eight. We already have a pretty good one from Boston to New York to Philadelphia. More like a rectangle, I suppose. The Council has this kind of technology too, though; it's just not public knowledge. But Diego's on another level.”

  “Then we could both see each other coming? Them and us?”

  “He's done a pretty good job of keeping us hidden all this time and anticipating their big moves. The details are sometimes hard for him to discern. That's where we have to be careful.”

  “Speaking of being careful,” Ward said with a sigh, “Alison doesn't want me to go because I'm hurt. And because she thinks we're not coming back. That you're not coming back. I realize we never really discussed this at length, but she is kind of my partner. I mean, I know COR didn’t accept her into the Suns, but she is my best resource.”

  Revolution sat there for a long moment. Finally, he said, “Well, you can make that call better than anyone else here. You saw the report from the infirmary. You need rest. No one would blame you if you stayed back. But I can do something for the pain, if that’s the issue.” He rose and stepped behind Ward and flung open a large cabinet with both hands. Behind the cabinet's double doors were rows and rows of shiny metal cylinders, all with what Ward instantly recognized as medical labels. “You're the doctor. See anything that might be of help?”

  Ward limped over to the cabinet and scanned the cylinders. Every kind of powerful painkiller he could think of was represented. They each were ultrapotent with built-in accelerators, junior league versions of those that spread the drugs in his darts within a single heartbeat. They were also illegal. His eyes ran across a label, ketorolac tromethamine, and widened. He pointed to it. “Does this have accelerators?” Revolution nodded. “That's highly addictive,” Ward said.

  “Not so far.”

  Now that was a wei
rd answer to Ward. He knew a lot about this subject. The clinical trials on this were very clear. The only thing that could block the addictive properties of this accelerated drug would be a constantly supplied antidote, or “blood cleaner,” as they'd come to be called. But this particular accelerated analgesic was such a potent chemical stew that it would take a constantly renewing supply to counteract its addictive effects. And that realization sparked Ward's memory. “Back there, at the prison. That Guard said your suit was grafted onto your skin. Is that true?”

  “Partially.” Revolution just stood there. That was clearly all he was going to say about that.

  Ward grabbed the container of ketorolac tromethamine and a syringe next to it. The syringe had a long tube attached with another needlelike protrusion at the other end, which Ward jammed into the top of the metal cylinder. It hissed.

  “Well, I'll leave you to it.” Revolution said, and he turned to go. “But if you’re in, the meeting briefing is in thirty minutes.”

  “It's more than just a suit, isn't it?

  Revolution stopped, stood silent for a moment. Then he turned and marched for the door. Ward thought he would leave the query unanswered, but he said, “Yes,” as he passed through the doorway, never breaking stride.

  CHAPTER 52

  BOSTON HARBOR

  TWELVE HOURS LATER

  PHASE ONE: GUARD THE HARBOR

  A sleek black speedboat zipped across the nighttime water. Hollis slowed the motor. The boat coasted to a stop as Hollis scanned the waves with one of Lantern's RDSDs. The tall southerner’s face broke into a crooked grin. “Can't hide from the fox.”

  He dropped the device into a tight pouch of a pocket in his grey-and-silver suit, zipped it closed, and slipped on his silver diving mask. Hollis leaned back and hurled himself over the side. A couple of kicks and he rocketed into the black depths. The sapphire lights on his diving mask glowed to life. His visor activated instantly as the entire ocean world lit up in digital daylight. Ocean currents, pressure, and depth all represented in three dimensions. The familiar smell of plastic and rubber met his nostrils as he breathed in the filtered air.