Suffrage (World Key Chronicles Book 1)

by Julian St Aubyn Green

  “We can’t beat the frigate as things are,” Sarge said, rolling over and sitting up with a yawn.

  Her foster mother was a careful thinker, a planner. She always had a solid reason behind her decisions. But Jay didn’t see it that way, hands curled into fists in frustration. “But there has to be another way. If we can’t beat it, then we’ll have to find another—”

  “There isn’t one, Jay!” China exclaimed. “We’ve been going over this for hours while you slept. We’ve looked at the possibilities. All of them. This isn’t something we just pulled out of our collective asses. You and Mack will head for the world key. The rest of us will keep that frigate occupied and give you both time to find the key.”

  The teen’s eyes narrowed and she pursed her lips as her hands trembled. “It’s not fair, dammit! Dad! You can’t do this to me! I won’t let you run off like that! I was right last time! You know I was. I’m—”

  “Enough!” bellowed Sarge in a voice that would make a charging rhino take pause. It was certainly loud enough to wake Mack from a deep sleep. The look in Sarge’s eyes brooked no argument.

  Sarge had never yelled at her, not once in the decade she’d been her foster mother. She showed her disappointment in other ways. She was always careful to say to her that while she loved her, sometimes her actions, especially when they put the small family in danger, would not be tolerated. Jay didn’t want to disappoint her mom. To be yelled at by her was a shock that brought back memories of a time when the white-coats disciplined her.

  “This isn’t a debate, Jay. It’s not a discussion and it’s not about to change. You wanted to be a soldier for the Rebellion? Soldiers follow orders.” Sarge held out a reassuring hand, quickly followed by China, subtly showing her that the decision wasn’t an easy one. “You’re going with Mack, you’re going to find the world key, and the rest of us are going to distract the frigate to give you time to do that. That’s the order. Done.”

  It took Jay a long moment of reeling from Sarge’s outburst before her hands unclenched enough for her to take the proffered reassurance. She couldn’t help it as her lips quivered and tears welled at the corners of her eyes, the frigid air threatening to freeze them in place. “You, but you can’t …” she mumbled in a quiet, desperate voice, barely audible. Inwardly, she shrank, falling into a well of loneliness that she hadn’t felt in years.

  They were shutting her out. They were taking all the risks. They were leaving her.

  And despite the ability to touch other people’s minds and move massive objects with only a thought, right now, overextended as she was, she was powerless to stop them.

  “We have to take what little hope remains, and make it count, Jay-Jay.”

  Jay nodded in defeat. Overexertion. Fuck it. It’ll be worth it. She tilted her head to one side and focused on her parents. “I’m seventeen; I don’t need a babysitter. Wouldn’t it make more sense to take the team medic with the people that might get injured?” Her voice was slow, careful, touching on those thoughts she wanted to bring to her parents’ attention. Jay could more easily feel surface thoughts. But that didn’t change the growing pain in her skull from trying.

  And she knew she could change them if she really wanted to.

  “We’ve been dosed with Sis-B, we’ll just have to hope that nothing life-threatening happens,” Sarge replied without missing a beat. Sarge was always hard to influence, so Jay focused on China.

  “I have to be the one that takes the key and Snake has to go with you because no one else can use Sheila. You two are the strongest fighters, but you should take Mack with you,” the teen continued, subtly pushing at China’s thoughts.

  Through the physical connection with her dad, Jay extended her thoughts, feeling guilty and experiencing a twinge in her head. Can’t do this for long. Just a little nudge, it’s for their own good.

  China turned to Mack. “You’ve been training with my father, haven’t you? He told me your nickname among the recruits is ‘Mack the Knife’.”

  Jay watched the medic blush and nod.

  “You’ve also got the bracelets,” China gestured to Mack’s bag, clearly considering the idea Jay massaged into place. She stopped the push. The little man with his mining pick was back, but at least she hadn’t given herself a nosebleed.

  Jay caught Sarge looking at her suspiciously as Mack responded. “I was hoping never to use those.”

  “What do they do?” Snake asked out of left field.

  Mack reached into her pack and pulled the two matching bracelets out. To Jay they looked innocuous, a finely crafted item of ladies’ jewelry. Large, beaten gold, with a polished obsidian stone set in one and a matching moonstone in the other.

  “They were my grandmother’s, a gift from Empress Yoshimoto,” Mack replied, slipping them on. “Shirudo and Kakusu.”

  “Shield and Hide. The Empress built them herself,” Snake said in awe.

  Mack nodded. “Miniaturized cloaking device and force shield emitter. They only last a few minutes before they need to recharge.”

  There was a tense moment before Sarge spoke. Her voice was even, but held all the reservation of a concerned parent coupled with a disapproving commander. “Two team members are better than one. What if something happens to you in the caves? Ropes mean a climber and a belay for safety.” Her eyes roved over Jay’s features like prison spotlights, looking for a guilty escapee.

  “Four travelers instead of three will exert more strain on my battery,” Sheila chimed in.

  China nodded. “True, but if Jay is safe, then we can concentrate on protecting Snake and Sheila. As much as I hate to admit it, if Snake and Sheila are damaged, we’re stuck here. Game over. Another person who can handle themselves might make the difference.”

  “And I can free climb really well. I can use my telekinesis to catch myself if I fall,” Jay offered with muted enthusiasm.

  The look in Sarge’s eye worried Jay. Does she know what I just did?

  Sarge considered things for a while before sighing deeply. “All right. Mack comes with us and you concentrate on finding the key. You’ll take the warmest clothes …”

  “You’ll need the squealer,” Mack handed over the bag of electronics, “and you’ll be careful.”

  Snake shoved the remaining chocolate into his mouth before standing up. “Right. I’m tired of freezing my ‘nads off. This is no place for a boy from Queensland. Where to?”

  “White River, Canada,” Sarge answered, still holding Jay’s hand.

  Jay didn’t want to let go of her parent’s warm hands and the comfort it brought. Soon enough, she would be separated from them without knowing if she would ever see them again. She’d done what she could. She could look after herself, it was better that Mack went with them. Yes; better.

  Yet she couldn’t shake off the sense, almost a precognition, that something bad would happen if they separated. It was only made worse as China turned a concerned gaze towards her. “Stay safe.”

  Heinrich opened his eyes, unsurprised to find himself in his luxurious bed chambers. The quiet form of Mister Delta sat in a chair facing away from the king and towards the door with a virtual monitor floating mid-air in front of him. Heinrich swept the covers off and the white-robed man jumped to attention at the noise before turning and bowing.

  “Sire,” Delta rasped, head tilted towards the floor in that show of obsequiousness that Heinrich hated.

  “I see we haven’t fallen out of the sky yet,” the king replied with a certain amount of tired sarcasm. He threw on a simple robe and reached for the jug of water beside the bed. He drank several glasses in succession, almost emptying the jug. He made a mental note to thank Ernst for the water.

  “How long was I unconscious?” he asked after slaking his immediate thirst.

  “Nearly two days, Your Majesty. The countess has barely slept during that time. She’s driven the crew and the prince specifically almost as hard, repairing the ship. As she instructed me, I have guarded your person and li
stened to the thoughts of the crew.” Mr. Delta paused, those strange gold and purple eyes still trained on the floor. He continued his report. “Morale is low, Sire. There is considerable ill-feeling towards the prince. He is rightfully seen as the cause of this, the set-back. He damaged the ship and the countess has tasked him with cutting up the smaller attack craft with his Gift for parts to repair The Songstress. He feels aggrieved that he is being used in this way. He is not thinking of personal responsibility; he blames the Rebel Gifted.”

  Heinrich nodded, his face impassive. “Do we remain undetected?” He stepped towards the antique sitting chairs, stretching his limbs as he did so.

  “No sign of any enemy forces, Sire. You picked a remarkably remote part of the world to hide in. This Amazonian rainforest is vast and mostly unpopulated.”

  “I trust you’ve put the time to good use while watching over me?” the king demanded with a yawn.

  “Indeed, Sire. You should speak to Thalia. Apparently, this realm has something called an internet. A global repository of information. Unlike our own data nets, it is a connected global system. This realm is curious, Sire. It is in some ways very primitive. In other areas, it appears they match or have even surpassed our own achievements; but this realm is so full of strife and conflict,” Delta’s scratchy voice criticized.

  “Really?” Heinrich replied. “Why do you think that is?”

  “I surmise it is a function of people and diversity, Sire. This timeline has a population of 7.3 billion people, with no central governing body. There is something called a United Nations, established after a second global conflict that occurred between 1939 and 1945, but it has … no teeth, no military power of its own to change or enforce their edicts. They appear to attempt to use diplomacy to achieve their aims, with only limited success, and scant numbers of troops are lent to them by individual countries.”

  The king grunted. “Millions of angry voices without chorus or harmony,” he murmured. “Continue.”

  “Much like our own realm before the Monarch War, each country has its own government. Its own desires and goals,” Mister Delta expressed with a dismissive hand gesture as he spoke. “Goals that rarely align with their neighbors. Whole nations compete for limited natural resources and religion adds a surprisingly large amount of strife. With so many people, among them are those who are very clever. Capable of great and terrible things. The second global conflict meant that advances have been made along lines we never explored. ‘World War Two’, as it was called. It ended when the Americans used a terrible weapon against their enemies. An atomic weapon. They used radioactive substances to break atomic bonds in heavy elements.”

  “Thalia,” The king called, furrowing his brow at that news.

  “Your Majesty,” The AI greeted him, her avatar nodding in respect.

  “Summon Anna and have servants bring a meal. We have a great many things to discuss.”

  “Sire, it is likely that Prince Ahmed will take his exclusion from the meeting as a slight,” Delta interjected diffidently.

  Heinrich nodded. “As well he should, but you make a fine point. Summon the prince as well. It is time for him to understand the depths of my displeasure concerning his actions.”

  White River, Ontario sat under its thin blanket of fresh snowfall. The view from the mobile command center made Philippe thankful the squad had made it here in time. With his hands wrapped around a metal cup, he enjoyed the warmth of the steaming contents. In the meantime, he tried to stay out of the way of the military techs. Some lieutenant from military intelligence had dragged him inside to review more footage from Rio. This footage showed close-ups of the targeted group.

  Up close, the composition of the group stood out prominently and reinforced his initial impressions. His mind spun, theorizing ways to take advantage of the situation. The question remained: why were they targeted? Hopefully, some of his ‘why’ questions would be answered by this Dr. Ellis person.

  “How close is the package?” Captain Tremblay asked.

  One of the nearby techs replied smartly, “Package should dust down in three minutes, sir. It’s an F35 Lightning, the VTOL variant. Pilot will put it down just outside in the LZ we marked off.”

  Philippe sighed, taking a huge gulp of the coffee in his mug and zipped up his camo jacket before exiting the warmth of the command center. He trotted over to the squad, receiving a nod from most of them. “Hunker down, boys. Jet is inbound, it’s likely to get loud here in a few minutes.”

  “So did you learn anything new?” Sacks queried as the squad took cover behind the white and green side of the command unit.

  Philippe hesitated before shaking his head. “Nope. Flame guy still looks like an asshole with brown skin, but mainly an asshole.”

  Sacks chuckled and it wasn’t long before the squad heard the distinctive scream of a jet engine on approach from the south. The American jet wasn’t the quietest way to get their ‘expert’ here, but it was easily the fastest. As the ash-gray bird came into view, the pilot did a slow circle while the engines shifted downward, allowing the aircraft to execute a controlled, vertical glide into the circle of lights prepared for it. A flurry of snow driving in all directions away from the downthrust obscured nearly all the details as the jet made its landing.

  The snow settled and the cockpit slid open to reveal two occupants eager to exit the craft. The expert was immediately obvious to Philippe. He didn’t look comfortable in the pilot suit that displayed his small paunch. He stood out against the athletic silhouette of the pilot and he clutched a small, metal case to his chest.

  “Right, gents, HQ is all set up. We’re briefing inside. Go and get comfortable and I will meet you in there.” No doubt the command wanted to get some idea of what this expert was going to say before sharing it with the enlisted. As an NCO, Philippe needed to know as well.

  G—“Do you agree with the President’s decision regarding this object?”

  M—“We wouldn’t be having this discussion if I did.”

  G—“So we are agreed for an attempt to acquire. Do you have everything you need?”

  M—“More time would be nice. You’ll need to run interference. That location and in that timeframe I only have one asset I can drop into the game. But that part of the world is about to get a lot more electronic surveillance. I need a window.”

  G—“Done. What about the Canadians?”

  M—“Wrong place, wrong time.”

  Prince Ahmed popped another painkiller into his mouth and swallowed. Staring into the mirror, he barely recognized his own face. The ash and grime still coating his skin contrasted alarmingly with the unhealthy sheen of his cheeks and forehead. Sleep deprivation gave his eyes a hollow and haunted appearance. Turning on the water, he tried again to wash away the headache and exhaustion. The sink ran black with the ash from his face. Despite his attempts at hygiene, the grime clung to him like a second, uncomfortable skin. His hair felt heavy with it.

  That damned countess. She’d had the audacity to reprimand him for damaging the ship and then demanded he help her fix it, despite his higher rank. He needed bed rest to recover from his overexertion sickness. Not some bitch hounding him with menial labor. However, he didn’t feel it prudent to refuse her orders while she was flanked by two assassin drones.

  He had planned to recuperate in his quarters, maybe see if any of the female crew weren’t too frigid to take his mind off his troubles. For the sake of appearances, he hadn’t brought any of his own girls along. It would be nice to take out some frustration on them. Sandra still had a clear patch of skin on her back he was wanting to try. But the thought of it didn’t result in his usual thrill of arousal.

  Prince Ahmed still felt unclean, violated by the mind that had forced all that pain and fear into him. The overwhelming deluge of raw emotion left him with no control over the response of his Gift. It wasn’t his fault The Songstress was damaged. No one had known that the Rebel team included a Gifted. And not just any Gifted, but someone with
King Barrett’s abilities.

  All of Mycroft’s children had some ability with telekinesis. As for their other abilities, they varied considerably. His eldest daughter, Princess Elizabeth, possessed significant ability with telepathy, and rumor had it that his eldest son, Prince George, promised a million-credit reward to any of his guards who managed to surprise him. With his strong Gift of precognition, the prize remained unclaimed to this day. All of the other Royal children and grandchildren were too young, so where had this psychic come from? he wondered.

  It had the feeling of a mystery and Prince Ahmed didn’t like mysteries.

  Prince Ahmed stepped out of the cramped bathing area attached to his sleeping quarters and sat on the bed. This trip wasn’t proceeding as he’d planned. This was his opportunity to garner himself glory, help the Walker King capture a few dangerous Rebels, and return to the Red Palace in a week to entertain noble daughters with tales of his valor. Instead, failure stung his pride and sapped his will. Such moods were dangerous, he knew. They might affect his Gift if allowed to continue unchecked. He must redeem himself or else he would return home less the conquering hero and more the scapegoat.

  It was an unacceptable alternative.

  Am I the only one that realizes it was the damned Gifted’s fault? I’m the victim here.

  He hated feeling like the victim, hated thinking it even more, but the experience in Rio gnawed at him. He lashed out at the Elites for the slightest transgressions, but couldn’t stay his temper. With each brutal reprimand, he sought to exorcise his feeling of helplessness. The slights from the countess piled onto that as well; being forced into menial labor, sweating to dismantle several of their fast attack crafts to use as makeshift repair components. It was work for Lifers and plasma cutters, not the thirty-third son of the Dragon. Surely King Heinrich would take issue with the prince’s assigned task.

  The delicate internal mechanisms of the attack craft required a fine amount of concentration to dismantle properly without damaging them. And concentration was something he did not possess in abundance at the moment.