The Suns of Liberty (Book 1): Legion

by Michael Ivan Lowell

  Sophia tried to suppress a smirk.

  “Sir,” Lantern said, “given our recent track record, we may all be neutralized. I would advise we stay put, lay low. Same for COR.”

  “So, you all stay here and COR stays in Philadelphia?” Leslie asked.

  Lantern nodded. “I can’t assure they’re traveling or communicating undetected.”

  Leslie had been staring at his data on the screens, but now she turned to Lantern directly. “Are you sure about that? They’re not going to take kindly to house arrest.”

  “They’ll be safe there,” he said. “Fewer signals, fewer detections.”

  “Um, excuse me,” Drayger said. “My wife is in the Big Apple Minutemen. We could call some of them here to stand guard.”

  “You’re married?” Leslie asked. First she’d heard of it. How was that not in his file? It was unusual for people this deep in the Resistance to have many significant others. It was the one thing they all had in common. In fact, most of them, in one way or another, had lost their significant others to the Council. This made Drayger different. And intriguing.

  “I was just about to suggest that,” Sophia declared, staring at Drayger now, as they all were.

  “Put me in charge of defense of both the facilities,” Drayger blurted out. He pointed to the device around his head. “It lets me read emotions and basic states of consciousness. Like earlier when you, Mr. Revolution—“

  “It’s just Revolution.”

  “—Revolution, when you fell unconscious. I knew it, I could read it. And I said to myself, ‘Well, that’s just not good. I’ve got to do something. I‘ve got to do something.’ So I found Mr. Lithium, who was close by. See, I could tell he was close by because I was focused on Revolution. And I zapped him with some fear. And then—”

  “Zapped him?” Leslie asked.

  “Figure of speech,” Drayger said, still amped up. He tapped his headpiece again. “I can tell you if they’re coming and slow them down if they do. I’m perfect for this.” Drayger finally noticed everyone staring and recoiled like a turtle into its shell.

  Revolution marveled at the young man. Just as bombastic off the field and as on it.

  “Kid, you’re just a probationary member, not in charge,” Sophia said.

  Drayger frowned. And sank further down in his chair.

  “Whatever we do,” Revolution said, rising from his seat with as much authority as he could muster, “we’ll work as a team. We’ll need everyone at this table, and even some who aren’t. If they’re coming here, they’re coming to crush us. It will take everyone’s cooperation to stop them.”

  CHAPTER 30

  MORRISTOWN, NEW JERSEY

  Veronica frowned. “So, you’re really confident that this Rage woman is trustworthy?” she asked Arbor as he drove the van down the narrow tree-draped lane. She was worried about this terrorist woman they were going to visit and the fact that they were all out of their battle armor and mostly unarmed.

  They each had a sidearm, but they were old-school six-shooters. Arbor had insisted on nothing too high-tech. Not a good idea with Scarlett Rage around, he’d said. Fiddler had one of his acid guns and a single spear loaded into it. It seemed outrageously inadequate for what they were going to face. “I mean, she’s only, what? The CIA’s top-ranked most dangerous terrorist in the world?” Veronica asked.

  “Not anymore,” said Ray from the front seat. “And she was number two, to be exact.”

  Veronica scowled behind him from one of the van’s middle row seats. Fiddler was riding beside her; Fang was in the third and back row of the van, by himself.

  “Who’s number one then?” she asked.

  “Her father,” Arbor grinned, looking sharp in his Marine Corps dress blues. “Maybe you’ve heard of Doctor Rage?”

  “That’s a stupid name,” sneered Fiddler.

  “Better hope she don’t have no daddy issues,” Fang grunted from the back just as Arbor made a gentle right into a large gravel driveway. A tall stone wall surrounded the property, and Arbor drove the van up to its gate and a small call box.

  “This it?” Fiddler asked.

  Veronica shook her head. “Turned against her own father. Bet he was a real bastard.”

  A polite, if robotic, voice asked for ID, and Arbor answered with his real name. The gates opened, and Arbor eased up the drive that stretched along the gently rising hill. The house the driveway belonged to was still nowhere to be seen.

  Ray was scanning his RDSD. He peered up at Arbor and smiled. “No activity.”

  They drove about two hundred feet down the drive, bumping and rattling loudly on the gravel when...

  Arbor brought the car to a halt, and the rest of them realized that the van’s engine was no longer running.

  “Why are you stopping?” Veronica asked.

  “Cause we’re walking from here on,” Arbor said, putting the gear in park and opening his door. He stepped from the van, and the others reluctantly piled out as well.

  “Why walk?” asked Ray. He peered back down at his RDSD. “We’re still clear.”

  Arbor raised his eyebrows. “Because that’s what they want.”

  Ray made a face.

  “They killed the engine.” Arbor shrugged.

  Fiddler stopped up short. “How could they kill our engine?”

  “And who’s they? I thought this was just a chick?” Veronica said.

  “Yeah, the chick,” Arbor said, never breaking stride. “And her bodyguard.” He kept walking as the others followed behind.

  “Bodyguard?” Fiddler said skeptically. “I thought this was Lady Rage: the woman who can kill with a thought.”

  “Yeah, why does she need a bodyguard?” Veronica prodded impatiently, wishing Arbor would just tell them already.

  “Wait.” Fiddler said, grabbing Arbor’s arm and stopping him in his tracks. “Are you saying there’s someone more dangerous than Scarlett Rage on these premises?”

  The thought sent a cold sweat through the group.

  “Oh yeah, sweetheart, and you better get ready to meet it.” Arbor smiled his toothy grin and marched ahead.

  Veronica raised her eyebrows. “It?”

  Arbor led them into the yard from the drive, crunching over the fallen leaves and pine cones. Tall, narrow evergreens, pines, and large Burr Oaks spread across the wide yard.

  The group trudged up the gently sloping hill. The terrain was on such a gradual slant that they hardly noticed. But the incline was revealed as the tower of a small castle rose quickly on the horizon.

  Before they left, the team had been briefed on the house Scarlett Rage lived in. It had been built decades ago by an eccentric millionaire who had it styled after a medieval castle. Inside, the home had all the furnishings of a modern abode, they were told, but its style was unmistakably medieval. Were it not for the small size—comparable to the average-sized home before the depression—one could truly mistake it for the real thing.

  As they slogged toward it, Fiddler couldn’t help but wonder why their handlers had bothered to describe the architectural history of this place but failed to mention the mysterious, and obviously deadly, bodyguard...thing.

  Then again, maybe the answer lies in the question.

  After all, this was no group of cowards he was with, yet they had all felt hesitation coming to the home of the woman who could kill just by concentrating. People avoided Scarlett Rage as if she were a leper. It was her curse. And according to some, the years living with that curse had been none too kind to her.

  The rumor was that the government had wanted to keep her in active service as further payback for all the years she helped her terrorist father pull off some of the nation’s most spectacular terrorist attacks. But when she insisted on retiring, no one challenged her, because, at least in part, they were also relieved to have her out of their world. How could you protect public officials from a woman who could assassinate them with a thought?

  They could have sent agents in to kil
l her when she pulled that retirement stunt. Others had been killed for less. But then they would lose her as an asset that they might never be able to recreate. The compromise was to isolate her. And keep her available should the need ever arise...or anyone with the cojones to actually go and try to reel her back in from the cold.

  As it turned out, it took a whole super team to try.

  And this woman has a bodyguard. An “it” kind of bodyguard—whatever that meant. How dangerous would this thing have to be to qualify for that job?

  The thought filled Fiddler with dread. He really wanted to kill something. He glanced over at Ray. Maybe the little black guy. He grated on Fiddler for some reason. They could do without him. How good it would feel to stab his acid-spear right into the irritating little man’s eyeballs and watch them melt down his cheeks as he screamed in agony...

  Really good.

  Fiddler blinked and smiled. The thought had perked him up. “Where’s that fucking bodyguard?” he chortled with bravado.

  As they strolled closer to the house, Ray began to detect dozens of cameras and electronic monitoring devices hidden in trees and bushes. He began pointing to them. “I guess I know how the Spectral spends its time.”

  “What’s a Spectral?” Fiddler asked.

  “The bodyguard,” Arbor said. “And when you see it, don’t nobody piss their pants, okay.”

  Ray glanced back and chuckled. “It’s a secret weapon. Officially, she’s in charge of keeping it hidden from the public or anyone else.”

  “Officially,” Arbor agreed. “Unofficially, she stole it.”

  When they got to the door, a robotic female voice asked them to identify themselves. Clay Arbor answered by his real name, and instantly the door opened before the others even made a peep.

  Inside, the “castle” still looked a bit medieval, though sparse and extremely clean. Spotless in fact.

  “Someone’s a type A,” Veronica mused. “Can you say anal?”

  came a pleasant but clearly robotic voice. This time male.

  Arbor and Ray stopped and exchanged looks. Arbor grinned. Ray’s eyes never left the RDSD the rest of the way up the stairs. Fiddler wondered how the hell he even saw where he was going.

  With each step Fiddler took, he could feel the pressure returning. The tight spaces of the staircase—something he had never liked—the attitude of Arbor and Ray, the whole thing. Made him really want to kill someone.

  When they reached the top, they found a closed door. Arbor knocked.

  Loud, thundering footsteps followed, coming closer to the door. The group exchanged glances. Ray turned back toward them grinning, placed his fist with his thumb straight out, down between his legs, and shook his head “no.”

  Nobody piss their pants.

  Fiddler really wanted to kill him.

  The door opened.

  Fiddler pissed his pants.

  CHAPTER 31

  It was tall.

  As tall as Arbor would have been in his Lithium battle armor. Six-seven, six-eight, Fiddler guessed. The shape was large, male. Muscular too, but clearly this was no human; this was a machine. It wore a cape. Its “skin” was solid with red and yellow-green in an almost tiger-stripe pattern. As Fiddler looked closer he could see that the colors were pulsating, moving across the skin, giving it the illusion of looking almost translucent.

  That ended at the robot’s neck and face, which were almost entirely red. Its head was covered by an extra thick layer of the yellow-green pattern that made it appear it was wearing a helmet. Its eyes were pools of black with piercing red pupils that shone out like tiny spotlights. The cape it wore was striped in wide vertical strips of red and yellow-green that was attached to its body by a high yellow-green collar that extended above and framed its head.

  The machine’s dark eyes suddenly glowed white, and Fiddler felt his heart race. It was going to fry them or paralyze them or send them to another dimension—or God knows what!

  And then...

  Nothing.

  Its eyes just scanned them from head to toe and then they returned back to being pools of black with piercing red pupils. Finall,y it spoke. said the machine.

  The voice had a calm human quality, but it was off somehow. Detached, disembodied. As if it were emanating from somewhere other than the machine, though clearly it was. It raised the hair on Fiddler’s neck. From the look on Veronica’s face, he wasn’t the only one feeling that way.

  “It’s Colonel now, actually,” Arbor said, patting his stripes.

  The android’s eyes scanned the metals and returned back to Arbor’s face.

 

  “Been a long time, Spectral,” Arbor said.

  The machine did not respond but stepped aside and let them pass. Fiddler had the feeling it was still sizing them up as they ambled by.

  Seated on the far wall of the room was a beautiful woman with red hair, all elegantly piled atop her head and held there in part by a thin, blue, metallic headpiece. It wrapped around her head by two bands. The top band was thicker and more decorative, and it connected to a center piece that descended down her forehead nearly to the bridge of her nose in a kind of arrowhead pattern, elegant filigree decorations running across it. The lower band was more snugly fit around her head and was thinner, undecorated, and probably served a more functional purpose. Fiddler had heard about the device. People called it her tiara, like she was some kind of fucking princess. It held her deadly brain waves at bay.

  Supposedly.

  She was dressed in her signature white flowing shawl that hung off her delicate shoulders like a cape and curled up around her neck in a collar. As usual, she wore a choker the same color blue as the tiara.

  “Colonel Arbor, you’ve changed your uniform,” Scarlett Rage said with a smirk.

  Arbor laughed, knowing she meant the Lithium armor, and quickly introduced the group. When the introductions had concluded Arbor got right to the point.

  “Do you know why we’re here?” Arbor asked.

  “I read the news,” Scarlett said, crossing her arms over her chest.

  Arbor went right to the hard sell.

  “Then you know what I’m going to say. Join up, end your house arrest,” Arbor said.

  Scarlett stiffened, her tone dark. “I’m not on house arrest.”

  “Aren’t you?”

  “I can go anywhere I want.”

  Arbor wasn’t letting up. “Really? Then how ‘bout we head on down to the White House, talk to the president.”

  Scarlett shuffled in her seat. Her long red nails rapped the sides of her chair. Enough that Arbor noticed.

  The android noticed too. Fiddler swore he saw its colors deepen.

  “After all,” Arbor continued sarcastically, “you’ve saved this country before, maybe even the whole world. I’m sure the Lady Rage would get a hero’s welcome.”

  “I’m no hero,” Scarlett said. “Assassin was the word I believe they used to use.” Lowering her face, she kept her eyes locked on Arbor’s. She looked like a cat ready to strike.

  Arbor swallowed. “Wouldn’t you like to change that? I can guarantee it this time. I’ve got a hell of a lot more authority these days.”

  “I retired, remember?” she said, straightening her ivory shawl.

  “And joined the hero movement,” Arbor countered. “But I’m talking about coming in from the cold and finally letting Spectral here off the leash.” Arbor motioned to the great machine, which remained motionless.

  “You mean exposing him.”

  “No, I mean making him a hero.”

  Scarlett glanced over at Spectral. “People remember the Aztech; they’ll never accept him.”

  Fiddler noticed Veronica take an involuntary step
back at the simple mention of the word:

  Aztech.

  The Aztech had been the military’s greatest weapon... and greatest blunder. An android-robot thing that went haywire and nearly destroyed Eastern Europe and almost started a war, as he recalled. It was an early sign this country was going to hell, Fiddler thought.

  It was supposed to have ended the conflict in Africa, but instead it dragged the war out by diverting precious resources away as they moved Heaven and Earth to try and stop it.

  “They will accept Spectral if the Council tells them to,” Arbor countered.

  “And what will the Council tell us to do?” Scarlett demanded.

  “You’d approve all the targets and only...”—Arbor was careful with his words—“take out those you want.”

  Arbor saw the pair exchange a quick look as the Spectral finally moved.

  Of course, he couldn’t read the android’s face. It was as emotionless as ever. Red eyes darting quickly over at Scarlett.

  But her face. A slight smirk curled the edges of her mouth and a gleam sparkled in her eyes that he could see she instantly tried to conceal, but Arbor knew bloodlust when he saw it. She was stunningly gorgeous, but there was a distinct lethality about her beauty.

  And why not?

  Her father was one of the most deadly terrorists on the planet. She had assisted him in killing countless innocents in her youth. She still had the bloodlust, Arbor could feel it. But now, that deadly desire was aimed at the very people who committed the kind of crimes her father had brainwashed her into doing. And she had another, lesser known ability to disable any computerized systems. Something Arbor hoped to exploit frequently.

  And she had a bodyguard.

  The Spectral was a walking arsenal. It could phase into pure light form, rendering it invulnerable to any weapon known to man. Even the Fire Fly herself. It had incredible strength, a super computer for a brain, and its ocular lenses doubled as laser weapons, just like a pterodactyl drone.

  Having these two on his team would guarantee victory over the Suns. They had no defense for the pair.