Pursuit of the Guardian (Children of the Republic Book 2)

by Jason Hutt

Dorn nodded.

  “Yes, I am retiring later this year. It’s not just the ships that need to be retired when they become antiquated. I’m afraid this old body would like some rest.”

  “It doesn’t have to be that way, Admiral,” Arresh said.

  “Oh, I’m aware,” Admiral Dorn said.

  “This ability that we now have, to copy and transplant the brain, will drastically alter the span of our lives. No longer will we be subject to the diseases of the mind. At the onset of any deterioration of the brain, any degradation of function, we can take a snapshot of your mind, grow a copy of your own brain, and copy your memories to it. You wake up a week later never knowing what happened. The aging of the mind is no longer the limiting factor in our lives.”

  The words hung in the air and silence filled the room for several moments.

  “For those that can afford it, of course,” Dorn said.

  “We are a for-profit enterprise,” Arresh said.

  “Another way to separate the common rabble from those who are truly worthy,” Dorn said.

  Maria studied the silver-haired Admiral. “You don’t support this innovation, Admiral?”

  “I struggle with the ethics of its use.”

  “Spare me, please,” Arresh said, “The first demonstration of this technique on a human patient was on a little girl from West Africa. A metal rod shot through her skull in an industrial accident. She was alive, but lost much of her memory, motor skills, and other basic functions. We were able to clone her brain and then transplant her remaining memories. She’s able to walk, talk, and she can remember the little girl she was. We can’t restore all of her lost memories, but we did give her a life.”

  “How magnanimous of you,” Dorn said.

  “Look, insurance companies have agreed to cover the cost in cases of need. Otherwise, you’re going to have to pay,” Arresh said, “Just like any other cosmetic surgery.”

  “So the rich can live forever, while the poor can toil and die,” Dorn countered.

  Senator Graham interrupted the exchange and said, “The Republic is already strained to meet the demands of its citizens. We have food riots on a dozen worlds, plagues impacting a dozen others. This type of life extension, if granted to everyone, would buckle the system.”

  Arresh nodded. “That’s why we need to get these reforms passed or humanity will see another collapse like we saw just a couple of centuries ago. We’re about to start running support ads day and night. By the time we get to the vote, everyone will be begging for this. They will know that this will all be for the well-being of the Republic.”

  “I doubt that,” Admiral Dorn interjected.

  “Your cynicism is tiring, Admiral,” Arresh retorted.

  “My cynicism has been fostered by experience. The motivations of your corporation are never for the greater good; you serve the greater profit.”

  “And is there something wrong with that?”

  “Not at all,” Dorn said, “Provided that the government you support so generously still remembers whom it serves.”

  “What do you get out of this, Admiral Kersey?” Maria asked.

  The Admiral cleared his throat as he clasped his hands in front of him. “A 25% increase in the defense budget as we step up crackdowns on illegal breeder settlements.”

  Maria raised her eyebrows.

  “More money for the Navy, for Sector Security, for the Army and other ground forces means more jobs for a lot of people,” Arresh said, “More jobs equals more money to buy better rations. That will be an easy selling point.”

  Maria nodded and listened as Arresh continued to prattle on. Out of the corner of her eye, she watched Admiral Dorn. The older woman leaned back in her chair and set down her fork. Her gaze became unfocused as she stared at the images of famous space exploration scenes that played in a loop on the opposite wall of the dining room.

  Finally, Dorn pushed herself away from the table. “Excuse me, gentlemen, Senators, but I’ve had all the excitement I can stand for one day. I hope you all have a good night and a safe trip back to Earth.”

  She abruptly left the room and Kersey, Arresh, and Hunter gave her a momentary nod but otherwise continued to blather. Maria got up and followed Admiral Dorn into the hall.

  “Admiral,” Maria called out.

  Dorn stopped. “Yes, Senator?”

  Maria hesitated.

  “I presume you want to ask me about what happened on Dust.”

  “Well, yes…given your candor in there…I would appreciate knowing your version of events that day.”

  “I don’t have enough time left to waste it dancing around the truth,” Dorn said. She looked over Maria for several uncomfortable moments before speaking again. “Truth is a weapon that can cut both ways. Are you sure you want to hear this, Senator? I’m sure you’re well aware of the information your son broadcast that day.”

  “I’ve had to make my peace with what happened over the years. I’ve never pretended my husband was a saint; I just have a hard time picturing him as a monster either.”

  “Understandable. It can be hard to see the faults in the ones we love. But your reservation begs another question, was your husband the anomaly within that corporation or was he just a face in the crowd?”

  “Corporations are comprised of people, both good and bad.”

  “True,” Dorn said, taking a step back toward Maria, “They tend to take on the personality of those at the top. Have you ever met the head of the Conglomerate?”

  “No,” Maria admitted.

  “I have. Senator, do you believe it’s possible to take the measure of a man in just one meeting?”

  “Maybe.”

  “Well then perhaps you’ll believe me when I say that some men would sell anything to make a profit and they will do anything to protect and grow that profit. To some, that’s considered a noble goal, something that may even make you a paragon of virtue in some circles. Profit has never been my motivation.”

  “Then why work with them?” Maria asked.

  Dorn straightened her shoulders as she thought. “Two reasons. First, I don’t control procurement. Second, there’s an old saying about keeping your enemies closer.”

  Chapter 6

  “Sir, w-we picked him up right at the jump beacon,” the fresh-faced Corporal reported.

  “What do we know about him?” Akimbe asked.

  “His name is Christian Volkov. Sixty-eight years old. Runs a farm equipment and feed distribution center out of the Fomalhaut system.”

  Akimbe stopped just outside the door of the interrogation room. He rolled his shoulders, trying to work out the stiffness. For the past six hours, he had done nothing but sit hunched over his console sifting through what had so far been erroneous reports of Hannah Cabot’s whereabouts.

  The Corporal, last name James, stood passively, studying a report as Akimbe rolled his neck.

  “Why did we pick him up?”

  “He left Fomalhaut four days ago with a cargo of water, water recycling equipment, livestock feed, and some military rations. His filed flight plan had him scheduled to arrive at New Russia to make delivery to a cooperative operated by the Beecher-Stowe Foundation. According to jump beacon records, he never arrived at New Russia. He did accept payment from Beecher-Stowe, which we’ve suspected of being a front for the Maisha cell.”

  Akimbe skimmed through the rest of the report on his computer. “Good work, Corporal. Let’s have a chat with Mister Volkov.”

  The door to the room slid open and Akimbe stepped in with a warm smile. Christian sat nonchalantly on the other side of the table, arms folded in his lap.

  “Mister Volkov, how are you doing today?”

  “Why are you holding me?”

  “We’ve noticed some irregularities,” Akimbe said, slowly annunciating each syllable, “With your flight plan.”

  “Not my fault if the beacon doesn’t capture my data correctly,” Christian said with a shrug.

  “So, you hold that you did
go to New Russia? That you did make delivery to the Beecher-Stowe Foundation?”

  “Obviously. I’ve got nothin’ in my hold.”

  “Now, Mister Volkov, we live in a truly wondrous age. We go about our everyday lives surrounded by so much technology that we barely take notice of it. In fact, most of us proceed through our lives blissfully unaware of how dependent we are on that technology unless it doesn’t work the way it is intended to do. You see, a jump beacon that can’t properly record the registration numbers of the ships that pass through its wormholes will shut down. Now, was the jump beacon at New Russia activated or not?”

  “I’m here, aren’t I? Wouldn’t be sittin’ here if the damned thing wasn’t workin’.”

  “I see,” Akimbe said, “Well then, why don’t we just pull the memories of the last few days right out of your head and find out what really happened? I understand it can be quite an uncomfortable experience for the conscious mind.”

  Christian looked up; his lower lip dropped slightly. “You can’t do that,” Christian said, “You can’t just go into my head like that without some reason to.”

  “Ah, but I do have a reason, Mister Volkov,” Akimbe said, smiling again, “Twenty-five years ago you worked at a shipping and distribution center with a Maxime Cabot. Now, you two haven’t crossed paths in a long time, but Mister Cabot finds himself in a bit of a dire situation at the moment. He and his cohorts have officially been declared enemies of the Republic. I do believe that he is probably looking for help among those whom we would least expect.

  “The punishment for aiding terrorists is rather severe, Mister Volkov. Perhaps, if you tell me what I want to know, you’ll be able to see your wife again before you’re welcomed into the hereafter.”

  Christian stared into Akimbe’s eyes, before he finally sighed and leaned forward in the seat, resting on his elbows.

  “Yes, I met with Max Cabot,” Christian admitted, “Didn’t know it was a crime to sell a man water and farm supplies.”

  “Ah, such passive aggressive nonsense,” Akimbe said, “If you didn’t think it was that big a deal, why meet him in deep space? Why do it away from the prying eyes of Republic customs officials? And why not just tell us from the very start?”

  “Not the first time I’ve been asked to do a ship-to-ship transfer,” Christian said.

  Akimbe’s smile faded, replaced by a contemptuous sneer. “What did you sell him?”

  “Water, water processors, some feed,” Christian said, casting his eyes down at the table.

  “Anything else?”

  “No,” Christian said. He opened his mouth and looked at Akimbe, but said nothing.

  “What, Mister Volkov?”

  “Nothing.”

  “What else did he want from you?”

  “Medicine.”

  “That wasn’t what you were about to say,” Akimbe said.

  Christian stared straight ahead.

  “Tell me, Mister Volkov. It is in your best interests. In conspiring with Mister Cabot, you open up your past actions to greater scrutiny. If we find any evidence of other irregularities, other transgressions, then you will be guilty not only of aiding a known terrorist, but I would wager there are a few other areas where you have skirted Republic regulations. A heart transplant is not cheap, nor is the recovery process. It would be a shame if all your assets were frozen and your wife did not have access to appropriate medical care.”

  Christian sighed and cast his gaze at the table. “He wanted to know about a girl, uh Shaw, Eleanor Shaw,” Christian said, “He wanted to know where she was taken.”

  “And how were you going to deliver this information to him?”

  Christian shook his head.

  Akimbe suddenly stood and slammed his hands on the table. The bang made the old man jump.

  “Open broadcast message to a Mister Clemence,” Christain said, “Just tell him where the flowers are blooming.”

  “Very good,” Akimbe said; his smile returned. “Now, where did he go?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “This is not a game anymore, Mr. Volkov.”

  “I don’t know,” Christian said, meeting Akimbe’s intense stare. “He didn’t tell me and I didn’t ask.”

  The old man’s eyes looked hollow as he sat back in the chair. Christian’s shoulders slumped and he just stared at his old, trembling hands.

  “Very well,” Akimbe said. He then punched a few commands into his wrist computer.

  “What now?” Christian asked.

  Akimbe laughed. “Now, Mister Volkov, I’m going to make sure you were telling me the truth.”

  ***

  Victor Chen walked in the room just as Max put down the final water bag. Chen’s eyes were puffy with dark streaks under them. Uneven stubble dotted his chin and he smelled faintly of industrial lubricant. He offered Max a weak smile.

  “You don’t look like you’re holding up very well,” Max said.

  Victor waved away his concern. “I’m fine. I could use a softer bed, but other than that I can’t complain.”

  Max nodded.

  “How are you doing?” Victor asked.

  “Managing,” Max said, “Haven’t had a drink since the last time I was here. My hands haven’t stopped shaking for the last couple of days.”

  Victor laughed. “We’re a sorry sight.”

  “How is Locke doing?” Max asked.

  “Good, Locke was able to get ahold of some antibiotics and a few other things,” Victor said, “Thank God for that. We need some spare parts though. There hasn’t been regular upkeep on this station’s equipment in some time. I’ve sent you a list of what we need.”

  Max scrolled through the table of various parts and equipment. “This’ll be difficult,” Max said, “But I’ll do my best. Might have to just find us a wreck to salvage. Would be more inconspicuous than tossing this parts list at someone.”

  “Whatever you think is best, Max. I trust you know what you’re doing.”

  “Good,” Max said. Silence passed between them as Max turned his gaze to the floor. “After this next shipment, I’m going to make a run for Eleanor. I need a couple of volunteers.”

  Victor nodded. “What’re you planning?”

  “I’m going to do what I do best,” Max said, “I’m going to smuggle her out. No matter where she’s being kept, they’ll need supplies. With any luck, a small group can get in and out without too much trouble. I’ll need some time to sort out logistics and figure a way in, but I’m going to see this through.”

  “You stand a better chance of securing her release through the courts,” Victor said.

  “Oh, come on, Victor, I used to do stuff like this all the time.”

  “Yes, for spare parts or to get ahold of some food or medicine. And not when they were actively hunting you down with a task force dedicated to capturing you. It’s not like you’re just trying to sneak through customs. Wherever they have her, it’ll be well guarded. It’ll never work.”

  “I have to try.”

  “You don’t have the money to pull off something like this, Max. You need a team of specialists and more resources than we have here in our entire group.”

  “I’ve saved some money over the years. Besides, I’ve got the best collateral in the galaxy,” Max said with a nod towards the Guardian.

  “You’re really going to give up your ship?” Victor asked with raised eyebrows.

  “I’ll give up whatever I have to, Victor. I need to get Eleanor out. Get us all out…before anyone else gets killed.”

  “Doesn’t sound like you’re talking about you.”

  Max sighed and said, “Hannah wants to charge off and start a war. She needs to get away from here, to find some kind of normal life someplace where she doesn’t feel like she’s walking around with a second head on her shoulders.”

  Victor laughed. “Define normal. I don’t know that she’s ever going to find that life, Max.”

  “I know that, Victor, but she doesn’t. I
owe it to her to try and find a place where she can live a life away from this. There are plenty of people who have disappeared into the wilderness. There are worlds across this galaxy that can support us. We just have to find the right one.”

  “We did. Remember,” Victor said.

  “That’s why we need to get away, get out on our own. All of us. We should send everyone on their separate way. It would be safer.”

  “We already turned away from safe, Max. The day we setup the colony we did that. Hannah is a branded outcast, might as well sew a big scarlet ‘C’ on her clothes. You’re not doing her any favors by trying to tell her that she can go retire by the lakeside somewhere and live out her days in peace and contentment basking in the sunshine.”

  “So what do I tell her to do? Suck it up, kid? The Republic’s going to be on your tail for the rest of your life so I hope you like running?”

  “If that’s the truth,” Victor said.

  “Hell, she won’t listen to me, anyway. She doesn’t want to run. She wants to fight.”

  “Maybe she’s right.”

  The statement hung in the air.

  “Christ, Victor, what the hell are you suggesting? Do you even hear yourself? Who’s going to fight alongside her? Us? You need to get some more sleep, my friend, because you’re dreaming. I’ve fought enough battles, buried enough friends. I want out.”

  “Fine, Max. Your decision.”

  “God damn right it is.”

  Victor looked Max in the eye; a sad resignation had crept into his features. Max exhaled slowly, but said nothing. He turned his back to Victor and walked back to the ship. He started to wipe some grease off of his left hand when a minor tremor in his hand became an almost uncontrollable shake. He tried to shake away the spasms and was suddenly very thirsty.

  He entered the ship and saw Hannah napping on a bedroll in the front of the passenger section. She looked calm, peaceful as she slept. Her face wasn’t adorned with her usual scowl; she looked almost happy.

  As he stood there, she stirred and looked up at him through blinking eyes. His face flushed and he offered her a weak smile as he moved on to the cockpit.

  “We’re heading out,” Max said, “One last run.”