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

by Jason Hutt

  “Doesn’t matter,” Arresh said, “Keep this up and you’ll be so toxic that no one’ll want to be seen siding with you. You’re finished, Maria. You just don’t see it yet.”

  “I’m not the only one who has a little dirt in the closet. You think you can bully me with some trumped up charges?”

  Arresh laughed. Maria could almost picture his unctuous smile.

  “And who’d believe you? Think, Maria, before it’s too late.”

  The connection was dropped and Maria sat at her desk, stunned. She looked through the rest of her messages, more than two dozen interview requests, another letter of investigation, and another dozen notices of news stories about the allegations.

  As she looked at the last notice, another message popped into her inbox. She didn’t recognize the sender. Still, the message had come to her private inbox. She opened it; the message only had one line.

  Stupid lying bitch.

  Seconds later another message popped in. Within a minute, she had more than two dozen similar messages. Within an hour, more than a thousand. Her email account was useless. She turned off her wrist computer and asked her assistant to setup a temporary account.

  Chapter 13

  The distress call was received after the Churchill’s second jump of the day. Akimbe didn’t hesitate and signaled to command that he would respond. The crew was bristling with energy, ready to charge into action. When they finally rendezvoused with the drifting Starlight Express, the crew launched into a flawless rescue effort.

  Half a dozen shuttles were ferrying the injured from the damaged cruise liner to the Republic cruiser. Engineering teams worked to restore auxiliary power circuits and command systems, trying to revive or patch enough of the damaged ship’s systems to help take some of the burden off the Churchill until more recovery ships arrived. Two medships and two tugs were still several days out.

  Akimbe took a brief walk through the shuttle bay as one arrived and another departed. Med techs came streaming out of the arrived ships, their uniforms streaked with dirt, blood, or worse. Three injured men and two women floated out on automated gurneys that followed the techs down to the ship’s med center. Akimbe followed behind them, watching the actions of his techs as they reviewed diagnostic readouts and administered painkillers and nannite therapies as required.

  Gurneys full with patients lined the hallway as Akimbe got nearer the med center. He saw Doctor Rosenbaum, the Chief Medical Officer, crouched over a young man with a mauled arm. Something had exploded and taken most of the teenager’s right arm with it. The doctor placed a patch on the boy’s forehead and then looked up as Akimbe’s shadow fell over him.

  “Commander,” Rosenbaum said with a nod.

  “How are you managing?”

  “As well as can be expected,” he said.

  “How are you on supplies?”

  “Plenty of nannites and plenty of painkillers. Running low on antibiotics, but I sent a couple people over to raid the Starlight’s medical supplies.”

  “Very good,” Akimbe said, “I want a summary status at the end of the shift. Fatalities, wounded, and the state of your supplies.”

  “Yes, sir,” he said.

  Akimbe moved on. He checked in on the engineering and fabrication shop, where replacement parts were being printed in bulk and collected by haulerbots to be taken to the shuttle bay. With a couple of taps on his wrist computer, Akimbe checked the quantities for raw materials for the printers.

  “Master Chief,” Akimbe called out.

  A slight, older woman looked up from the schematics she was reviewing. “Yes, sir?”

  “Status on the recovery efforts?”

  “I expect to get primary life support systems back on line in about two hours. We might be able to get auxiliary prop and navigation systems by tomorrow.”

  “I don’t want you to drop below ten percent on our component reserves,” Akimbe said.

  “That’ll make it tough to get the prop systems online.”

  “The tugs will be able to pull her. Not something we need to worry about. Get these people safe and we’ll go from there.”

  “Yes, sir,” she said with a nod.

  Akimbe made his way to the analytics room. The three-person team had their noses buried in their monitors. No one noticed when he walked in the room. Akimbe cleared his throat.

  Ensign Roe jumped and smacked her knee on the underside of the console. “Sorry, sir.”

  “That’s all right. What have you found?”

  “Not much at this point,” she said.

  “Have you been through the jump beacon logs?” He asked.

  “Yes, sir. That’s been part of the trouble. We’ve recorded five incoming jumps into the system over the last four days – the Starlight Express, three freighters, and one private transport. We’re not picking up any other entries into the system. Whatever attacked these guys, there’s no record of them jumping into the system.”

  “Well then it must be one of the other four contacts,” Akimbe said with an annoyed glance.

  “I’m sorry, sir, but the other contacts all check out. We have verified exits from the system and were able to confirm arrival at their intended destinations.”

  “Then how are they getting in and out of the system?”

  “I don’t know, sir,” she said, “Maybe they have one of those drives.”

  “No,” Akimbe said, “Not possible. Only one of those ships exist. How else would you explain it?”

  “They’ve got some kind of masking code, something that’s erasing their jump from the beacon logs. They could do it with the right overrides, but that’s off limits even for us. Shoot, even we’re not authorized to write to the memory buffers of the beacon, all we have is read access. That’s some next level shit…uh, sir.”

  “Contain yourself, ensign.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Well, if you can’t find out where they’ve gone, I want you to consider where they might be going. See if these attacks correlate with any other recent cruise liner attacks. I’m assuming they knew to come here because we weren’t going to be here. Identify all candidates over the next two weeks that might be in a similar vulnerable position. Find them so that we can put a stop to this.”

  “We will, sir.”

  “Lives are depending on it, ensign. These fools are making a mockery of the Republic and someone in the Republic, someone with high access, is helping them meet their goal. We must root out this festering boil.”

  As he walked away, another message appeared on Akimbe’s wrist computer. He gritted his teeth and balled his hands into fists as he read the three little words.

  She got away. -Roland

  ***

  Hannah grunted with every punch she threw as sweat dripped down her aching arms. Her eyes stung, fists ached, and knees wobbled, but she wouldn’t stop. She continued to throw punch after punch into the makeshift heavy bag that she and Reggie had constructed. The bag danced from side to side, making her shift her feet, find her center, and punch again.

  Her knuckles began to bleed under the tape she had managed to scavenge from Max’s toolbox. Her wrist glanced off the bag at an awkward angle and she felt a sharp pain in her wrist. With a final hate-filled yell, she punched at the bag one last time and then collapsed in a heap on the floor. She sat there, tears obscured by falling sweat, and hugged her knees close to her chest.

  “Miss?” Reggie said, “Are you all right?”

  “No,” she said, her head buried in her arms.

  “Is there anything I can do?”

  “I don’t know. How are your fighting skills?”

  “I am only programmed for self-defense and certain actions that would prevent harm from coming to my owner.”

  Hannah smiled at the robot; his eyes stared back at her impassively.

  “Have you decided upon our next course of action?”

  “No,” Hannah said, “I have no idea what to do.”

  “Perhaps our best course of a
ction is to wait for Max to call.”

  Hannah frowned. “No. I won’t give him the satisfaction. Let’s review our options again. We need a world that’s not as much of a flashpoint, somewhere where Sector Security won’t be breathing down our neck. We need someone with resources. Surely somebody I knew on Dust has had some success.”

  Reggie was silent as he logic circuits calculated the highest probability of success. “You have two options – Rochelle McLean on Sateen or Murilo Vasquez on Hacienda. Though, as I said earlier, I advise against any sojourns on well-established colonies. They know you are searching for your former compatriots. They will be looking for you.”

  “I don’t have a choice, Reggie. I have to do this.”

  “Then, we must take every available precaution,” Reggie said.

  “No argument there. Figure out which world is better suited for me getting in and out in one piece while I clean up.”

  A day later, Hannah crouched on the rooftop as winds whipped around her and the sun set on Sateen’s horizon. She inhaled the cold air that enveloped her. The Guardian sped into the distance as Reggie looked for a safe place to put the ship down. She looked around at a skyline that featured massive high-rises spaced far apart. She could make out four different high-rises each at least fifteen kilometers away aligned like points on a grid.

  Each tower was massive, tall enough that Hannah couldn’t clearly make out the bottom floors and with enough living space inside to hold the living quarters and livelihoods of about twenty thousand people. The sun dipped below the horizon and a fierce gust sent a shiver down Hannah’s spine.

  She entered the lift. As the door slid closed, she fought the urge to jam her fingers between the doors and jump out of the car. “Floor eighty-three,” she commanded.

  “Be careful,” Reggie said through the earpiece inserted in her right ear.

  “You just be ready,” Hannah responded in a bit of a whisper.

  The lift stopped and Hannah found herself in a nondescript hallway with only two doors. She stood in front of the door on the left and she heard a voice behind the door.

  “Announcing the arrival of unknown visitor.”

  This was a mistake, Hannah thought. They already know I don’t have an ID chip. She could still run at this point. She could get back on the lift, return to the rooftop and call Reggie back. They could make orbit before anyone knew they had been there. Assuming they hadn’t scanned her when she stepped on the lift and wouldn’t lock it down if she went back in.

  The door opened and a young woman with luxurious blonde hair stood facing her. The woman was wearing a royal blue silk nightgown that probably cost more than every piece of clothing Hannah had ever owned. Hannah’s cheeks blushed as she realized she was wearing the tan coveralls that she’d been in for the better part of the last two weeks.

  “Are you from maintenance?” The woman asked.

  “No, Rochelle, I…” Hannah hesitated. “I don’t know if you remember me. We used to be friends long ago.”

  “Sorry, I don’t remember you,” Rochelle said, “And I don’t know how you got in here. I-”

  “On Dust,” Hannah said, “Before they took us away.”

  The words hung in the air as Rochelle looked her over. Comprehension dawned on her face and her jaw hung open. “Hannah? Oh my god, Hannah! Is it really you?”

  Hannah nodded and offered a timid smile.

  “Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god. Come in! Quickly!” She grabbed Hannah by the wrist and pulled her into her living space. Rochelle’s eyes widened as she looked at her. “You don’t have an ID chip!”

  “Yes, I…”

  “They don’t know you’re here, do they?”

  “I hope not…”

  Rochelle commanded something on her wrist computer and Hannah heard a loud click as the door locks slid shut. “You look like you’ve been on the wrong end of the rodeo,” Rochelle said, “Come in and sit down. Can I get you a snack or something? God, you look like you haven’t eaten in a week. Let me have Ronin cook you up something.”

  “No, it’s all right,” Hannah said, but Rochelle wasn’t listening and she walked away, disappearing into the kitchen. Hannah looked around with raised eyebrows and reached out and touched the lampshade next to her with the slightest touch. A ripple of color spiraled out from where her finger had touched the fabric. Having been raised in a place that used only utility lights and anything salvaged from freighter scrap, she had no idea that homes could look like this.

  Every fixture in the room was polished chrome, the floors were a gleaming white, and as Hannah ran her fingers through the soft fur that lined the couch, she thought it was the softest thing she had ever touched. The entire expansive room was crammed with expensive-looking knick-knacks and baubles, each worth more than anything Hannah had ever owned.

  As she sat on the couch, she was enveloped in a warmth and comfort that was at once enchanting and dangerous. The temptation existed to strip down and soak in its extravagance, to rest in its embrace. The memory of Sundeep, sitting cross-legged on the dirt floor of her strapped together shack, flashed through Hannah’s mind. Hannah wanted to grab a few of the trinkets, stuff them in her pockets, and take them back to her struggling friend.

  Rochelle emerged from the kitchen with a squat little robot in tow. The chrome-plated robot, Ronin, held a tray with food that looked better than anything she’d eaten in the last decade. Just the scent made her stomach growl. Hannah had to dab at the drool that was pooling at the corner of her mouth.

  Ronin set the tray on the table and Hannah just stared at it. Plump strawberries, crème-colored melon slices, and half a dozen varieties of muffins were spread across the overloaded tray. Hannah started to reach for one of the strawberries and hesitated.

  “What are you waiting for?” Rochelle asked with a big smile. “Dig in.”

  Hannah couldn’t help herself. She picked up one of the large strawberries and bit down. Her taste buds were overwhelmed by the first fresh, natural food she’d had in months. Within seconds, she ate another and then grabbed a muffin off the tray and took a huge bite out of the top. She let the sweet, soft dough linger on her tongue, savoring every taste. Hannah looked up and realized Rochelle was just sitting on the edge of the couch, looking at her with her big grin. Hannah put the remains of the muffin on the tray.

  “I’m sorry,” Hannah said, “I’ve just…”

  “No, go right ahead. You poor thing. I can’t imagine what you’ve been going through.”

  Hannah sighed and looked down at the half-eaten muffin. She was tempted to pick it up and cram the rest into her mouth. She was aware of the warmth and comfort of the sofa, the satisfied feeling in her stomach, and tears threatened to spill from her eyes.

  “Oh, Hannah, it’s okay, sweetheart,” Rochelle said, taking a seat beside her. She put her arm around Hannah’s shoulders and just the touch of Rochelle’s hand was enough to send tears streaming down Hannah’s face. “It’s okay. You’re all right here.”

  Hannah let out a long, slow breath to compose herself. She balled her hands into shaking fists, but she couldn’t regain control of her emotions. Isolation, exhaustion, and fear ran down her cheeks one tear drop at a time. She looked into Rochelle’s eyes and wanted to forget why she had come and beg her old friend to let her stay here.

  “I don’t know where else to turn,” Hannah said, “I need help. I…”

  “Shhh…” Rochelle whispered. “Just let it out. You’ll be all right here. We’ll take good care of you,” she said as she patted Hannah on the back.

  The word ‘we’ registered with Hannah. “Is there someone else…”

  The front door clicked. Hannah turned her head toward the door as it slid open and four Sector Security guards walked into the room.

  “You didn’t,” Hannah said.

  “They told me you might be coming,” Rochelle admitted, “You need help, Hannah. Let us help you.” Rochelle stood and took a step back from Hannah.

&n
bsp; “You don’t know what you’ve done.”

  Rochelle started pointing at her as if there was any question about who they had come for. Blood rushed to Hannah’s face; her cheeks flushed with embarrassment, shame, and rage. She grabbed the silver platter scattering fruit and muffins across the floor, hauled it back, and smashed it across Rochelle’s face. Blood streamed from the blonde-haired woman’s nose as she collapsed to the floor.

  The guards raised their weapons. Bolts of electricity arced out as Hannah dove behind the couch. She saw out of the corner of her eye several bolts connect with Rochelle, causing her body to convulse.

  Hannah whispered, “Reggie, I hope you’re already on the way.”

  “Hands up! Step out where we can see you!” one of the guards yelled.

  Hannah grabbed a dish of polished stones from the end table next to her just before the table exploded in a shower of wood and glass shards. Hannah recoiled; something burned on her cheek.

  “Last warning,” the guard yelled.

  “All right,” she said. Hannah raised her hands and slowly stood up. Two guards moved around the couch, one flanking her on either side.

  “Hands behind your back,” a red-headed female guard ordered.

  Hannah did as she was instructed.

  The guard stepped forward to restrain her. Then the room exploded in a chaotic mass of flying chrome, wood, glass, plastic, and a dozen other things. Hannah covered her head in her arms and reflexively curled into a ball. She felt something graze the back of her neck and hot fire blossomed on her skin.

  Two of the security guards collapsed to the floor, felled by some of the flying projectiles.

  The instant it was safe to do so, Hannah dropped her arms and swung around on the officer that had stepped toward her. She grabbed the female guards outstretched hand, pulled her in close, and smashed her left elbow across the woman’s face. The guard collapsed in a heap.

  Hannah charged the one remaining officer. He had the presence of mind to raise his arm and block Hannah’s swinging strike, but her movements were fueled by ferocious anger, and she whipped her leg around with a feral yell. He fell backward and his pistol escaped from his hand as his back hit the floor. He lunged for the weapon and Hannah struck him in the small of his back with a forceful punch. The officer grunted in pain as he tried to roll over to defend himself. She kicked his temple with the heel of her boot and the officer stopped fighting.