Sullivan Saga 2: Sullivan's Wrath

by Michael K. Rose

  Peter clasped his hands in front of him as he stared up at Jesus. “Dear Lord, what message do you bring me?”

  Jesus, whose head had been hanging, looked up and fixed Peter in the eyes. Peter could see the pain and sorrow in those eyes, and it brought tears to his own.

  “Dear Lord,” he repeated.

  A sound filled Peter’s ears. It was a sound unlike any he had ever heard, like a chorus, but there was something metallic in the voices. No, he thought. Something golden.

  He watched Christ’s lips slowly part. At first he heard only a weak exhalation of breath. Then words formed on the breath. Peter strained to hear what they were, they were so faint. Slowly, Jesus repeated the words before the image dimmed and faded. Peter felt a chill run down his spine, and his pulse began to pound in his ears. He couldn’t be sure, but he thought he had understood the words the second time: “Look… for my… return.”

  18

  RICK SULLIVAN TAPPED his fingers on the table. Kate was sitting on the bed, leaning forward, watching him. She looked at his restless hand. He’d been doing that a lot lately. Despite his generally calm demeanor, she could tell he was anxious.

  “We should go,” said Kate.

  Sullivan shook his head. “I’ll go, but you have to stay here.”

  “What if he really just wants to say goodbye?”

  “It’s not right, Kate. This address he sent me is a warehouse in the industrial part of the city. Why not meet somewhere like a hotel, a restaurant?”

  “A warehouse? Do you think he’s found the ship, then?”

  “I’m almost certain of it. But I can’t understand why he wants me there.”

  “I’m telling you, it’s to say goodbye. He’s leaving on the ship, and we may never see him again.”

  Sullivan turned to look at her. “Kate, it’s not right. He knows that once I know where he is, I’ll try to stop him. I won’t let him leave in that ship. Besides, it’s not safe for you to be out on the streets after dark.”

  Kate got up and moved to stand behind him. She put her arms around his shoulders. “Then why did he call?”

  Sullivan stopped tapping the table. He brought his hand up and rubbed his eyes. “I think he wants to take me with him.”

  Kate moved away. She rounded the table and sat across from Sullivan. “These entities… they’re up to something big, aren’t they?”

  “If I only knew what it was, I could….” He paused then lowered his eyes. “What could I do? Against beings like this, beings I can’t see, can’t touch, can’t kill….”

  “Then don’t go, Rick.”

  Sullivan stood, folded up his tablet and shoved it into his pocket. “I have to. If I don’t, they’ll find a way to get me eventually. Whatever they want, they have the power to ruin my life, maybe even harm you if they don’t get it.”

  “Rick, no.”

  Sullivan pulled Kate into an embrace. He kissed her lightly on the lips then turned away. “I can’t let them harm you. Trust me.”

  Kate began crying. Sullivan quickly crossed to the door, opened it and stepped through before she could change his mind. She threw herself onto the bed and began sobbing uncontrollably. After fifteen minutes, the tears had given way to stinging eyes and a headache. Kate got up and went to the bathroom. She washed her face and splashed cool water on the back of her neck.

  She knew Rick was right. If the entities wanted something from him, they were definitely capable of forcing his hand.

  Returning to the bedroom, Kate caught sight of her open suitcase. The gilt lettering on one of her father’s books caught her eye. It was the Discourses and Enchiridion of Epictetus. She took it from her case and opened it as she lay back on the bed.

  Riffling the pages, she skipped past the dense text of the Discourses and found the much more accessible chapters of the Enchiridion. It was this work, along with the Meditations, she recalled, that her father had prized above all others. As with the Meditations, Benjamin Alexander had bookmarked pages in this book. She stopped at one of the bookmarks: “Seek not that the things which happen should happen as you wish, but wish the things which happen to be as they are, and you will have a tranquil flow of life.”

  Kate wiped her eyes again. It was so easy to say such things when the things that happened were not so trying. In the past two years, Kate had been kidnapped twice, her father had been killed and she’d watched the man she loved go off to war. Rick was no longer fighting a war, but he was still in danger. He was in danger on Stellar Assembly planets, with a warrant out for his arrest, and he was in danger on most other planets due to the reputation that had been spread about him. How could Epictetus assert that just letting things happen as they are would lead to tranquility?

  Kate caught herself feeling embarrassed, even though no one else had been witness to her negative thoughts. Epictetus, she recalled, had been born into slavery in Ancient Rome and had been, for most of his life, a cripple. She, on the other hand, had been the daughter of one of the wealthiest men on all the inhabited planets, and until recently her life had been one of ease and luxury.

  She opened the book to another marker: “Let death and exile and every other thing which appears dreadful be daily before your eyes, but most of all death, and you will never think of anything mean nor will you desire anything extravagantly.”

  Kate closed the book and meditated on these words. She recalled how such trivial things had seemed so urgent in her previous life. She remembered how she had been so angered by the petty jealousies and bickering of the other girls in Silvanian society. She remembered how shallow she had been, how much importance she had placed on material goods, on status.

  It was true that her father had possessed many expensive things and had lived an exceptionally luxurious lifestyle, but unlike the parents of her friends, he never seemed to place much importance on it. Knowledge and art were the things he prized. She supposed he had been a different man when he was younger, when he was building his empire. But after he turned control of the company over to the board of directors, he was able to spend time on things other than making money.

  That was why he had spent a fortune on the hyper-hyperspace technology. Most others would have seen it as an incredible waste of capital, considering the enormous technological obstacles that had to be overcome. Had the technology proven practical, had his pilot not encountered the hyperspace entity, he would have realized enormous profits from it, of course. But in speaking about it with Kate, he had only mentioned what it would mean for science, for technology, for the future of the human race as the travel time between planets was reduced from weeks or months to just days.

  She turned to the book again and found another marker: “If I can acquire money and also keep myself modest and faithful and magnanimous, point out the way, and I will acquire it.”

  Kate smiled. Of course her father would have found this passage of interest. Had he achieved that goal, or was it merely something he was striving toward, to have money and yet be modest, be humble, to not let it color how he viewed and treated other people?

  Kate gently set the book on the table next to the bed. Her head still throbbed, and she wanted nothing except for Rick to return and wrap his arms around her. She closed her eyes and pulled a pillow to her, hugging it. She felt cold. She felt alone.

  THE WAREHOUSE APPEARED to be abandoned. Most others wouldn’t have given it a second look, but Sullivan noticed the security cameras, just as Frank Allen had. Sullivan scanned the roof. It looked clear. He checked the roof and windows of the nearby buildings as well.

  Sullivan took a deep breath and jogged across the street. He tried the personnel entry to the side of the big bay door. It was locked.

  Sullivan took the gun from his waistband and chambered a round. This was the address Allen had asked Sullivan to meet him at, but he’d left the front door locked. That meant he wanted to guide Sullivan toward another entrance, probably where Allen would be in a better position to ambush him.

  Sul
livan crept around the side of the warehouse and found another entrance. The space between the two warehouses formed a narrow alleyway. A cement block wall spanned the alley at the far end, too tall to climb. Sullivan only had one way out.

  He looked up and made sure the roofs were still clear before trying the handle on the side door. It was also locked. Even before it happened, Sullivan knew what Allen had planned. The whine of an electric motor came from the mouth of the alley. A small forklift appeared and scraped against the metal siding of the warehouses as it sped down the narrow alley, sending sparks flying.

  Sullivan glanced at the entryway; the door wasn’t recessed enough to shield him. He raised his gun, but the vehicle’s fork was raised, blocking his view of the driver. The headlights further blinded him. Sullivan was about to desperately empty his magazine at the forklift when it stopped.

  As Sullivan tried to see past the headlights to get a clear shot at the driver, the door beside him opened inward. Before he could react, Sullivan was knocked sideways. He landed hard against the wall of the warehouse across the alley.

  His injuries from his fight with the loyalists flared up, sending pain shooting through his head and torso. He struggled through it and raised his gun at his attacker. He fired but knew he had missed. His eyes couldn’t focus.

  A dark figure loomed over him and kicked the gun from Sullivan’s hand. He heard noise from the direction of the forklift and caught a glimpse of the driver jumping out from the cab. Turning back to his other assailant, his eyes focused on the barrel of a gun pointed at his head. Soon the driver of the forklift had joined his partner and leveled his own weapon at Sullivan.

  Sullivan kicked out but failed to knock either of them to the ground. Instead, he was answered by a series of kicks against his back and stomach. Crying out, Sullivan tried to defend himself, but the combined effect of all his various injuries had weakened him. He allowed himself to be dragged from the alley and into the warehouse where he was thrown into and handcuffed to a chair. He lost consciousness shortly thereafter.

  SULLIVAN COULD HEAR Frank Allen’s voice. He smiled. The voice grew louder, angrier. He opened his eyes and remembered his situation. His head was pounding and his vision still blurry.

  He could make out Allen standing in front of another man. “I don’t have anything else to give you, Brooks.”

  “If I’d known you wanted me to help you get Richard Sullivan, I never would have done it for that price.”

  “It’s irrelevant. I have him now, you did your job and you’re released.”

  Sullivan watched as Brooks’s body tensed. He could tell that Allen saw it, too. In the space of half a second, both men drew their weapons. Sullivan heard two shots go off almost simultaneously and watched helplessly as both men fell to the floor.

  The gunfire echoing through the cavernous warehouse made the pain in his head excruciating. He closed his eyes. When he opened them again, both men were dragging themselves up. One of them—Sullivan couldn’t tell which—was yelling obscenities. As he watched, one of them lifted his weapon and fired. The other man fell back onto the floor. The standing man fired three more shots into the body of the dead man.

  The pain in his head was too much. Sullivan lost consciousness again.

  He couldn’t have been out for more than a few minutes, however, as when he opened his eyes he could see Frank Allen standing in front of him, clutching a bloody handkerchief to the side of his torso.

  “Rick,” Allen said through gritted teeth, “I need… help.”

  Allen fumbled with the handcuff keys as he stepped around behind the chair. Sullivan felt the shackle around one wrist loosen, then the other. He pulled himself free and turned to look at his friend. Allen was on his knees.

  Sullivan scrambled over to Allen and pulled up his shirt. He could see both entry and exit wounds in Allen’s side, just below his rib cage.

  “The bullet went through, Frank. It doesn’t look like it would have hit any organs, but I have to stop the bleeding. I’m calling an ambulance.”

  “No,” Allen grunted. “I can’t….”

  “It’s our only option, Frank.”

  Allen raised his hand and Sullivan saw that he still had his gun. With the darkness and his concussion, he had missed it.

  “Stand up,” said Allen.

  Sullivan followed Allen’s order. He was too weak to fight. So was Allen, but with a gun in his hand, he didn’t need to.

  “Step away.”

  Sullivan took a few paces back.

  Allen struggled to his feet. “Turn around.”

  As Sullivan turned, he saw for the first time that a freighter stood at the center of the warehouse. His head injury had to be worse than he thought. There were too many things he was missing.

  Allen forced Sullivan to walk toward the freighter. The side hatch was open. As Allen shoved Sullivan through, he hit the panel by the door and closed the hatch. He pushed Sullivan into one of the crew cabins and jammed the hatch’s flywheel from the outside.

  Sullivan staggered to the sink beside the bed and splashed water over his face. He felt the ship lurch as it lifted off the ground a few inches. The next thing he felt was a shudder accompanied by the sound of screaming metal. Allen was smashing the ship through the warehouse door. The ship tilted toward the aft and Sullivan knew they were airborne. Sullivan felt his weight shift slightly; the artificial gravity had engaged as the ship left the pull of the planet.

  Sullivan lay back on the bed, his head swimming. The shift in the gravity had been too much for him. He struggled to stay awake but failed, and within seconds darkness overcame him once again.

  III: REVELATIONS

  19

  KATE ALEXANDER TURNED the card around in her hand. It had been twelve hours. If something had happened to Rick, there was no guarantee General Miller would be able to do anything about it, but she had no other option. Rick hadn’t told her where Frank Allen had asked him to meet. She had asked, but he’d quickly changed the subject; no doubt he didn’t want her following him.

  Kate tapped on the side of her earpiece and spoke the numbers on the card out loud. The call connected a moment later.

  “Miller.”

  “Hello, General—James—this is Kate Alexander.”

  “Yes, hello, Kate. How are you?”

  Kate swallowed. “Not well.”

  “Is something wrong?”

  “Yes. Last night, Rick got a call from Frank Allen. He went to meet him and hasn’t returned.”

  “All right, Kate. I’ll see what I can do.”

  “Thank you, James.”

  “Where are you staying?”

  “The Agrona Suites. Room fourteen ten.”

  “I want you to stay at your hotel. I’m going to send some MPs to stand outside your door. If someone did get Rick, I don’t want to take any chances in case they’re after you, too.”

  Kate swallowed again, fighting back tears. “Thank you.”

  “I’ll call you back at this number as soon as I know anything, okay?”

  “Okay. Goodbye.”

  Kate took out her earpiece and made sure the toggle on the side was in the on position so it would beep when a call came in. She considered trying Rick’s number again but knew it would be pointless. She’d called a dozen times, and the call had not connected.

  To distract herself, Kate once again turned to her father’s set of Stoic works. She ran her hand across the cover of Zeno’s Republic. The entry she’d read about Zeno in the Stellar Assembly Database has said that the rediscovery of The Republic was as significant a find as Lucretius’s De rerum natura, the Dead Sea Scrolls or the second century version of the Gospel of Mark ending, very clearly, at chapter sixteen, verse eight.

  The excavations at Zeno’s Villa—according to the SA Database, the name confuses many tourists who don’t know that the name references the discovery of The Republic there and not the owner of the villa—rekindled an interest in Classical thought. All across Earth, clubs an
d societies dedicated to studying the works of Zeno, Plato, Aristotle, Seneca and Cato the Younger sprung up. It had been called the Millennial Renaissance, taking place, as it did, in the first century of the new millennium.

  Kate’s father voraciously consumed not only the writings of the Ancient Greeks and Romans but also the writings and commentaries of those who had been alive during the Millennial Renaissance as well as the Italian Renaissance which had reached its height in Florence during the fifteenth century.

  “Classical thought,” he had once said to her, “represents the highest achievement of humankind. In terms of science and technology, medicine, government, yes, we have improved on the Ancients. But we have not been able to improve on their philosophy. All the remarkable thinkers who came after them—Descartes, Jefferson, Bircham—none of them would have accomplished what they did without the foundation of Classical thought on which to build.”

  Benjamin Alexander had been responsible for rekindling an interest in Ancient thought in Silvanian society as well. In the hopes of ingratiating themselves to him, many of his acquaintances had studied the Classics, and some of them had even begun collections of print books, which had also been an interest of his.

  But it was the Stoics that Benjamin Alexander had felt the most affinity for. Kate opened the copy of The Republic. She hoped that she could draw strength from it the way her father had.

  RICK SULLIVAN WAS still locked in the cabin. He knew they were traveling in hyperspace, perhaps even hyper-hyperspace. He only hoped Allen hadn’t bled out, leaving the ship unguided.

  Sullivan searched the cabin for anything he could use as a weapon. Finding nothing, he began tearing a strip of cloth off the bed sheet. He could use it to garrote Allen if he were forced to.

  As he completed his work, a voice startled him. “What do you think you’re doing?”

  Sullivan looked up. Liz Wagner stood in front of the hatch, glaring at him.