The Suns of Liberty (Book 3): Republic

by Michael Ivan Lowell

  She could feel herself sweating as she pushed her body past its limits, spinning faster and faster, She threw her head back, her face beaming in the chartreuse light, a tear streaking down her cheek as she gazed at the glowing voi, and then—

  She lost her footing, for just a second, and the voi sliced straight through the edge of a huge stone pillar. Great shards of rock thundered across the palace floor but mercifully away from any of the seated girls, who screamed with surprise.

  Arcadia stopped in her tracks. “Oh god, I’m so sorry,” she squealed, gaping at Fiona, begging for forgiveness with panicked eyes.

  “Don’t worry about it,” Fiona laughed. “It was beautiful.” She inspected the damage to the pillar and thought, That would make a nice weapon. Then she spun back toward Arcadia. “With that swing of yours, I should take you on one of my missions.” Arcadia’s frown immediately morphed into a wide smile.

  Fiona motioned for Arcadia to rejoin the circle, and the Fire Fly again took center stage. “Now,” she said, “you’ve all come here because you’ve felt let down, left behind by those closest to you.”

  The girls nodded their heads. Fiona had also picked girls that were either orphaned or felt orphaned. Fiona’s eyes fell upon two girls with mousey blonde hair sitting side by side.

  The Connors sisters. Fiona had rescued the older sister at the request of the younger, and the two had just stayed, living in the encampment and doing odd jobs for Arcadia.

  At that moment, Becky Collins peeked her head around the corner of the palace. She watched, concealed by shadow and by the fact that Fiona felt no need to seek out where she was. There was no hiding from the girl if she truly wanted to find you.

  “Tonight,” Fiona continued, “we will begin to form a new sisterhood. While all of you in this circle will be protected by this sisterhood, only some of you will become part of it.” She smiled at them. “Let’s all stand together.”

  The girls took her cue and stood, still in the circle. They held hands.

  “We have threats on all sides of us. Threats that will consume us if we aren’t ready for them. We dance because we are free. To keep our freedom we must be strong.”

  Fiona raised her arms from her sides and increased the outer glow of her Fire Fly form. Instantly, immense power surged through the room. Everyone felt it. It was as if a mighty river flowed just beneath their feet and another just above their heads.

  Some of the girls began to fidget, eyes darting about, wondering if they were truly safe. Fiona was so powerful, might she hurt them without meaning to?

  What the hell is she doing? Becky wondered from the shadows. This was definitely new.

  “I am the Fire Fly!” Fiona shouted in a booming voice that lifted the hair on the back of the girls’ necks, and more than a few of them cried out in fright, now holding the hands of the girls next to them for dear life.“And I have the power over death and life!”

  And with that, an incredible wave of energy erupted from Fiona’s outspread form. It washed over the circle, fanning out in every direction. Bursting through all thirty-plus young women standing there.

  They dove for their lives, trying to avoid being cut in half.

  All but twelve.

  Arcadia and eleven others remained standing, unflinching and steady.

  In the shadows, Becky did not flinch either. She might not have known what to expect from the girl these days, but she knew that at her core she was good.

  But this...

  This display of bullying and intimidation concerned her. Fiona simply had too much power to let it go to her head. She would have to talk to the girl.

  “Alrighty then. A sisterhood of twelve,” Fiona said, dropping the tough-girl act and smiling at Arcadia, the Connors sisters, and the other nine who proudly stood before her.

  For Fiona, it was all about faith.

  For Becky, that faith was starting to fray.

  CHAPTER 15

  NORRISTOWN, PA

  There was a knock at the door, and Rachel Dodge spun to see a very familiar face in her open doorway. “If you keep making these house calls, doctor, you’re going to have to start leaving a toothbrush.” Rachel winked at Ward as he shook his head and grinned.

  “I just want to check that wound,” he said, nodding toward her bandaged arm.

  “I bet it looks a lot like it did yesterday,” Rachel teased. Glancing down at the puffy bandage that adorned her right bicep, she added darkly, “Like melted candle wax.”

  The wound was from a mini-harpoon that had been filled with acid—and aimed squarely at Paul Ward’s heart by the now deceased gang leader called Fiddler. She had knocked Ward out of the way and saved his life. She had the butt-ugly scar to prove it, too.

  Rachel was dressed in a T-shirt and yoga pants, and the sight of her made Ward feel underdressed in his dress shirt and slacks.

  Ward ignored her as best he could, motioned for her to sit. “Well, you’re the only patient I have that could disappear at any moment, so...” She took a seat at her small kitchen table. Ward pulled one of the other chairs up beside her. “Let’s get this off,” Ward said.

  Rachel pouted. “Oh. You mean the bandage, don’t you.”

  Ward rolled his eyes and tried not to look at her, proud she hadn’t made him blush yet. He rested his medical charts on his knee, and when he did so he let a small white envelope slide out, which smacked on the floor.

  On the front in hand-written ink it said: To Rachel.

  Rachel gave him an accusing look and Ward just shrugged, so she bent down and snatched it up, ripped open the seal, and unfolded the piece of paper that was stuffed inside. She recognized it as a printout from the secured-transmission console that Lantern allowed orders of supplies to go in and out of.

  She peered down at the paper. It was an order for a surgeon. A Dr. Richard Upton, MD, from Harvard’s Beth Israel Deaconess Medical Center. And then her eyes flew open wide, and the broadest grin spread across her perfectly ripe lips. It read: Chief of Plastic Surgery.

  “Fuck me,” she squealed.

  Ward’s cheeks flushed bright red. “He’s a personal friend and, in my view, the best there is.”

  Rachel rose from her chair, and Ward did the same. Her big, excited eyes seemed to stir something in him. A hot flush ran through his body. He had been worried Rachel might take it the wrong way, but as he gazed at her beautiful face he realized he needn’t have stressed.

  Rachel practically purred, “This is the most romantic thing anyone’s ever done for me!”

  When they hugged it was all Ward could do to keep from kissing her.

  “He’ll be here tomorrow. I had to donate a kidney to get Rev to do it, but...”

  This time Rachel planted a firm kiss on his cheek when she hugged him. Ward had never seen her more excited. When she pulled away she was searching his eyes. There was the playful gleam there he’d seen so many times before, but there was also something else. Something more earnest.

  Uh oh. Maybe he’d pushed things a bit too far. He took a step back from her. “Well, you did save my life, after all. The least I can do.”

  Rachel’s eyes narrowed. The beaming smile shrank to a skinny grin. She turned and strode over to her mini-fridge and swiped up two beers, tossed one to Ward. “So, what are you going to do with yourself now that Fiddler’s gone?” she asked.

  “Staying with the team.” Ward popped the top and took a swig. “I guess I’ve come this far, be kind of a waste not to see it through.”

  “So he talked you into it, huh?”

  “Yeah,” Ward nodded. The Revolution had made a good case, but he knew there was another reason. “But it wasn’t just him. I care about...”

  Rachel’s eyes shot up and glued onto his. The corners of her mouth curled in anticipation.

  “...the team.”

  She nodded, her face even, but her eyes fell back down to her bottle. She took a sip. A smile broke her lips. “Well, it is fun having you around, bug boy.”


  UNITED STATES MILITARY ACADEMY

  WEST POINT, NY

  Clay Arbor shielded his eyes from the whip of the big Chinook helicopter’s giant dual rotors. He pulled the VR-75 Patient Recovery medical vest tighter against his chest and strode forward onto the landing pad, his clothes flapping against the barrage of the wind.

  “Exactly the guy I was looking for!” came a shout over the roaring chop.

  Arbor glanced up and saw a short African-American man he immediately recognized as Kendrick Ray, otherwise known as X-Ray, hanging out the large bay door.

  Arbor waited until he was at the retractable stairs to speak. Shouting still smarted like hell due to the through-and-through gunshot he had taken to the right side of his chest in Philly.

  “Why the hell are we flying in one of these?” Arbor asked Ray.

  Ray ran a hand through his short black hair and smiled. “I hear we got some big cargo we’re picking up!” Then he grinned even wider at the tall, stocky man and added, “Besides you, I mean, Colonel.”

  Arbor just scowled and stepped up into the bay.

  Long rows of seats ran across either side of the Chinook’s cargo area. Arbor and Ray chose spots next to each other and began strapping in for the flight. Once the two were settled in their seats, Ray asked him about the big bulky vest he was wearing under his shirt.

  Arbor explained that the vest acted like both a cast and chest tube regulating his injured lung and pumping drugs, vitamins, and a host of other goodies into his body to keep him healing and feeling healthy.

  About that time, a man presenting himself as a physician stepped in from the cockpit and explained that when they got where they were going Arbor would have to take off the vest. The man explained that he would administer a pain shot for Arbor just before he disembarked. Next, the man pulled out an RDSD and scanned them both from head to toe, confiscating all the electronic devices he discovered.

  When Arbor demanded an explanation, the man simply said he did not know why the items were being taken, but not to be alarmed and that his orders were coming straight from the chairman himself. Soon enough, the man turned and reentered the cockpit, leaving Arbor and Ray alone once again in the expansive bay of the giant Chinook.

  “Where the hell are we going?” Arbor asked, irritated.

  “To wherever the hell Von Cyprus is. They didn’t tell me. But we’re going to be on this bird a long time. They did tell me that.”

  It was seven and a half hours, to be exact.

  They landed in a fairly barren part of what used to be Great Basin National Park, near Baker, Nevada. It was still public land, but not part of the park. As they disembarked from the Chinook, Arbor marveled at the ring of snow-peaked mountains that dotted the skyline. The spot was truly beautiful.

  The pilots of the craft escorted the two men to a tiny shack that Arbor was surprised to find was actually a convenience store. Everything inside looked to be about a century old. There was no telephone anywhere that he could see, and the cash register was an old-fashioned kind with buttons that looked like they’d come off of a pre-PC typewriter. The soda machines looked like something you’d find in the 1970s.

  Ancient technology.

  “What’s with all the antiques?” Arbor whispered to the pilot, but the man just shot a wave over to the middle-aged woman at the counter.

  “Hey, Marge,” the pilot said. “Restroom occupied?”

  “Naw, nobody in there but a couple a cockroaches,” She laughed unconvincingly, and the pilots both chuckled a very staged-sounding laugh back.

  All this was scripted, Arbor thought.

  It was about then that he noticed the expandable truncheon the co-pilot had stuffed in a side holster. Or it could have been a stun wand. Either way, whatever it was, Arbor knew a weapon when he saw one.

  He stepped into the restroom when the pilot held the door open for him. He was getting downright unconformable as they led him and Ray into the one large wheelchair-accessible stall.

  “We’re all going in?” Arbor asked, glancing down at the truncheon.

  The two stoic pilots just nodded.

  In they went, and the co-pilot proceeded to reach for the truncheon.

  Arbor tensed, looking for the best way to wail on these two in such a confined space with such a battered chest. This was gonna hurt like hell...

  The co-pilot unsheathed the night stick and…

  Strolled over to the far wall and pressed it up against a spot on the wall Arbor could not make out.

  The entire stall lowered.

  Arbor breathed a sigh of relief. This was just a disguised elevator to an underground facility.

  Down they rode.

  A long way. Arbor estimated the ride was equivalent to at least one hundred stories.

  The grey concrete block walls passed languidly by until finally they opened up into a large reception area of sorts, and the ride at long last stopped.

  A young man who could have easily played linebacker for the University of Nevada Wolf Pack sat behind the room’s single, centrally placed desk. Behind him was a set of steel double doors with small windows, beyond which Arbor spied what looked like might be a long hallway.

  “Gentlemen, please sign in,” the young man said, pointing to the sheet on his desk. The pilots strolled ahead and signed their names. Arbor went next, and he read the listing at the top of the sheet, finally understanding what kind of facility they had just entered:

  US FEDERAL BLACKSITE: ALPHA ZERO.

  “This is a prison?” Arbor asked the young man, who nodded. He spun back to the pilots. Eyed that truncheon again. “Are we under arrest?” Arbor knew he was in no shape to fight. If he was being punished for losing his team members in Philly and letting the members of COR escape, this would be a perfect time to take him down. He was without his armor and without his own physical strength.

  “Hardly!” came an amused voice from behind the young man.

  Arbor peered up.

  It was Eric Von Cyprus bounding through the double doors.

  Arbor breathed.

  “You are right on time. Would you like to see why I summoned you two here?”

  “As long as it involves us staying free men, sure,” Ray said.

  “Indeed. You are about to learn one of the U.S. government’s most important secrets,” Von Cyprus chortled.

  They followed the scientist down the hallway.

  It was a long hallway. Without the painkillers the vest had been pumping into Arbor’s system, the long walk began to take its toll on him. His chest felt like shards of glass were stabbing through his lungs. So much for the pain shot the on-board physician had provided. He began to wonder if that’s what the shot had been at all.

  Finally they reached a bend, and as they turned the corner, the hallway opened up into a large viewing area just out front of one single, large glassed-in prison cell.

  “Please meet federal inmate ISN, Special Designee: 001.”

  Seated on the single chair of the room that accompanied the single desk, across the cell from the single cot, was an older, bald white man in an orange jump suit. His head was bowed; they couldn’t see his face.

  Arbor didn’t need to.

  He recognized him immediately from the bizarre tattoo on his scalp. A single black line that rode from his forehead and disappeared behind the back of his head. Accompanied on the sides of his head by black designs that looked almost like demonic wings, but they were too geometrically perfect for that.

  It was a marking he knew well. One he would never forget. It had always reminded him a bit of the Jedi logo from the old Star Wars movies he’d watched as a kid. Arbor had no idea what the meaning of the strange symbol was. But it meant only one person.

  Kiernan Rage, aka Doctor Rage.

  The most dangerous terrorist on Earth.

  The man who could control computers and make them do anything he wanted with a single thought. Scarlett Rage’s father.

  Ray recognized him, too. “No way.”


  The elder Rage was much older than the last time Arbor had seen him, but the large-framed body of his younger years was still present.

  Kiernan Rage lifted his head and stared at them with a coldness that Arbor felt ripple though him.

  “Show us your newest upgrade, would you please, good Doctor?” Von Cyprus said.

  “Upgrade?” said Ray warily.

  “Turn you head, please,” Von Cyprus ordered.

  Rage just glared at him, utter contempt hung all over his face.

  “Very well.” Von Cyprus sighed and raised an eyebrow. Rage immediately began to grimace. His body shook. “I don’t know why you have to be so obstinate, Kiernan. Just do as I ask and you won’t get shocked. Now please. Turn your head.”

  With the glare of utter defiance still on his face, Rage turned so that they could all see the white gauze bandage on the back of his neck, just where the skull attached. The entry point for a Neural Transmitter.

  “The good Doctor now has an inhibitor chip attached to his cerebellum. If he does not do exactly as I command, I can shock him at will, anesthetize him, make every muscle in his body go into instant lockdown, or even fry his brain for good.”

  Arbor felt his stomach turn. He wasn’t sure he’d just heard what he thought he’d heard. “A chip. Like a chip controlled by a computer?”

  Von Cyprus just grinned, observing the Doctor like a specimen in a cage. “Indeed.”

  Rage rose from his chair and lurched to the glass wall of his cell, glaring at them. Finally, he spoke.

  “You have fundamentally miscalculated what you are up against, Von Cyprus. Your device has the upper hand now, but my abilities go beyond the technological into the mystical, the magical, the divine.”

  Wow. “Is he like this often?” Arbor asked with a grin. He’d forgotten just what damaged goods the elder Rage really was.

  “All the time,” Von Cyprus breathed, shaking his head.

  “Excruciating,” Ray opined.

  Rage stalked closer to the glass, his nose touching it. “The end times are coming, sinners. They are nearly upon you. You should repent.” His face contorted, and Arbor swore he thought he saw the man’s facial bone structure change. “REPENT TO ME!” Rage bellowed.