The Suns of Liberty (Book 3): Republic

by Michael Ivan Lowell

  They raced to the exit, sprinted down the stairs, and scrambled into the waiting sub without any further incident. Ward watched it all from the hatch of the sub and slammed the lid closed behind them.

  They launched. White bubbles of turbulence shooting out behind them. Standing near the bow, Ward was amazed to see the sub being chased by fast-hardening concrete on the aft video monitor, like a ghostly lava flow. The flowing substance kept pace just behind them as they raced out the escape tube.

  By the time they shot out into the open sea, the tube was completely sealed off. Nothing was going to be following them from that direction.

  Everyone took a breath.

  Rachel and Ward swapped glances. They’d both expected more trouble. “How the hell did we get away? Why didn’t your father shut us all down before we even got here?” Rachel asked Scarlett.

  Scarlett, head bowed, peered up. “I was blocking him.” Her eyes had been closed, Ward realized. She’d been locked in concentration. Now she relaxed.

  “You can do that?” Ward asked. Maybe tussling with the Doctor wouldn’t be so bad after all.

  Scarlett furrowed her brow. “No, not like that. He’s distracted by the Aztech. It must be taking enormous concentration for him to control that machine. My father can command entire armies with ease.”

  They all let that thought sink in.

  “All the more reason to punch it!” Ward said, peering back out the aft windows.

  Rachel, posed like a fashion model near the automated bridge of the small sub, was scanning through the settings as the amazing little submarine drove itself out into the depths of Boston Harbor.

  Ward smiled at her. “We’re giving her all she’s got, Cap’n!” he croaked in a terrible Scottish accent. Thankfully, she smiled. Then he looked back at the rest of them with less certainty. “Evidently,” he said in a straight voice

  Reynolds, helmet now in hand, narrowed his eyes at Ward.

  Mister Muscles in the navy blue and gold looked intimidating.

  “Who’s the new guy?” Ward asked, giving Reynolds a cool stare in reply. He couldn’t help thinking to himself that the last new member hadn’t worked out so well. In fact, Drayger was still out there somewhere, plotting against them with a ton of inside information. And something about this guy seemed familiar. That probably wasn’t a good thing. Where had this guy shown up before? Maybe he was a Council Guardsman they’d scuffled with before. Maybe...

  Reynolds did not wait to be introduced. He swung a hand out to Ward. “Name’s Roderick Reynolds, but you can call me the Ram.”

  Ward got the reference immediately. “Holy shit! Like Roderick ‘The Ram’ Reynolds? You’re him?”

  Reynolds nodded. “He’s me.”

  “Commander Reynolds is second-in-command of the Minutemen,” Revolution clarified.

  Reynolds opened his mouth to correct the Revolution about his current status, but Ward’s excitement was unabated.

  “I used to watch you play for Navy. You were some serious money back then.”

  “Thanks. Still am,” Reynolds stated matter-of-factly.

  Ward was star struck. “I bet you are. You played for St. Louis too, in the pros, right? At fullback?”

  “Yeah,” Reynolds said proudly, turning to everyone. “And with all due respect, you’re low on firepower now and I’ve got lots of it.”

  The room turned somber. They all thought about Sophia.

  Reynolds closed his eyes. “Uh, sorry. Didn’t mean to bring up bad memories,” he stammered.

  Revolution stepped up to the sub’s automated console. “Driver, set a course for the Baltimore HQ.”

  “Yes, General,” the minisub’s computerized voice blurted out. Even the computer was calling him General now! That brought snickers from the group.

  A moment of needed levity.

  “Might as well settle in. It’s going to be a long ride,” Revolution told them all. “Thanks for back there,” Revolution said to Reynolds, who nodded.

  “At least we’ve got plenty of leg room,” Ward quipped.

  Peering down, they saw that their feet were nearly all touching in the center of the tight confines of the small sub.

  Revolution motioned to Scarlett. “You took care of those two back there more effectively than I expected. Can you do that again?”

  “No,” she said flatly. “I’d been working for a while before you saw me.”

  “Still, the Aztech—”

  “Won’t make the same mistake again.” Scarlett seemed sure.

  Spectral added.

  Ward found a seat beside Rachel, and she rested her head on his shoulder. Within moments she was asleep.

  It had been a long day, and it felt nice being this close to her. Were these feelings for her real or just part of the camaraderie of battle? Could he and Rachel start an actual relationship out in the real world? Would she even want that?

  He admired her sleeping form. She was a special woman, that was for sure. She was undeniably beautiful, but everyone thought of her as the weakest member of the team. They forgot she was the one who killed Velocity. And in a way, both Fiddler and Fang. They probably couldn’t have defeated the Man-O-War, even with Fiona’s help, had Rachel not found and destroyed its control unit first. She was a hell of a lot tougher than most of them gave her credit. Ward wondered if, when this fight went down, she would not once again be central to it.

  He was betting she would be.

  Revolution rose from his seat near the bow and began speaking quietly to Lantern in a voice Ward couldn’t hear. What was his plan now? Now that they knew they had far more firepower up against them than they could possibly handle? And now that the entire nation seemed to be on the move, rallying against the Council? It was a moment Revolution had always waited for, but also one he had to know was unwinnable.

  Ward shivered. His hands were trembling. Ward couldn’t help but feel they were sailing to their doom.

  But didn’t they have to respond? They couldn’t let Sophia’s death go unanswered.

  It was no way for someone as brave and brilliant as Sophia to go. Maybe Rev was right. The only thing to do was to find Tarleton and kill him. The hell with everything else. If the Suns didn’t take care of their own, what the hell kind of team were they, anyway?

  Revolution finished his conversation with Lantern and returned to his seat. They all rode in silence for what seemed like hours. Ward decided not to even check the time. But for all his efforts he just couldn’t sleep. Everyone else seemed to have no problem doing so—except for Spectral, of course, who was cradling a sleeping Scarlett in his arms even more intimately than Ward was Rachel. Reynolds was snoozing away. Ward was the only sleep-survivor, it would seem.

  Then again, who the hell could tell about Rev? Ward was just about to drift off when a voice broke the silence.

  “Sir!” It was Lantern.

  Whatever news he had was important enough he did not care he was waking everyone up. In fact, that seemed to be his goal.

  Lantern had been awake too, evidently.

  “COR has just voted for you to broadcast an official announcement that you are still alive,” Lantern said.

  “They voted in Leslie’s absence?” Revolution seemed surprised.

  “Yes, and there is another thing.” Lantern swallowed, and he motioned toward Reynolds. “They voted Mr. Reynolds out of the Minutemen.”

  Revolution was exhausted. His emotions swirled around him. Reynolds had brought him up to speed on what had happened with COR, as well as the request from Leslie to let Reynolds join the team, and he’d given his provisional okay. He was more than a little apprehensive about taking on new members, after Drayger. He already had the enormously dangerous Spectral and Lady Rage on board, whom he barely felt he could trust.

  It was draining.

  He’d nodded to Lantern and plopped into the “pilot’s seat” of the automated sub. Not to drive. He just
needed to think.

  What the hell were they going to do next? He couldn’t allow himself to reflect on how many good people they had just lost. He was the sworn protector of everyone in the Resistance, and yet, what had he just done?

  Failed. Faltered. Tucked his tail and ran. Rarely had he ever felt that it was all too much for him.

  But this…

  Lithium, Doctor Rage, the Aztech, and he couldn’t forget that the Photuris—something so powerful even Fiona couldn’t handle it—were out there somewhere.

  The odds were overwhelming, smothering.

  He felt a chill run through him. Had he really led the movement all these years just to come so close only to see it all be smashed?

  Maybe now, maybe Scarlett and Spectral would see the light. Maybe they would realize that the only answer was to kill Tarleton and, if needed, Von Cyprus—the puppet master for Kiernan Rage.

  No, that was a stupid idea. Then the Doctor would be able to run wild. The Aztech too—probably at the Doctor’s command. They had to keep Von Cyprus alive, and they had to keep the hive mind up and running, as well. And to think, they’d nearly destroyed the hive mind! What would have happened if they’d been successful?

  He gazed out the front windows of the sub into the blackened waters of the Atlantic, realizing he was damned if he attacked, damned if he didn’t. He only knew one thing.

  He was going to find Bannister Tarleton.

  And kill him.

  CHAPTER 46

  Tarleton took the liberty of commandeering the airwaves of both Media Crop and Americom. His message was simple. “Citizens of Washington, D.C. Our nation has seen a tragedy this day. The assassinations of Vice President Lee, her family, and her staff have reminded us that we must always be vigilant against acts of terrorism. We will hunt down the perpetrators of this attack and bring them to justice. In the meantime, we have received several credible threats for other attacks throughout the city. I am asking that you evacuate the District proper immediately. Take only your most vital possessions. We do not anticipate this situation to last long, and we will inform you when it is safe to return.”

  The nation’s capitol reacted exactly the way Tarleton had hoped.

  It panicked.

  Vehicles streamed out of the city. The airport jammed with passengers. The city emptied.

  At least the affluent western side.

  In the poverty-stricken east, most residents simply couldn’t leave. No cars. No busses. No money for airfare or the taxis that raised their rates to meet the increased demand of the fleeing well-to-do.

  The residents were stuck.

  And this was exactly the side of town that didn’t buy the rumor that began to surface in the media soon after Tarleton’s announcement: that the Resistance and the Suns of Liberty were behind the killing of the vice president.

  It made no sense to them. Why would the Resistance take out the only politician that had stood up to the Council in a decade?

  And that led many to point the finger in the opposite direction.

  Toward the chairman himself.

  It only took a few hours for tempers to rise.

  As the night progressed, thousands of protestors descended upon the Mall at the Capitol Building. The spirit of protest spread across the country as frustrated Americans spilled out into the streets of city after city to rally against a new Purge.

  This mood of national anger was also fueled by the refusal of the two big Council-controlled networks to cover the destruction of the Boston HQ, which Common Sense webcasts were reporting from live, not to mention the hundreds of amateur videos that always followed such events. Blake Lane, the Common Sense editor, had her staff stretched to the max, heading out in all directions—anywhere the Council had attacked Resistance strongholds. The death of the vice president and the destruction of the home of the Suns of Liberty were her two biggest stories.

  For herself, she was heading to D.C.

  RESISTANCE HQ—BALTIMORE, MD.

  The Suns’ arrival in Baltimore was a much more solemn affair than when they’d returned to Boston. The members of COR came to greet them. It was the first time most of them had seen a Sun since the team had rescued them from the Hall of Chambers months earlier. A reception room had been set up for the reunion of the Suns and COR. Smiles were few, however. No one could take their mind off of Sophia or the untold casualties in Boston, Los Angeles, Jacobs Field, Willow Grove, or a dozen other places.

  The minutes passed quickly. By the time the Suns and members of COR were thinning out, heading back to their respective rooms, Lantern came sprinting into the reception room, Rachel right behind him.

  “Sir, there’ve been some developments,” he told Revolution.

  “What kind of developments?” Revolution asked, not sure he wanted to hear the answer.

  “Tarleton’s planning to take the Capitol. He knows that Leslie’s there, and he plans to take it and then threaten to blow it up if we don’t surrender to him. He’s got a preliminary force on the way there now,” Rachel said.

  “How the hell did he find out about Leslie? I thought we were monitoring this?” Revolution’s frustration was sounding in his voice. He glared at Lantern. “You said it was clean.”

  “Lantern’s right about that,” Rachel countered. “The White House kept it quiet. So did the Speaker. That’s not the source.”

  “Then what is the source?” Revolution demanded.

  Lantern lowered his head. “Drayger, sir.”

  Revolution’s eyes clamped shut, and his face darkened behind his mask. When he opened them, he snapped at Lantern, “Shut him out of our system, once and for all!” Then he eyed Rosalie, who was still chatting to members nearby. “Do you have a Situation Room set up here?” he called to her.

  “Yeah, got it ready the moment we arrived from Philly,” she drawled. “Y’all can set up shop right away.”

  The other members of the Suns had seen the exchange and now rallied around their leader.

  Revolution turned to them. “Get whatever you need. This facility is well equipped. If you can’t find it, ask Rosalie and she’ll find it for you. We go in tonight.” With that, Revolution spun, his cape billowing behind him, and marched for the Situation Room.

  Anger pulsed though him. Drayger had betrayed them in a most spectacular way. Sophia was gone, and now they could lose Leslie. He had no doubt that if she fell into Tarleton’s hands he would kill her. He cursed himself for not vetting Drayger better.

  But then, they had vetted Drayger. Why had he turned on them? His thoughts fell to Scarlett and Spectral. He still couldn’t shake the feeling they were hiding something, despite the revelations from Spectral. Was it some master plan that they were going to spring at the last minute?

  No. If they wanted to they could have taken down the entire team back at Norristown. It was something else. Revolution suspected it had nothing to do with the Council. Something to do with why they were so reluctant to help. But what the hell was it, if not the Council? And did it mean he shouldn’t trust the duo?

  Given that both the Aztech and Doctor Rage were now in play, he knew he had little choice. Without the duo’s help the Suns had no hope of stopping the Council. He would attack the Capitol with everything he had and just pray it was enough.

  Rosalie was walking away.

  Reynolds, in his impact suit, helmet off, stopped her. “Representative,” he started, and the recognition of who was actually in the new suit rolled over her face. The guy she had single-handedly gotten kicked out of the Minutemen.

  Not until that moment had she gotten a good look at him. The golden flourishes Leslie’s team had added to the suit had given it an entirely new look. She hadn’t even recognized it.

  “I just wanted to thank you for the promotion. I literally couldn’t have done it without you.”

  Reynolds stated to walk away but then stopped, looking back at the dumbstruck Rosalie.

  “And by the way, Dr. Gibbons sends her greetings.”r />
  WASHINGTON, D. C.

  At that very moment, a row of tanks rolled down Pennsylvania Avenue. Lines of troop transport trucks followed behind them. Above, pterodactyl drones flew in formation.

  Inside the Capitol Building, Leslie, Livingston Roosevelt, the Speaker of the House, the Majority Leader of the Senate, and President Robert Mitchell were meeting together in the Speaker’s spacious Formal Office, just off the House Chamber. The ambassador of the European Union was also there, as a guest of Leslie. No one missed the importance of that fact. It meant she was a leader of equal importance to anyone in the room. In fact, the EU had effectively cut off communication with anyone in the U.S. other than Leslie.

  And that’s why, as she made her plea for the president and the Congress to condemn the massacre of civilians at Jacobs Field, all three leaders were taking her very seriously.

  Her timing could not have been better. For the first time since its formation a decade earlier, word had just come through that eight firms belonging to the Council had resigned in the wake of the “Potomac Massacre” and assassination of the vice president.

  Her arguments were convincing, devastating. These career politicians had benefitted from the Council, she argued, and now the blood of these innocents would be on their hands unless they did something to distance themselves from the Council right now. Leslie could tell the argument was sinking in. She wasn’t chiding them for their long support of the Council—as much as part of her wanted to—she was just telling them how people would see it. She could tell each of them knew she was right. For a long moment, none of them knew what to say.

  Finally, the president raised his hands. “We hear you, Dr. Gibbons. What Bannister Tarleton did to those people and to your friend Helius was unforgivable. But for us to do what you are asking is tantamount to creating a constitutional crisis like this country hasn’t seen since the Civil War,” President Mitchell said.