“She was on our side, Paul. She was on your side. There was no upside to telling you. She didn’t tell you. We respected that decision.”
“You respected...” Ward let out a breath. Pacing now and back and forth in front the Revolution’s desk. “That’s such bullshit! No wonder you don’t have any friends. Oh man! I really thought—”
“Paul. We let her give the Council the chamber to try to save her life.”
“What?”
“We underestimated how much the Council knew about bioluminescence. They’d already figured out it was behind our weapons, they’d just never figured out how to make it themselves until they got their hands on the chamber.”
“Until Alison gave it to them, you mean.” Ward spat, still pacing, guilt now mingling with the anger.
“That was our fault, our call, to tell her where we hid it.”
Ward stopped. “Who told her, anyway? It wasn’t you, we both know that.”
Ward tried not to think too much about the time he and Revolution spent in the Council’s prison back then. Ward did not want to experience that kind of interrogation ever again. It had nearly broken him.
“Bailey told her while we were being held captive,” Revolution said. “He knew they would be putting pressure on her to find out. He was worried it might blow her cover if she didn’t deliver. I put him in charge of deciding what we let her know. Nobody knew how to live a double life better than Saratoga.”
“Wait,” Ward said suspiciously. “Did you know it was gone before we went there to retrieve the chamber?”
“No. We pieced all this together after the fact.”
“Jesus, what else did she tell them?”
“We think she told them we’d have surveillance in the harbor.”
Ward closed his eyes. “Hollis.” His hand flew to his stomach, and he bent just slightly at the waist. Hollis had died because Alison had tipped the Council off that he would be there! And Alison was his fault. He’d brought her into their world when he’d nosed his way in. He was starting to feel sick.
Revolution could obviously see it in his face. Ward could tell his color had changed, his face was pale. Sweat had started to dot his forehead.
“Paul, there are going to be casualties. None of us can do it all by ourselves. This is a war we’re fighting.”
“I’m not. I’m not a soldier, I’m not a spy, I’m not a secret agent-whatever-the-hell you all are. I’m just a guy.”
“You asked to be part of this. You sought it out”
“Yeah, and now I’m seeking to not be a part of it.”
“We need you, Paul. Lantern found the chamber. We have to destroy it. You saw what they’ll do with that kind of power. You saw the Man-O-War. Imagine if they had an army of them.”
Maybe it was just the sick feeling in his stomach, but the thought made Ward shiver. He still remembered being struck by the thing. Its enormous, spine-shattering power...
“Where they have the chamber held, we can’t get it back,” Revolution said. “But we can destroy it. And that’s what we are going to do. No matter the cost.”
“Great, I’m all for it, but why do you need my help?”
“Same reason as always. You can do this without casualties.”
“Yeah, but—”
“I was made to kill. So was Sophia. Holding back is harder than just letting go. In a firefight, she and I will always resort to deadly force. You’re the pacifist, and we need to win hearts and minds. We’ll be in and out fast. But there will be resistance and we don’t want this to look like a terrorist attack.” Revolution leaned back in his chair and looked directly at Ward with an intensity that made Ward take immediate notice. “And there’s another reason...”
Ward narrowed his eyes. It was the way Revolution had said that. Like he was reeling him in, about to hook him. “What?”
“Lantern intercepted a message from Clay Arbor.”
Ward raised an eyebrow. “Well, that is his superpower.”
“It’s the identity of the recipient that’s important.”
“Okay, I’ll bite.”
“The message was to Fiddler. We think the Council is using Lithium to reconstitute the Brown Recluse.”
Fiddler. The man who had murdered Ward’s son in cold blood. The man who had made him put on the bug suit to begin with. The man who had gotten away.
And that was all it took. Revolution had him, so did the Suns of Liberty. He would say yes, he would suit up. At least for a little while longer. At least until Fiddler was locked away.
Forever.
CHAPTER 11
Buried deep underground below the towering Freedom Rise was an extensive, state-of-the-art medical facility. The best in the country. Catering to the members of the Freedom Council themselves and their senior staff, it also doubled as a research facility. As such, Eric Von Cyprus, Director of the Council’s Science Division, frequented the premises often.
So to see him standing in the doorway of one of the facility’s swanky waiting rooms was not unusual. More striking were the three individuals inside the waiting room. Clay Arbor, the man most people knew simply as Lithium; Kendrick Ray, also known as X-Ray; and the Chairman of the Freedom Council himself, William Howke. A dozen heavily armed Council Guardsmen lined the hallway.
The new Chairman liked to play with people’s expectations. As such, he couldn’t wait to tell Arbor and Ray the news. He was getting to it just as Von Cyprus stepped to the doorway.
“We’re giving them one last chance,” Howke said. “I’ve sent an offer of amnesty to them through the usual channels. I don’t expect they’ll accept it, but if they do...”
Howke paused for a bit, sizing up their responses, and grinned his distinctive smile that was all upper teeth. It reminded Arbor of someone about to bite a corn cob. Or maybe a gopher.
No, this chairman was nowhere near as slick as the last one.
“It will just add to their humiliating defeat. If they don’t, our plans continue unabated.”
“Excuse me. She’s ready for you,” Von Cyprus said from the doorway.
So off they went. Von Cyprus briefed Howke quickly on the status of Veronica Soto. Just down the corridor in a high-tech hospital room, the thirty-year-old woman with dark brunette hair was just blinking awake as they strolled in. She had all the signs of someone who had just come out of surgery.
“You did beautifully, Veronica,” Howke said to her. Turning to the others he said, “Gentlemen, this is Commander Veronica Soto. But you’re going to know her as Velocity.”
Von Cyprus smiled his notoriously insincere smile and said, “We’ll have you up in no time, Commander Soto, and then we will begin training your new limbs.
“You’ll be amazed at how fast you take to them,” Von Cyprus added.
Veronica looked at her right arm. She remembered seeing it mangled and bloody just after the crash. The memory was like a burning spear into her heart, and she flinched. Tears streaked down her cheeks, her lips trembled.
“The pain will go away in a day or two,” Von Cyprus said.
As if. You weren’t there, dipshit. She lifted her arm. It was surprisingly easy. No pain at all. She swallowed back the tears. “Feels good already,” was as much as she could say. Then her mind raced back to Howke. “I’m sorry, sir.” She started to slip away. “Mission...failed...” She could feel the drugs hit her. Her eyelids fluttered. “Bitch was on me so fast...nothing...”
“You did a fine job, Veronica. I’m proud of you. You’re going to do even greater things for us when you recover.” The smile was back. “Those parents of yours will want for nothing.” Veronica’s face broke into just the hint of a smile, and she was gone again.
Howke turned from her. “Let’s give the commander some rest,” he said.
The men moved back into the waiting room. Howke had Von Cyprus explain Project Velocity to Arbor and Ray. It was their bionic man program, or woman, as the case may be. The military had recruited volunteers among th
eir active troops for robotic enhancements in the case of catastrophic injury. Major financial incentives went along with the deal, in exchange for human guinea pig status. He told of the failed strike on the Fletcher girl, the crash, and Veronica’s surgery.
“She’s the third member of your team,” Howke told Arbor. Her call sign would be Velocity. Her new limbs would give her incredible speed. Even faster than the Velocosuits they used in the past—which had often proven fatal to the wearer in a crash. Velocity, by contrast, would have more control. She too would wear a protective suit, but she was being designed to crash. As an offensive weapon, she would be able to run straight through a concrete wall with no ill effects. She could travel at a top speed of 750 miles per hour with no threat of injury in the suit. And in any case, all her limbs were robotic, made of titanium steel alloy, like Arbor’s armor.
“A human missile,” Von Cyprus smirked.
Arbor was immediately thinking about how he could use someone with such abilities.
“Now, are you ready to meet the other two members of your team?” Howke asked them, as if they could say no.
Von Cyprus excused himself and went back to work. Howke, Arbor, and Ray strolled back down the hallway to another waiting room, flanked by two dozen Guards now, who joined in from other hallways as they passed by them. It made Arbor paranoid. Howke opened the door, and as Arbor peered inside at the two men sitting there, all he could think to say was “Son of a bitch!”
Ray swallowed. “Exactly.”
CHAPTER 12
It seemed like a bad idea.
“I don’t know,” Ward said. “How do we know the frequency of these devices won’t interfere with the chemical mixture of the serums? I’ve not tested these, and some frequencies have been known to—”
“I’ve tested them, and they have no effect on the serums,” Leslie said.
“Why don’t you just make them standard issue?” Ward glanced around at the newly refurbished lab Leslie and her people had at their disposal. “Why just me? If these things can really disable any computerized machinery, they’d be useful to anyone. To everyone.”
“You know the answer to that.”
‘Too expensive.”
“Sure, there’s that. But we also can’t get the materials in to Boston. Your little cuff darts just happen to be perfect. The design mod was simple.” Leslie shook her head. “They’re yours, Dr. Ward. You’re going to need them.”
Ward shrugged. Clearly not going to get out of this one. If Leslie wanted it, these new “Disabling Darts” were going into the suit.
Leslie pressed a button on one of her many computer consoles in the room, and a small section of the wall to their right opened up. Inside was a new version of Ward’s Spider Wasp suit. Or as he liked to call it, his bug suit.
“We’ve made some other modifications. This new suit is twice as tough as it was before the last upgrade. It’s also got servos in all the joints to add some strength for you. I’ve built in a face shield that will automatically come down in times of extreme temperature, water, or gun fire.”
“Face shield? Is it bullet proof?”
“Yes. Up to at least .50 caliber.”
Ward shrugged again. He had to admit, given what he’d already gone up against as a member of the Suns, a little added security wasn’t a bad idea.
Actually, it was reassuring, now that he’d given in. He’d been prepared to be irritated, but instead he was feeling kind of thankful.
“We just don’t know what you’re going to go up against in there, man or machine. I’d expect both. This is the headquarters of the Freedom Council.” Leslie took in a deep breath. Let it out. “I don’t think you should be going at all, but the General is unwavering and I am not going to stand in his way.”
Had COR actually debated this move? “I’m sure you could stop it if you wanted to,” he said.
Leslie seemed to think her reply over carefully before she answered. “We all know the risks of allowing them to keep the chamber. I just wish there was another way.”
“Well, maybe I should just focus on taking out the Guards and Sophia should be the one to take out the machines.”
“We can’t be sure what kind of machines are there. It was a machine that killed John, remember. What if they have Spores waiting on you all?”
John Bailey. The legendary Saratoga. His death at the hands of the Spores had been a particularly devastating blow to the Suns. Ward had barely gotten to know the man before he died, and now, seeing everyone’s prolonged mourning over his passing just accentuated what a blow it was to lose him.
And that made Leslie’s point pretty stark. If the great Saratoga couldn’t withstand them, what chance had he against something like a Spore? Not much. Spores could be sent around the world to kill or destroy almost anything or anyone.
And then there was Hunley, aka Ramsey Hollis—the superman of the sea. Another machine had killed him. Yep, hanging around the Suns meant you needed protection from killer, evil, blood-thirsty robots. Disabling Darts, check.
Ward just shrugged again.
Ward thanked Leslie and asked to be excused.
The truth was he just wanted to rest. To be alone and drown in his thoughts. She had two young doctors on staff take him to his new quarters. It was his home anytime he was there. Anytime he wanted it. An indication that they had room to spare now. The freeing of Boston had been good to them. No more cramped spaces.
Local members had returned to family—very emotional journeys given that most of them had been long considered dead. Boston was healing. Slowly.
Ward wished he could say the same thing for himself.
He put his things down in the rather spacious room. As soon as his guides left the room, he closed the door. Locked it. He dug out the (now old and obsolete) bug suit, pulled a dart full of the serenity serum, and pricked a vein in his wrist. He lay back on the bed.
And closed his eyes.
At about that same time, Leslie received an urgent call from Blake Lane, editor-in-chief of the Resistance-related newspaper, Common Sense. Lane’s voice was normally calm and controlled.
Not today.
“I just received a message from William Howke,” Blake said as she drew a long breath into her lungs, and Leslie figured the notorious chain smoker was probably taking a drag. “And you are not going to believe it.”
After the editor had replayed the content of the message, Leslie dropped her phone onto her desk and plopped into her chair. Her eyes wide. What the hell? There was only one person to call.
She sent an alert to the Revolution. It was time to rally the leadership.
CHAPTER 13
PHILADELPHIA, PENNSYLVANIA
THE HALL OF CHAMBERS
The room was large, surprisingly dark, and slightly medieval. The Hall was tucked beneath a dive of a tavern called the Green Dragon, which was itself located inside an old abandoned power station on the banks of the Delaware River. A destination designed to throw off the Council who had long wanted to find the governing body of the Resistance.
Members slipped in from a dozen smaller “side chambers” scattered along the periphery. Some strode across the large circular polished floor of the Chamber to find their seats; others simply stepped in from their own private chamber rooms located just behind their designated throne-seats. They each sat at tall leather chairs that circled the large Hall. The members wore robes, making them look more like Supreme Court justices rather than legislators.
These were the members of the Congress of the Revolution, or COR. COR was the highest authority the insurgency had. The elected civilian leadership of the Resistance. One representative from every state.
Seated at the center of the circle, presiding over the meeting, was Dr. Leslie Gibbons, Representative of Massachusetts and the elected president of COR. Seated at the chair just to her right was the Revolution himself. The only non-elected voting member of the body. The formal representative of what passed for the military of the Resista
nce.
“Today,” Leslie said, opening the session, “we have important business before us. We start with two competing bills. The first comes from the gentlewoman from Georgia and is an offer of amnesty from Chairman Howke for every member in this body, The Suns of Liberty, and possibly, though this is not clear from his communiqué, all the members of each HQ might also be included in the offer.”
Murmurs broke out among the members. They had already debated this issue heartily in the enormous compound’s living quarters located outside the Hall of Chambers. The offer from the Chairman had come to the offices of Common Sense. The gentlewoman from Georgia was the first to take up the offer’s cause. There was widespread thought in COR that Boston would soon be attacked and, without the help of the Fire Fly, the Suns would not be able to hold it. Fear, Leslie knew, was driving this mood among some of the members of COR. But there were others—more, she hoped—who had not succumbed to that fear.
“The second,” Leslie said, quieting the murmurs, “is a public declaration of liberty aimed squarely at the Council. To say that we, COR, are here. And that we are not disbanding until true democracy is restored to the Republic. And that we will not accept any compromise.”
Leslie stared out at the members around her. “I bring this bill to the floor myself. This would make the Council and the public officially aware of this body. It would acknowledge what is already reality. We are at war. And, ladies and gentlemen, Boston showed us that this is a war that we can win!”
Several members came out of their seats applauding her impassioned plea. Leslie’s eyes widened and she chuckled a bit. The members were usually so somber. Being somber was a tradition they started when they founded COR some seven years ago. No one ever talked about it, but the formality, the general decorum of the members, was all a nod to the importance of what they had lost and what they were fighting to restore.
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