The Suns of Liberty: Legion: A Superhero Novel

by Lowell, Michael Ivan

  the android asked.

  Arbor noticed everyone except Ray had been startled by the Android finally speaking again. He smiled at Spectral and turned back toward Scarlett. “Only people like your father. Terrorists and traitors. Starting”—Arbor paused for effect—“with the Suns of Liberty”

  “Yes, we’ll do it,” she said quickly.

  Arbor gawked at her. Then closed his eyes and let out a deep bellow of a laugh. That had been too easy.

  How long had she been sitting here just waiting to be called back to duty? Too proud to volunteer herself. Not the way it had ended, anyway. She’d probably grown bored and stir crazy, Arbor figured. Regretted she’d forced her way out and now couldn’t think of a graceful way to get back in.

  People don’t change their basic nature. She was a killer. And she was ready to get back out there and do her thing. How long can a cat just sit by and watch the mice play without striking?

  Scarlett looked taken aback by his response. But then she too began to chuckle and soon they all were. All but one.

  Behind them, Fiddler was feeling queasy again. The voices were returning. The bloodlust was pounding in his head, and the stress of having to listen to this frail-looking woman act all lethal while Arbor tip-toed around her like a school girl was more than he could bear. The blood kept hammering in his temples and his vision began to swim. He wanted to kill. He needed to.

  Then Fiddler heard something. Arbor’s earpiece had suddenly crackled. Fiddler’s finely tuned senses, stoked on manic overload, had registered the noise. It broke the spell.

  Arbor stepped back, motioning for them to give him a second. “That’s perfect. Nice work, son,” he said finally to the person on the other end. When he looked back up, he peered over at Scarlett and said, “Looks like your debut is going to come early, sweetheart. There’s a hostage situation not twenty minutes from here. One, maybe two victims. Your country”—Arbor flashed his toothy grin—“and its mass media need your help.”

  This was going to get interesting. Fiddler breathed a sigh of relief as his panic and desire to rip the lungs from her fucking throat, faded. Now they’d see what these two were made of. “What are we waiting for?” he said.

  CHAPTER 32

  The hostage situation might have been twenty minutes away, but it took them forty-five to get there. By that time, the perp, Walter Conroy, was on a hair trigger.

  The Legion descended on the scene like conquering heroes. They touched down in the shopping mall’s parking lot with cops and cameras popping all around. They were all dressed in their uniforms now, ready for full media display. Ray kept admiring the giant blue X again stretched across his battle-armored chest. They rode in a CH-60E Super Stallion, the largest helicopter in the US military’s impressive aerial arsenal. They were flanked by half a dozen Sikorsky’s all full of Council Guardsmen called up at a moment’s notice by Arbor. They circled low overhead like eagles awaiting a weakening prey as the Super Stallion landed. Thus was Clay Arbor’s new-found authority.

  It was true what Howke had said earlier. Arbor had been passed up for promotion many times in exchange for being Lithium. The fame, the money, the lifestyle. He’d sacrificed rank and power for the mansion, for the fancy cars, for a salary no Marine Corps captain could have ever hoped or dreamed of. Not to mention the merchandising deals, the comic books, the toys, the novels, and the movies. Made him a pile of money. That shit had gotten old, though. Made him long for a more conventional path. For the rank and the power.

  But now he had that, too.

  And he was loving it.

  Walter Conroy, not so much. Already driven to kill two people, he had the barrel of his pistol held firmly—too firmly—to the head of his ex-wife, Carol. Carol was the manager of the small shoe store Conroy had turned into a shop of horrors. Five terrified customers were lying on the floor. Only two feet from one of the bleeding corpses.

  The circling helos above were driving him out of his mind. He screamed at the negotiator on the other end of his cell phone to stop the noise or he would kill more.

  “So what do we know about the perp?” Veronica asked.

  Ray looked up from his RDSD. “Former Army Ranger. Came back from Africa scrambled. In and out of VA psych wards. Says here he was a hotshot when he still had his shit together, though.”

  Spectral said as they felt the Stallion bump down on the asphalt.

  “That’s why we got to make this fast and impressive, and you two are out front,” Arbor replied.

  Spectral and Scarlett moved for the big bay doors as they opened. Arbor stepped in front of them. “Right after me, that is.” And Arbor stepped from the bay into a sea of flashing bulbs.

  A great murmur went up when the Lady Rage exited the chopper. They all knew who she was. It fell equally silent when Spectral descended, his cloak billowing in the helo’s afterwash. No one even knew what he was.

  Arbor wasted no time in approaching the officer in charge and taking control. The Council had authorized him, and there were no questions of jurisdiction asked. He simply told the rest of them what was going to happen.

  In full view of the media, the team spread out around Ray. On his RDSD, he located the gunman.

  “If I show you exactly where he is, can you scan for him from here?” Ray asked Scarlett.

  Spectral’s eyes glowed white, and he answered for her.

  “Okay, then,” Ray said and pointed to a blip on his screen. “That’s him.” Ray raised his head and pointed at the structure. “And... he’d be about right there from us.” He was pointing ahead of them at about two o’clock.

  Scarlett gently moved out of the circle, toward the building; she closed her eyes and stopped. She raised her head until her face was gleaming in the sunlight.

  “I have him,” she said.

  Arbor stepped toward her. “Can you tell if his weapon is microchipped?” Most weapons were, so he knew the chances were good.

  Scarlett’s eyes closed more tightly, lines forming around them. “Yes. They all are.”

  “Scramble them,” he said.

  Scarlett raised her right arm and aimed it at the building. Neurons fired across the span of her brain and channeled into the circuits of her unique Neural Transmitter. An invisible beam of energy shot out from behind her tiara and entered the room where Walter Conroy sat, terrorizing his victims.

  The soft hum of his pistol’s auto-fire CPU fell silent. Conroy watched as a small light on the gun’s stock turned from green to red, indicating it was no longer fire-ready. His rifles beside him did the same.

  “The hell?” he exclaimed. He reset the safety, but there was no response. And there wasn’t going to be. The weapons were useless now.

  Scarlett’s Neural Transmitter had randomized the little ones and zeros that made up the digital brain of Conroy’s weapons. Though the effect of this was somewhat unpredictable—she recalled it backfiring on her while taking down the Pterodactyl-Prime drone in Trenton, resulting in Spectral being blasted across the sky—normally it meant that whatever computer-controlled device she focused on would simply fall inoperable for as long as she wanted.

  Back in the parking lot, Scarlett nodded to Arbor.

  “Okay,” he said, eyeing Spectral, “do your thing. Bring him out alive, unharmed, and unconscious. We’re coming in right behind you.”

  The great android raised its arms, and its cape suddenly became rigid and fanned out like a parasol. Spectral lifted from the ground and flew, still standing upright, over to the building.

  Oohs and aahs, worthy of a Fourth of July fireworks display, rose up from the crowd.

  As the android approached the wall, Spectral turned transparent and disappeared inside the concrete.

  The press and the cops assembled behind them gasped.

  Arbor was grinning. So
far, so perfect. He turned to one of the cameramen and pointed at him. “You. Come with us. Stay behind, stay focused, and don’t turn that damn thing off,” he said, pointing at the camera. The cameraman gulped, slung the camera on his shoulder, and stalked forward behind them.

  Inside the shoe store, Walter Conroy never saw it coming. Though a spectacularly powerful machine, Spectral made virtually no noise.

  The rest of the team, on the other hand, with Lithium in the lead and Fang clanging on the concrete floor in his impact armor, announced their presence like a million light bulbs shattering at once. Bounding through the closest mall entrance to the store and tromping loudly down the corridor, Arbor hoped to provoke Conroy. It would make for better footage.

  Conroy grabbed his ex-wife’s throat and kept the gun pressed into her temple. The gun might be useless, but nobody knew that but him.

  Or so he thought.

  The android beamed into the room completely invisible.

  In the deserted atrium of the mall, the Legion bounded around a corner and came in full view of the glass front of the little shoe store. Lithium told the team to watch closely and smirked over at Scarlett, who returned the gesture.

  The camera rolled.

  Conroy began to choke the life out of Carol with his left hand as he held the pistol to her temple with his right. Carol’s face turned from red to purple, and her eyes bugged.

  Spectral floated behind Conroy and placed his arm inside of Conroy’s chest cavity. The experience was not something Conroy’s conscious mind could register. No more than the body registers an x-ray passing through it.

  But as Spectral minutely shifted its molecules from wave toward particle, from light toward matter, from invisible to visible, Conroy became hyperaware of the android’s presence. In fact, he screamed it out at the top of his lungs...with the camera running—catching it all in digital glory.

  Conroy fell silent. No longer among the conscious.

  Spectral phased back to light-form and pulled its arm out of the man’s body, then phased back to matter. As Conroy slumped toward the floor, Spectral’s strong arm caught his shoulder and held his unconscious body up. The ordeal was over.

  “Damn it!” yelled Fiddler.

  Arbor turned and gave him a questioning stare.

  “I was really hoping to kill someone,” he said sadly.

  Fiddler glanced over at the cameraman, eyeing him like he was a juicy steak—and the cameraman’s eyes went wide as saucers.

  Arbor turned away, shaking his head, watching as Spectral easily lifted Walter Conroy’s unconscious body in its arms and carried him over to Arbor.

  Just then, Ray stopped in his tracks. He just stared at the RDSD. “Wait a minute,” he breathed.

  “What?” Arbor asked.

  Spectral’s eyes glowed white, and the machine spoke. Spectral said, calling Kendrick Ray by the name he had been instructed to address him by during the mission,

  “Well sure, the cops, the military,” said Veronica.

  “No, not exactly. This is something else,” Ray said, peering up at Arbor.

  “Bombs.” Both Ray and Spectral had spoken the word simultaneously in two very different voices. The two stared at each other, amused or horrified, it was hard to tell which. Actually, it was both for Ray—it was stepping on his turf. Spectral nodded at him. Ray grimaced at the big machine and turned back toward Arbor.

  “It’s a set up,” said Ray.

  “Bloody genius! Meant to blow them all to kingdom come,” Fiddler chuckled, gazing at the unconscious man approvingly.

  Arbor, losing his patience, gave him a hard stare and then traced his eyes toward the camera that was still rolling, and back again.

  “The bastard!” Fiddler added.

  Fang grunted a chuckle behind him.

  “How long do we have, can you tell?” Arbor asked both Ray and Spectral.

  “Less than five minutes,” Ray said.

  “Where are the bombs?” Veronica asked.

  “In the planters, right outside. Two of them,” Ray said, pointing dead ahead of them and lifting his face from the RDSD. His mouth formed a grimace.

  They could see them.

  Veronica perked up. Her body stiffened.

  “No way,” said Arbor, reading her face.

  “I can get them, I can clear the city,” Veronica protested.

  “Yeah, but even if you can, we don’t know how much honey’s in the honeycomb.”

  “They look big,” Ray warned. “Half a ton, maybe, between them. Digital base, digital shielding. Sophisticated. It’ll even be hard for you to get through it,” Ray said, eyeing Scarlett.

  “Who was this guy again?” Veronica asked. She was no expert, but it sounded like military-grade explosives.

  “Try,” Arbor said to Scarlett, who nodded. “Can you block the blast if it comes down to it?” he asked Spectral.

 

  “Whatever. Can you keep it from blowing little Johnny news man and those badge boys to bits, is all I wanna know,” Arbor said. He turned and walked toward the entrance and the planters.

  Spectral did not respond.

  They all followed. When they got to the doors Arbor sent Veronica, Fiddler, and Ray away with the still-sleeping Conroy and his hostages. Then the big man turned on the loudspeaker in his armor and announced to the crowd that they had discovered explosive devices and that they were all ordered to back up. Arbor knew he should have ordered them all to evacuate the lot, but he wanted witnesses, and he damn sure wanted this on film.

  Assuming everything went well, that was.

  Meanwhile, the minutes ticked away as the crowd made their slow retreat.

  The concrete planters were big. Taller than a normal man, taller than any of them. Fang and Arbor could have easily fit inside one of them together, despite their bulky armor.

  Scarlett closed her eyes and concentrated.

  “Do you have it?” Arbor asked her finally. He knew the clock was ticking. In fact, inside his helmet, his internal clock read that just over four minutes had already passed since Ray had announced they had less than five minutes left.

  “Yes, but I’m having trouble getting through the shielding. Very sophisticated.”

  “Can’t you just disable it?”

  “That’s what I’m trying to do. Let me concentrate!”

  Arbor turned to Fang, who shot to attention. “Stay close. If one of these blows, we have to try and block the shockwave.” Arbor blanched when the big man actually smiled at that. Did the big oaf even know what he was talking about, or was he really that messed up in the head?

  Hard to tell. Pretty much fifty-fifty, Arbor thought.

  Arbor glanced over at Spectral. The big machine was focused on the other planter. Its eyes were glowing white, indicating it was doing some kind of a scan.

  “Can you see it?” Arbor asked Spectral.

 

  “Rage!” Arbor yelled, spinning back toward Scarlett. He really did not want to have to try and block this blast. It would look great on camera, but at what cost?

  “I’m through!” Scarlett yelled. She closed her eyes tighter.

 

  “Done,” Scarlett breathed and turned her attention to the second bomb and closed her eyes.

  Spectral’s eyes grew dark again, and the big robot stepped in front of Scarlett. Arbor was unsure whether the android would block Scarlett’s transmitter, but he realized in that split instance that it didn’t matter. The super-computer robot had just deduced that the bomb would explode and was preparing to block Scarlett from the blast. His programming required him to do so, unless she commanded otherwise.

  Just how in the hell had she taken possession of possibly the most useful weapon the Council had at their di
sposal? A question to explore later...

  “Fang, get ready!” Arbor yelled and spread his arms wide. The other big man in the big white impact suit turned and spread his arms out just like Arbor was doing. Just like Spectral was doing.

  BOOM!

  A massive fireball mushroomed out of the planter, spewing concrete across the pavement just ahead of the fire. The energy rocked the parking lot. Even standing at the back of the lot, bystanders could feel the vibrations in their chest and under their feet. Ears immediately rang.

  But as its energy reached the line of Legion members, it seemed to ricochet, like a wave hitting a wall. Arbor was prepared for serious pain, so was Fang.

  But it didn’t come.

  Instead, the energy, fire, and flame rode an invisible current up into the sky right in front of them. Arbor stared at it, open mouthed.

  The mall was not so lucky. The blast that would have spanned out into the throng of reporters and police instead was sent crashing into the shopping mall. Walls, doors, and windows were obliterated. Supporting structures gave way. When the smoke cleared, the entire front face of the building was simply gone.

  Then Arbor saw something else.

  Spectral.

  Kneeling. Debris seemed to be embedded into its skin. Smoke trailed off of the machine in tiny cyclones. The outer skin of the android had turned black, and as Arbor watched, it began to revert to its normal red and green.

  Scarlett dropped her hands from her face and saw the machine. She immediately rose to her feet and bolted for the android, but its voice rose quickly.

  With that, Spectral rose to its feet.

  A thunderous cheer rose up from the group assembled behind them. The mall was a loss, but there were about one hundred and fifty souls still alive because of them. In truth, because of Spectral.

  “How the hell did it do that?” Arbor asked Scarlett.

  “He has some kind of electro-magnetic force field thing. He turns black when he uses it,” she said.