Captain Hawkins (The Jamie Hawkins Saga Book 1)

by H. Alesso

  Parker said, “I will respect your right to retain your command . . . and your independence.” She paused and gazed directly in to his eyes, and then added, “But you’re politically naïve, if you think Rusk’s phony ceasefire offer wasn’t understood by both Victor and myself. Victor will pretend to consider the ceasefire, in order to garner public support, because the public is desperate to believe that Hellion promises could lead to peace. I will, likewise, pretend to support the ceasefire for the same reason.”

  As Hawkins started to protest, Parker cut him off, “Don’t worry. You needn’t be concerned about Victor withdrawing the Combat Fleet from the asteroids and leaving the colonies defenseless. He’ll never, actually agree, to Rusk’s ceasefire gambit. We just need to play along for public consumption.”

  Hawkins said, “I understand.”

  Parker smiled for the first time that day. She said, “Good. Then, we can prepare for war—a war against our existing government—a war to bring about a new nation state. Together, we must work to build a government in exile—with your help, of course.”

  Hale and the others murmured their approval in unison.

  “I agree,” said Hawkins. “But while we speak bravely together—once we leave this room—we are but a handful, scattered to the winds.”

  Parker said, “Then it’s up to us, to find more like minds, and build what must be built. For that, we will need men, money, and ships. We need everything from the basics to feed and clothe the civilian population, to the facilities to manufacture our own weapons and train our troops. When you need everything, and start with nothing, what do you do?”

  Hale said, “We have to get the backing of Jaxon businessmen and fringe organizations to support our movement. And we must organize a news service to tie everyone together. How do we bootstrap all that?”

  “It’s easy—we lie,” laughed Hawkins. When everyone stared at him he said, “We tell the businessmen and organizations on Jaxon that we are already well-funded and growing, and that they need to jump on board now, or get left behind, and then we beg, borrow, and steal whatever we need to keep body and soul together while waiting for the influx of support. We’re actually so few, that it doesn’t take that much to sustain us, and we’re so scattered, that Victor will have to search, far and wide, to find us. But if we put out propaganda that we’re ubiquitous, then when Victor cracks down, the public will believe we are important. They may choose to accept the risk and join us.”

  “That’s bold,” said Parker.

  “I believe it’s time to replace Victor,” said Hawkins. “But I will not take action that will place our people in peril of being overrun by Hellion. They are the worse evil.”

  “Hellion is a distant evil,” Parker agreed, “but Victor is homegrown. We’re aware of the danger they both pose.”

  Hale said, “It may be, that something of importance has been settled.”

  “Our communications are going to be strained,” Parker said. “I may offer direction from time to time, but for the most part, achieving success, and carrying out military missions in the asteroids will be your burden alone.”

  CHAPTER 22

  Alyssa

  The summer day had been perfect. Alyssa Palmer stood on her veranda and watched the white-crested waves crashing against the boulders that lined the shoreline below her home a dozen kilometers from Newport. A light breeze blew puffy clouds across the azure sky as the sun completed its downward path. A kilometer away, a picturesque lighthouse nestled against a cliff, high above a string of hazardous shoals. And on the horizon, the hazy evening fog settled in. She had stayed outside too long in her loose white cotton blouse and navy skirt, and now mild sunburn colored her arms and legs. As the first shadows of night grew, she wanted to hold onto the day, but, wistfully, all she could do was wish for another. A strand of hair fell across her brow as she turned her back on the view and went inside.

  The motion, spray, and sloshing of the sea brought back memories of her youth, the long blissful days when her parents had taken her swimming. She did not weep for the past, nor regret not making more of it. However, she felt the present day walls of her life closing in around her because of a cruel government that kept her under surveillance.

  “Oh, where are you, Jamie? I’ve seen you in my dreams—will I ever find you again?”

  “What did you say, Alyssa?”

  Alyssa hadn’t realized she’d spoken aloud, and a blush deepened the color in her cheeks. She threw an apologetic look at her visitor and fellow surgeon, Barbara Rush.

  “Oh, nothing,” she said, heaving a sigh. “I’ve been on the beach reading novels with happy endings, but real life rarely turns out that way.”

  “Speak for yourself. I have my Jeffery and I’m seeing him tonight.”

  Alyssa sighed, “Will I ever find my happy ending?”

  “Why don’t you work on your seascape? I think your painting is lovely. It’ll take your mind off of your worries.”

  “I find it hard to concentrate on painting anymore,” said Alyssa. Barbara laughed, one of those knowing laughs that said, “Who are you kidding? You’re crazy about painting.”

  It seemed they had this conversation every few days when they had a break from the hospital and were suffering the lonely isolation imposed by their strict curfew.

  Alyssa let out another sigh at the memory of how comfortable and mundane her life had once been, when art was her most passionate topic of conversation. Still, it was a welcome distraction from the hardship she endured now, with so many sick and injured to care for during this time of war and suspicion.

  She stood in the living room looking at her art. She said, “I mean I still love painting and sculpture and music. It’s just…all of that seems like something from a different time. Videos and books just don’t do them justice. Perhaps if I could visit museums and go to concerts again, the passion would come back, but when will that ever happen?”

  Barbara picked up several miscellaneous items scattered on the furniture and put them in their appropriate places. She said, “So why do you keep displaying pieces that you enjoyed long ago?”

  “Do I? I suppose it’s a distraction from work. And speaking of which, our shift starts in an hour. We should get ready.”

  Alyssa walked to the bathroom and began scrubbing the sand and gunk off her body. Feeling like a slob, she said, “Barbara I’m going to grab a quick shower before I go. Would you mind finishing cleaning up by yourself?”

  “No problem.”

  Alyssa took off her outer garments and tossed them into the hamper. Then she stripped off her undergarments and threw them in, as well. Stepping into the shower, she let the hot soapy water sooth her body. She watched, mesmerized, as the water swirled at her feet and circled the drain. Several minutes passed before she realized she needed to hurry. Stepping out of the shower, she grabbed a towel. As she dried off, she felt the warmth of the steamy air swirl around her.

  She cracked open the small bathroom window to let some fresh air in and listened to evening sounds of the neighborhood; a dog barking, a car pulling into a driveway, a small child returning home from play. She thought she heard a noise from the other room and called, “Barbara, are you ready? I’ll be out in a minute.”

  There was no answer.

  She dressed and called once more, “Barbara?”

  Still no response. She went into the living room and saw that Barbara hadn’t done much straightening up. In fact, she thought curiously enough, the room was even messier than before. Maybe Barbara had remembered something and already left for work. She groaned at the thought of driving into Newport alone.

  She gathered up her personal items while still brushing her damp hair. She took a moment for a quick look in a mirror and ran her fingers through her hair one more time.

  Oh, why do I bother? No one will notice anyway.

  As her hand reached to open the door to the garage, she heard a noise from the front entrance. The security lock clicked and the light f
lashed green to indicate it was open.

  “Barbara?” she called. “Is that you? Did you forget something?”

  She took a few steps toward the front entrance then hesitated. The security light still flashed green, but the door didn’t swing open.

  “Barbara?”

  She stood uncertainly for a moment, wondering. Before she could decide what to do, she heard another click. The security light blinked and stayed a steady red. It was locked.

  That’s odd.

  She walked quickly over to look through the peephole, but the night was already dark and she couldn’t see anyone. Jiggling the latch to make sure it was closed and secure; she turned back toward the side door, but stopped in her tracks when she heard a ratcheting sound coming from that direction.

  Why would Barbara go around to the side of the house?

  Her patience wearing thin, she strode over and yanked the side door open. The hallway was empty; no one was in the garage and Barbara’s car was gone.

  So she did leave.

  As she closed the door, out of the corner of her eye, she caught a glimpse of someone moving outside.

  Now she was fully alert.

  “Who’s there?”

  She took a step and then heard the back door slam.

  Alyssa gasped and bolted to the kitchen. She felt the first pang of raw, cold fear—deep, primal fear, like the first great fright of a child when everything was strange and terrifying, and there is no shelter, or protector, and flight was the only answer, yet her feet were frozen intractably in place.

  Grabbing a large carving knife from the utensil drawer, she clenched it in her trembling fist, out in front of her. Her mouth was dry. She licked her lips fighting down terror. One slow, cautious step after another, she crept toward the house alarm by the front door. As she reached out to press it, someone grabbed her from behind.

  “Aah!”

  The hand holding her was powerful, but a voice soothed, “I wouldn’t harm you. You’re safe. It’s me.”

  I know that voice!

  Twisting out of his grip, she stared in shock, relief, and finally amazement. Her surprise couldn’t have been more pronounced, as her eyes changed, from heart pounding dreadful fright to heart pounding joyful delight.

  “Jamie?”

  His blue eyes twinkling, Hawkins said pleasantly—as if it was a perfectly ordinary off-handed remark, under perfectly normal circumstances—“I was visiting friends and thought I’d stop by to see you.”

  She had spoken to him only once, and only briefly, at Newport Hospital. Yet whenever she heard the rumors of his exploits, her heart would race and her hands would grow clammy. Never until this moment had she dared to imagine that he even remembered her.

  “You gave me such a fright!” she said, her eyes wide and hands clamped over her mouth. “Sorry for sneaking around, but I had to make sure the coast was clear before I revealed myself.” He gave a mocking bow. “I humbly ask your pardon. Am I beyond forgiveness?”

  She stammered, “No…no.” Then she added hesitantly, “Friends? You mean rebels?”

  “Yes.”

  “You have a price on your head.”

  “President Victor thinks quite highly of me.”

  “Everyone talks about you. You’re a fool to come to Jaxon at all and a complete idiot for coming here.”

  “A fool I may be, but as to an idiot, that remains to be seen.”

  “I hope for your sake you’re neither.”

  “As you say,” he smirked. They stood staring at each other for a long moment. Her memory proved accurate—he was as handsome as she remembered. He stood with shoulders back, head high, and a warm smile that filled her with delight.

  “You haven’t changed,” she said, biting her lower lip. “Why didn’t you at least send word you were alive and well?”

  “It’s not easy for a rebel on the run to send messages. And how was I to know that you even cared if I was alive?”

  She blushed.

  “You do care?”

  “Yes,” she laughed—an infectious laugh, a happy laugh.

  She tried to sort out her feelings. Despite her excitement at seeing him, she wasn’t sure how this day would play out.

  “We have a mutual friend.”

  “We do? Who?”

  “Arron Hale.”

  “Oh!” She blushed.

  “He told me of the part you played last year, helping him with his underground activities.”

  She stood there—silent—uncertain about so many things, she couldn’t speak.

  Hawkins stood before her with a searching gaze. “Would you consider becoming active in our cause?”

  Then quickly, as if flustered, he added, “Though I would fully understand, if you were reluctant to take the risk.”

  “I’m glad you asked me,” She said, her chest swelled with pride, “Yes. Yes, I want to help, in any way, I can.”

  She wanted to contribute, but she didn’t yet know the cost.

  Handing her a communicator and a data tablet, he said, “These will allow you to contact the local rebel agent and pass messages to me . . . ah . . . us, when necessary.”

  She took the devices and held them to her chest as if they were prized treasures, feeling as if she were now part of something bigger than herself. Apprehension, distress, fear, all mingled freely with camaraderie, joy, and acceptance—she couldn’t separate them as she contemplated what the future now held for her.

  They sat down on the sofa and exchanged glances for a few moments before she said, “Tell me about yourself and your family. There is so much I’d like to know.”

  “Margret and Mathew Hawkins, were descendants of the original colonists who terraformed Jaxon. At an early age, I had resolved to follow my father’s profession as a soldier, but his early death, might, in part, account for my rebellious nature. My mother worked tirelessly to get me through military college. Unfortunately, she died from illness while I was a Marine fighting the Hellion. After I was wounded and medically discharged, I moved about the countryside until I finally settled in my parent’s country home just outside of Newport.”

  “Hmm, you didn’t mention anyone special in your life.”

  “What are you getting at?”

  “I wasn’t getting at anything in particular,” she said. “But perhaps love is a sore subject with you.”

  “No, it’s just…complicated.”

  “Won’t you tell me? Or do you now consider me an insufferable snoop?”

  He hesitated for a long moment. “It’s my unhappy story.”

  He paused again, searching for the words. “There was a young woman, once. I thought she was the one, special, but she found someone else. Someone not as reckless, not as puzzling, and I guess . . . not as complicated.”

  Alyssa looked at him thoughtfully. “You have a great deal to learn about romance.”

  “Doesn’t everyone?”

  “How intriguing,” she said.

  “Intriguing?”

  “Yes. We’ve chanced upon an interesting topic.”

  “Oh?”

  He’s so fascinating; I can’t wait to hear what he’ll say next.

  They spent a pleasant hour, just talking—discovering each other. She thought there was a softness about him that didn’t appear in the news reports of his exploits. While he told her of his adventures, she told him of her work.

  She saw his passion and drive, and it filled her with awe. Everything about him was larger than life. One rapturous moment, she sat listening to his absurd stories, ready to launch into a howling laugh the moment he took a breath, and then she was equally embarrassed by his personal tales.

  She found him appealing, both physically and emotionally. Despite his brutal profession, she found him full of charm and grace, intelligence and gentleness, possessing all the qualities she considered fine and noble. He was exciting and daring and fighting for things she believed in. It was exhilarating and at the same time a little frightening; he expressed sentim
ents that she admired, yet was capable of violence. She was not prepared for the effect he had on her.

  At that verye moment she thought this, he said, “It’s nice to know I have a confidant.” He paused before adding, “Someone special.”

  “Yes, I feel it too,” she said, blushing just a little.

  “And more,” he said, his eyes searching hers.

  “Why,” she asked innocently, “whatever do you mean?” and pursed her full, soft lips.

  Her pose made him laugh out loud, and he reached over to touch her hand.

  She leaned forward to meet him, her lips moist and parted. She brushed her lips against his, and his arms wrapped around her shoulders and kissed her fully. She felt herself responding to his touch.

  But the promise of the day melted away all too soon.

  He said, “I can see from your face, there’s more to say.”

  “Yes,” she said, but then remained quiet.

  “But not now?” asked Hawkins.

  “No. Not now.”

  Leaning over, he kissed her gently on the lips once more, and left as quickly as he had appeared.

  CHAPTER 23

  Anthony Rodríguez

  For Anthony Rodríguez, every day brought more success. He spent his days aboard his flagship, the Ajax, receiving briefings about the mammoth amounts of accumulated data they were collecting. It seemed to him, that the data contained the answer he sought and he would soon bring Hawkins to justice. He hoped to use Hawkins’ success against him; by looking at the times and locations of Hawkins’ little victories, he was beginning to discern a pattern. Hawkins did, after all, have logistic and distance limitations. It would enable him to narrow his search area.

  Rodríguez raged, “Hawkins thinks he’s untouchable.”

  Damn Hawkins. He’s intelligent and he knows it—and he’s lucky and he knows it—but he’s not untouchable.

  Some wrathful statement was justified, but he was already thinking past that, to what his next step must be. All things considered, Rodríguez thought he would have the better of the situation, if he could anticipate Hawkins’ next move and be ready.