Homeguard

by Jason Cordova

  Adulthood, and being locked away at a black site interrogation facility, meant he was responsible for what he said and to whom.

  Which was why he currently only had one black eye, and not two. It had taken the last beating for him to remember he had no backup here. He was alone and in the custody of a man who would kill him at his first convenience. In fact, Andrew was pretty certain he was only alive until the transfer of the Hastings’ senate seat, the trono senatorum, could be completed to whomever Laird McCarroll deemed properly loyal to his hand-picked ruler, Emperor Ezekiel.

  Prince Ezekiel, Andrew corrected himself. If he fell into the mental trap of calling the prince “emperor,” Laird McCarroll had already won. Acknowledging the fact in one’s mind eventually made it true, even if it wasn’t. A classic psychological warfare ploy Andrew had used to great effectiveness while undercover as Darius Hastings, though it had nearly cost him his soul.

  He sighed and tested his wrist restraints once more. They held, as expected. Andrew muttered a curse and closed his eyes. Leaning his head back against the chair to which he remained bound, he began to listen to the slow and steady beat of his heart. Fifty beats meant one minute. Three thousand would be about an hour, give or take. It was all he had now. That, and time.

  Eyes closed, Andrew missed the first flicker of the overhead lights. The bright bulbs had been angled to shine directly into his face, which prevented him from falling asleep easily. It was a classic interrogation technique, and had he not been prepped by the DIB during his time at Orangewood, he might have succumbed. The trick was not to squeeze the eyes shut, which tired out the muscles and added undue stress on the body and mind. Instead, Andrew allowed his eyelids to use their own weight to stay closed. There was a constant red in the background, courtesy of the bright lights, but Andrew simply ignored it while allowing his mind to drift. It was this state he kept moving toward, falling asleep and recharging his mental batteries.

  However, the second time the lights flickered, his mind had returned to wakefulness, and he caught it. Surprised, his eyes popped open as the light in the room noticeably dimmed. He looked around to see if all the lights were malfunctioning, and saw they were.

  He’d assumed his cell was soundproofed, but that notion was suddenly squashed as he heard a muffled explosion somewhere outside. Whether it was outside his door, or on the other end of the facility, he couldn’t be certain.

  “Okay, that was a shaped-entry charge,” he muttered as he closed his eyes once more and listened. Muffled shots and a louder explosion made the chair he was strapped to vibrate. “Much closer…shit, is this a jailbreak?”

  It was either that or a riot. Possibly both. Unsure, all he could do was sit and wait. While he had some assurances that his emergency message had gotten out to Gabriel and the rest of the Wraith Corps Third Regiment, he seriously doubted they’d managed to find him so quickly. Especially since his brother would have had to jump through the Belleza Sutil gate—where, last he saw, there were still Navy ships loyal to Laird McCarroll in orbit—and then into Trono del Terra. From there, he’d have had to fight through the First Fleet at Avalon, which Andrew guessed was in the hands of the Laird and Prince Ezekiel as well, before finally arriving at David’s Rock.

  No, if it was a prison break, it wasn’t the Third Regiment coming to the rescue. If not them, then who?

  The problem with a black site such as Special Projects was the prisoners and detainees were constantly revolving in and out. The prison that surrounded it was a terrific cover for Special Projects, since prisoner transfers at the maximum-security facility happened all the time. It was just another reason both the DIB and DIA loved using El Muladar. Keeping the detainee, as well as any potential friends, completely in the dark was just one way to ensure jailbreaks didn’t happen too often.

  Tensing, there was nothing he could do except wait as the door behind him opened. He could hear heavy breathing, but it meant nothing to him with no context.

  “Moses?” a deep voice called out questioningly. Andrew held his breath for a moment before deciding to respond.

  “Ah, no,” he replied, “but any help would be appreciated.”

  “Are you one of ours?” the voice asked.

  “I don’t know,” Andrew admitted. “I don’t admit to anything on the first date.”

  “Sounds like you’re with us,” the voice replied, and a figure stepped into view. The man was large, far bigger than normal men should be. His neck appeared to have been molded out of a mountain, and his hands were the size of Andrew’s head. One of his arms was equal to both of Andrew’s, and the armor the new arrival wore looked uncomfortably tight. Wondering that they even made armor that could possibly fit this giant of a man, Andrew struggled against his bonds as he grew more nervous.

  He was familiar with the battle armor the giant wore, he saw after a moment. It was clan armor, designed by the various noble houses for wear during times of strife or during ceremonies. This armor was unfamiliar at first glance, until Andrew realized it had been heavily modified, and was far more advanced in design and function than previous iterations. His heart began to hammer in his chest as he recognized the heraldry of the noble house that had inadvertently come to his rescue.

  The white Pegasus on a blue field had been synonymous with the Seiji clan since before the inception of the Dominion. It had later been banned by the emperor when they’d been caught selling military secrets to the Domai Republic. Every DIB agent recalled when the family had been stripped of their titles and holdings and placed on the Black List. Many within the family had been executed, though a few had managed to escape and had laid low over the ensuing years. Andrew—or more importantly, Chief Gan—had suspected they’d made their way to Maelstrom, but since all expeditions to the planet had disappeared, nobody could be quite certain.

  The Pegasus stared at him now, almost mockingly. He tore his gaze from the symbol on the man’s chest armor and tried to look at his rescuer’s face. The blue helmet protected the eyes and top of the head, but Andrew saw that the man sported a thick, bushy red beard.

  “Name?” the giant asked.

  Andrew paused. Either answer could get him killed. He knew his father had had some dealings with the Seiji before their downfall, and it was a reasonable conclusion he’d been a part of taking them down and having them added to the Black List. Telling the mountain before him that he was an Espinoza could very well be his death sentence.

  Then again, telling him he was Darius Hastings, trono senatorum, could be just as bad. If the Seiji were making a move against the House of Lukas in the midst of the twin princes’ “Kin War,” as the news agencies had dubbed the civil war, allowing them to capture one of the more important members of Parliament was a bad idea. However, Andrew also recognized that the Warden of Cairnwallis wasn’t going to let him leave the room alive. Which meant Andrew, as Darius, had to place his trust in somebody who might let him live.

  “Senator Darius Hastings,” he answered as he stared at the black visor on the man’s helmet. “From Trono del Terra, Dun Hastings.”

  “Excuse me?” The man seemed taken aback. This was a definite step in the right direction, Andrew realized. Even he couldn’t believe Laird McCarroll would throw him into a black site prison such as Special Projects, yet here he was. It made him rethink his other assumptions in life, such as gravity.

  “I was taken hostage by the Justice of the Black, Octavio Nunez,” Andrew continued. “You know, the Mad Cleaver of Kurong?”

  “I know who he is.” The man waved him quiet as he brought one of his ham-sized hands to his helmet and touched a panel on the side. “What I don’t get is…you know what? Wait one.”

  “I…okay.” Andrew went silent and listened.

  “Ash, it’s Jack. No sign of either of the targets yet, but I found someone else.”

  Jack paused, his eyes staring off as he listened. Andrew was familiar with the look. The giant began to nod.

  “Uh huh. Claims to be Sen
ator Hastings. Yeah, that guy. Bring him as well? Roger, out.”

  “What happens when you can’t—” Andrew began but quickly shut up as Jack simply grabbed the restraint on his arm and ripped it off the chair. Dumbfounded, Andrew could only watch as the giant repeated the process with the other arm. The leg restraints came next, and then Andrew removed the leather strap across his head. He immediately popped to his feet.

  And instantly regretted it, as waves of pins and needles burned through both legs. He grimaced and nearly cried out in pain. The man grabbed him by the arm and helped him remain upright. Gasping as the pain moved to his toes, Andrew wondered if anyone had ever died from the pain of their legs falling asleep.

  “I’m okay, I’m okay,” Andrew hissed. He grunted and tried kicking his legs to get the blood flowing. After the initial wave of pain came the numbness, which he’d expected. His knees barely functioning and his toes tingling painfully, Andrew looked up at Jack. “Who are you rescuing?”

  Jack looked at him for a moment before shrugging. “You wouldn’t know him. Name’s Uriah. He was captured by the Home Guard when we assaulted Gran Via.”

  “How do you know he’s here?” Andrew asked. With Jack’s assistance, he limped out of the cell room and into a larger space. A control desk sat in the middle, surrounded by a massive plexiglass protective barrier. Inside he could see one of the guards from Special Projects being pistol whipped by another man in armor similar to Jack’s. It made Andrew’s heart jump with glee.

  The big man grunted, seemingly oblivious to the beating being laid down upon the guard by his men. “We have our ways.”

  “I bet,” Andrew murmured as they stopped at the next cell over. Jack looked over his shoulder at the control desk before giving the cell door a solid kick. The sheer mass and power the big man put into the strike caused the frame of the cell door to splinter. A second, heavier kick blasted the door open. Andrew whistled softly as Jack set him against the wall outside the cell. The giant had destroyed the frame, the hinges, and had put a dent in the door big enough to hide a body. Andrew hadn’t seen violence and raw power like that in ages. “Impressive.”

  “Stay here,” Jack told him, and Andrew, unwilling to argue with a man who’d just murdered a solid steel door with his foot, complied. A moment later he returned, shaking his head. He tapped the side of his helmet. “Damn it. Ash, Target Two’s already dead. Continuing the search for Target One.”

  “This ‘Uriah’ guy,” Andrew said as he managed to walk a few feet without Jack’s help. They continued to the next cell door, which was opening as they arrived. “Friend of yours?”

  “My father,” Jack stated. “I told you to stay back there.”

  “Oh.” Andrew couldn’t think of anything else to say. However, he didn’t go back to his cell’s doorway, but stayed near the big man. Jack looked back at him and sighed.

  “Fine, come on. Just don’t make this reunion any more awkward than it already is, okay?” Jack told him as they reached the open cell.

  “I’ll…just wait out here,” Andrew decided and leaned against the wall. His legs were feeling better, but there was some residual tingling in his left foot. It was annoying, but tolerable for the time being. He felt fortunate they’d left him in his clothing, and with shoes on. While the clothes were ripe and smelled of several kinds of funk, at least he wasn’t being forced to make a jailbreak with bare cheeks flapping in the breeze.

  Andrew looked around the large circular area and was surprised to see, outside of the cell doors, there was nothing else in the room. No guard bench, no control center, nothing. It made sense in a way, once he thought about it. Special Projects didn’t officially exist, after all. A hidden prison would be easier to hide if it was all remotely controlled from the outside, with the occasional guard stopping in to interrogate a prisoner.

  Jack returned a minute later with a smaller man in his arms. The giant was cradling him gingerly, and Andrew could see the affection and care in his attentions. Craning to get a better look, Andrew was a bit surprised to see that the man he’d believed to be Jack’s father appeared to be around the same age as Jack. Guessing they’d rescued someone else instead of who they were looking for, Andrew began to head toward the last cell in the line.

  “Where are you going?” Jack called out. Andrew half-turned and jabbed a thumb toward the final cell.

  “Checking to see if your father’s in this cell,” Andrew replied. Jack shook his head.

  “I’ve got him,” he explained. “Let’s roll.”

  “Uh…” Andrew stopped and thought for a minute. It had been almost ten months by Trono del Terra standards since the raid on the planet by the rebels, and the subsequent assassination of the emperor. Unlike most of the populace within the Dominion, however, Andrew knew about the time dilation at Maelstrom. While not fully comprehending the precise amount of time that passed while one was in the system compared to the rest of the Dominion, he still understood enough to know it was fast. The star cluster that surrounded the Maelstrom solar system simply sped up time.

  How long had he waited until he could come find his father? Andrew shook his head. It wasn’t a perfect estimation by far, considering how much time seemed to be relative to the solar system the individual was in at the time, but if ten months had passed outside Maelstrom, almost twenty-two years had occurred within the rogue system. That was a long time to wait to be old enough, and to gain the right skill set, to rescue anybody.

  With this in mind, Andrew had a new appreciation for the relationship between Jack and his father. Despite the amount of time that had passed, Jack still recognized the face of his father. Which was easy, Andrew realized. In Jack’s eyes, the man looked the same as the day he’d left home to fight in this war.

  “Now comes the hard part,” Jack stated as he looked over at the rest of the armed Seiji rebels who’d come into the infamous El Muladar with him. They were bloody and battered, with more than one sporting obvious signs of injury. “We need to break back out.”

  “You didn’t kill everyone on your way in?” Andrew asked, shocked. “Never leave potential enemies alive at your flank.”

  “Thank you, Sun Tzu, for your unnecessary words of wisdom,” Jack snapped back angrily. “Ash, Jack. They’ve overridden your command/control functions. Primary extraction point is compromised. Secondary is our target, ETA…fifteen minutes.”

  “What’s your secondary?” Andrew asked as the last bits of tingling left his foot. He looked around for a weapon of some sort.

  “Front gate,” Jack answered. He reached down to his belt and grabbed a sidearm from a holster. He tossed it to Andrew, who deftly caught it and checked the chamber. Seeing it was clear, Andrew nodded his thanks and chambered a round from the magazine. Jack grunted. “Don’t shoot me in the back with that. You’ll only piss me off.”

  “How do you even know I can use a weapon?” Andrew asked, curious.

  “Your forearms are built like someone who’s put in a lot of time at the range,” Jack stated. A grin split his bushy beard. “Or you really need a girlfriend.”

  “Gee, thanks,” Andrew muttered. He spotted spare magazines on Jack’s belt. “You mind?”

  “Grab ’em and let’s go,” Jack replied. He looked at the remaining men who’d accompanied him. “Gear up. Secondary extraction point, people. They’re going to be ready for us this time. Ash, keep the prison wings isolated from us for as long as you can. We’ll deal with C and C and the Admin section on our way out.”

  “Can’t we avoid those areas?” Andrew asked, concerned. Jack shook his head and shifted his father slightly.

  “No, they’re on our way out,” he explained.

  “What is our way out?” Andrew wondered aloud.

  “Why, the front gate, of course.”

  “Of course.” Andrew glanced up at the giant, but apparently sarcasm was a masterclass taught on Maelstrom, as Jack wasn’t smiling.

  “Everyone ready?” Jack asked. The surviving men who’
d come with him chorused, “Oorah!” which made Andrew grin. He added his own little sound of agreement, partly to fit in, but mostly because of the absurdity of the situation. Jack continued, “Ash, Jack. Open Special Projects’ door, isolate C and C. Don’t let those guards override you. If we can make it past C and C, Admin’ll be a breeze.”

  “What about the main gate?” Andrew asked.

  “I’ll burn that bridge when we get to it,” Jack answered him.

  “Uh…”

  “C’mon, move out,” Jack ordered, and the surviving members of the troupe piled against the wall next to the door leading out of Special Projects. Jack, still carrying his father, looked around. “Sid, Jose, you two breach and clear. The rest of you follow. Senator? You got our six.”

  “Got it.” Andrew nodded. He’d nearly forgotten he was Darius Hastings. It was time to put the mask on once more, though he knew they’d all die if he slipped fully into the role of the rich, spoiled young senator. Instead, Andrew decided to temper the persona a bit with his own training as a special agent of Jericho. It was probably the only chance he had of getting out of the prison alive.

  The door slid open. “Move,” Jack ordered, and the first two men, whom Andrew assumed to be Sid and Jose, breached the command and control room and began shooting as cries filled the air. Jack and the rest of his men followed quickly behind. Andrew came last, his weapon up and ready. He scanned the room for any signs of a threat, but Sid and Jose were apparently very good at their job. Every prison guard who’d been in the room was dead from perfectly placed gunshots straight through the heart. It was an impressive display of shooting by anyone, and Andrew began to wonder just how well trained the Seiji clan soldiers were, and how the DIB had taken them down so easily before.

  The command and control room was larger than Special Projects, with a door on each side of the circular-shaped room. A quick inspection showed two of the doors led to Wing C and Wing D, which Andrew took to mean they were different paths to the general population of prisoners. The door he’d just exited wasn’t marked with anything but a black triangle, while the final door had “Admin” above it. Each door was solidly built and lacked any glass or viewing capabilities, which Andrew found odd. Looking at the interior glass area of the command and control room, he understood why.