Pursuit of the Guardian (Children of the Republic Book 2)

by Jason Hutt

  “Governor Murphy, immediately,” she said.

  “We already contacted him. He’s on his way.”

  “Tell him it’s urgent.”

  Maria laid back and rested her head in her hands.

  Cillian came tearing into the room, his chest heaving and sweat pouring down his face. He held onto the doorframe for dear life as he double over. Maria’s eyes widened at the sight.

  “Oh, thank God,” he said, “I thought you were dying or something.”

  Maria smiled. “I am, but only in frustration. I need to be able to get out of this bed. I need to get back to Earth.”

  “Your shuttle is standing by, ready when you are.”

  “That’s good, but I need something else.”

  “What?”

  “An investigator you trust,” Maria said, “Completely. An investigative unit is on their way, but I want someone else looking at this. Someone who will report only to me. Can you do that?”

  “I will. Give me a day, though,” Cillian said. “What are you going to do?”

  “I have to get back. I’ve got three weeks to build up enough opposition to the FPA to vote it down. Otherwise, I think I’ve just lost everything. I can’t spend any more time here. That slimy, two-faced sonofabitch used this to push me out of the way. I could kill him.”

  Chapter 10

  Akimbe marched onto the bridge of his new command. His meeting with his new captain had been mercifully brief. Boulina was competent enough, though wholly uninspiring. He was like so many Akimbe had come across who seemed to be retired-in-place, grinding out the days until they could retire or die. If Admiral Dorn thought that by putting him out here, that she’d be sweeping him out of the way, then he would happily prove her wrong.

  In Akimbe’s walk from his quarters, he counted seven stains from leaking pipes, worn paint on the corners of twenty-seven panels that had been removed and reinstalled too many times, and a slight wiggle in five deck plates that no longer fit snugly together.

  The Churchill was old, its crew was lax, and discipline and attention-to-detail seemed to have taken a permanent vacation. An older lieutenant stepped toward him with a lopsided grin, his uniform straining to contain his bulk. His white undershirt was exposed at the man’s waistline.

  “I am ready to be relieved, Commander,” he said.

  “That you are,” Akimbe responded.

  “Tell me, Lieutenant Morgan,” Akimbe said, “How many ships have passed through this inspection point today?”

  “Uh…let’s see,” Morgan said checking his log, “Two.”

  “And you had to look that up?”

  Morgan’s grin turned uneasy. “Sorry, sir, I’m a bit tired. Never did sleep well on third shift.”

  “How many years have you been a Lieutenant?”

  “Sixteen, sir.”

  “And have you always been this slovenly while on duty?”

  Morgan’s smile disappeared completely. He put down the cup of coffee he’d been holding and started to tuck in his shirt. “Sorry, sir, I’ve slacked on my PE time lately.”

  Akimbe grinned without a glimpse of good humor. “For about the last ten years, I’d say. Lieutenant, you are relieved. In fact, you are hereby transferred to maintenance. I catalogued fifty-three deficiencies in the maintenance of this ship as I walked from my quarters to the bridge. I want to see a comprehensive plan for fixing each of those issues by the end of your next shift as well as a detailed report on any other deficient items that I didn’t happen to come across.”

  “You can’t do that,” Morgan complained, “Regulations state that shifts will run no longer than twelve hours. I’ll file a formal-”

  “You can file as many complaints as you would like, Lieutenant. I am in charge of this ship and you will remove you’re tired, lackadaisical, unkempt self from this bridge and do as I say. You may file a formal protest and in two months when the bureaucracy finally catches up with your complaint, you will have either come around or I will have fired you out of the damned airlock.”

  Morgan’s face turned beet red as he stood there.

  “Move Lieutenant,” Akimbe ordered, “You’re already late for the start of your shift.”

  His mouth dropped open to protest, but Akimbe didn’t wait for his next plaintive protest. Akimbe brushed past him to the center of the bridge. The eyes of the seven crewmembers manning their consoles were now firmly fixed on him.

  “Ensign Themba,” Akimbe said, addressing the young woman closest to him, “Remind me, what is our mission?”

  “To protect the shipping lanes of the Republic, sir,” she reported.

  “How many ships have passed through this point in the past seven days?”

  “Fifteen, sir,” she responded immediately.

  “How many crew are aboard this ship?”

  “I’m not sure, sir.”

  “Surprising, but understandable,” Akimbe said, “Where is the XO?”

  “Here, sir,” a young man stepped forward and stood at attention.

  “Can you answer the question?”

  “Eighty-eight, sir.”

  “Eighty-eight men and women in the employ of the Republic inspecting fifteen ships over a seven day period.”

  “To be accurate, sir, only two ships were fully inspected. The rest passed through with only a cursory inspection.”

  “Even better,” Akimbe said. “Can anyone tell me how many attacks have been made against Republic transports in the past twelve months?”

  The crew stared at him. Akimbe waited ten seconds.

  A nervous young woman at the communications console spoke up. “A hundred, sir?”

  “What is your name?” Akimbe asked.

  “Merloni, sir.”

  “Thank you, Ensign Merloni, for being brave enough to venture a guess. There is no shame in being wrong, so long as you learn from your errors. No, there have been two hundred and seventy-eight incidents in the past year, slightly less than one per day. Yet we sit here, camped at this lonely jump beacon, waiting for the bad men to come to us. Well, I will not sit here and allow our senses to be dulled by unending drudgery. Where is Analytics?”

  “Here, sir,” a young man said as he stood up.

  Akimbe read his name plate. “Ensign…Girardi, roughly forty of the attacks in the past year are suspected to have been the work of individuals or small groups of people, the isolated acts of desperate people. However, the majority of attacks are believed to have been perpetrated by larger, more coordinated organizations. Those are the organizations we must target.

  “I want you and your team to start sifting through all available data. Organizations require supplies, organizations communicate. They must use the same infrastructure that we do. They jump through wormholes created by the same jump beacons we use. They require resources just as we do. I want you and your team cross-referencing ship registries with jump records, incident reports, manifest records, and anything else that may allow us to determine how these organizations move about and elude capture. Do you understand?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “You have a question?”

  “I just don’t understand what we can find that analysts back home can’t.”

  Akimbe stared at the young man who immediately started fidgeting. Akimbe took a step forward. “Too many of our brethren have become complacent. Too many of us, like Lieutenant Morgan, have fattened up over the years and turned a blind eye to the degradation of our Republic. We must return to vigilance and do our duty with utmost attention to detail. If we always assume that someone else will do the job, why have us out here at all?”

  “Yes, sir. I’m sorry, sir.”

  “Do not apologize. Just do your job.”

  Akimbe lay in his bed, holding his eyes closed for several minutes as he counted from one to one hundred over and over again. He tossed from one side to the other. He finally gave up looked at the clock. With a sigh, he sat up and rested his elbows on his knees, lacing his fingers together. Thoughts
ran through his mind that could not be quieted.

  He got out of bed and donned his uniform. The corridors of the ship were quiet, only a skeleton crew remained awake for the third shift. As he walked the corridor, Akimbe was pleased to note that two of the loose panels he stepped on in the morning had already been replaced.

  He slipped into his office unnoticed and sat at the console. He activated the display and started flipping through the ship’s telemetry screens, checking bits of data he knew were automatically monitored. Everything was nominal, which he already knew, or else he wouldn’t have been in his quarters trying to sleep. He tapped his fingers on the console for a minute and scratched at his chin as he stared at the display.

  After a moment of staring at their position amidst the stars, he opened the display for the analytics console. He started pouring through the search parameters that his young officer had entered. He reviewed the data filters and logic statements that would hopefully allow them to chase their quarry, rather than sit here and wait for them to come to him. After the review, Akimbe made a mental note to commend the analytics team with an extra ration share; good work must be appropriately recognized.

  He drummed his fingers on the tabletop and then began composing a message.

  Roland,

  Hope all is well. My new command needs some work, but I think they’ll come around quickly.

  How goes the search? Please keep me updated on any progress. I can’t shake the feeling that this is a mistake. We must find them. It wouldn’t surprise me if Max went to ground at this point. He’s smart enough to lay low for a while. I have no idea what to expect from her.

  I’ll be keeping a lookout for any information on them as we patrol and as we sort through jump data. I’ve got our analytics team data mining the jump beacons. There’s got to be something that can help us.

  We need to shift our patrol patterns; we’re entirely too predictable.

  Safe Travels,

  Djimbe

  With nothing else to do, Akimbe pulled up a tactical simulation. After an hour of practicing combat maneuvers in a myriad of engagements, his eyelids felt heavy. He looked at the clock – there was still time for a little sleep.

  ***

  Hannah pulled the makeshift scarf tighter around her face as she walked through a field comprised of row upon row of a springy, orange moss. Her calves throbbed with each step; it had been a six-hour walk from where she put the Guardian down. She was thankful for the scratchy, tattered bit of fabric she had wrapped around her head; it was the only thing that kept her out of the intense mid-day sun.

  She cast a furtive glance behind her and quickly scanned the area. No one seemed to be following. Hannah checked her wrist computer. Her target was another mile away. She trudged onward, noting the four people who were busy working the field. They pulled up small clumps of the orange moss and put it in satchels slung over their shoulders. Hannah shook her head; she couldn’t imagine what religion drove these people to do this work by hand.

  Hannah sipped at a straw connected to a water bag that was strapped to her back. She hadn’t wanted the extra weight, but Reggie had insisted. She silently thanked the robot for his stubbornness.

  After ten minutes, she could make out a lone figure on hands and knees, filling up one of the shoulder bags with moss. Hannah hesitated a moment and looked around. She then double-checked her wrist computer. If it was right, this was the person she was looking for. Hannah walked up to about ten feet away and stopped.

  Hannah stood silently and watched the person work. There was no way to know if the person was really who Hannah needed her to be. The woman was covered head-to-toe, with no exposed skin.

  “Sundeep?” Hannah asked.

  The woman who had been working on her hands and knees started. The hand she was leaning on slipped and she fell into the dry dirt with a surprised gasp. She propped herself back up and wiped the dirt from her hands.

  “Yes,” she said, annoyed, “Who are you and why are you bothering me?”

  “Sundeep, did you live on Dust about ten years ago?”

  “Who are you with?” Sundeep asked angrily, “The government? Sector security? The press? Come to do another expose? Just leave me alone. I’ve paid the price for my past already.”

  Hannah lifted her goggles and unwound her scarf.

  “I’m not with any of them. We were friends once. I was hoping you would remember me. My name is Hannah Cabot.”

  Sundeep slowly got to her feet and pressed a spot on her shoulder. The hood of her coveralls peeled away and she stood staring at Hannah, mouth agape.

  Hannah braced for a response. She chided herself for not bringing Max’s old weapon.

  Sundeep ran at her with a smile and threw her arms around her neck.

  Hannah felt tears welling up as relief washed over her. She hugged the other woman fiercely.

  “What are you doing here?” Sundeep asked. Then she pulled back and a look of dread washed over her face. “You escaped. Did they get you? Is that why you’re here? What have they done to you?”

  “No,” Hannah said through blurry eyes, “They haven’t gotten me. At least, not yet.”

  “Then what are you doing here?” The red-skinned woman asked in hushed tones. “You shouldn’t be out here. They do patrols you know.”

  “I need help,” Hannah said with a sigh.

  “Come with me,” Sundeep said, “Let’s talk somewhere else.”

  Sundeep activated her suit and Hannah wrapped her head in the makeshift scarf. When they were covered, Sundeep grabbed Hannah’s hand and started leading her across the fields. They walked for another forty minutes or so before finally arriving at a small cluster of shacks nestled at the base of a small hill.

  Shacks may have been a generous term as, upon closer inspection, the small living spaces appeared to be sections of mismatched starship plating held together with straps, tape, and anything else the residents could get their hands on.

  “Welcome to my home,” Sundeep said as she shed the hood of her coveralls.

  Hannah looked around the ten-foot square shack. The walls rattled slightly as a breeze passed over them. There was no tile or flooring, simply hard dirt. Sundeep didn’t have much in the way of possessions – a bedroll, food warmer, and a small sack of clothing were the only things scattered through the small living space.

  “Pardon me for being rude, but I need to get out of these coveralls,” Sundeep said.

  Hannah took the hint and turned away. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw her old friend strip out of the tan worksuit. Hannah could see the outline of her ribs as she reached up and slipped into a brightly colored sarong.

  “Much better,” Sundeep said, “Now, come, please, and sit. It’s been so long. I have so many questions, but I cannot imagine you would come all this way for something trivial.”

  Hannah looked at Sundeep’s sunken cheeks and dark-rimmed eyes and tried to smile.

  “Have you seen the news lately?” Hannah asked.

  Sundeep shook her head. “I don’t have the energy for such things. Too depressing anyway.”

  “I’m not even sure where to begin,” Hannah said with a nervous smile. In truth, she felt silly for coming here, seeing Sundeep like this. How could she ask this person for anything?

  “Tell me what has become of everyone? I can’t believe it’s been ten years.”

  “There is no ‘everyone’,” Hannah said, staring at the floor, “The Republic caught up to us. Everyone who escaped has either been killed or captured.”

  “Oh my,” Sundeep said. “Your mother?”

  “Killed two weeks ago.”

  “I’m sorry, Hannah. You must be thankful for the time you had with her.”

  Hannah grimaced. “I am. Have you ever seen your parents since that day?”

  Sundeep shook her head. “I was young enough that the Republic decided I could be placed with a foster family. I’ve never seen or heard from them since. I don’t like to think about what
happened.”

  “I’m sorry,” Hannah said.

  “We all have our sorrows. Best not to dwell on them. You still haven’t answered my question. What brings you here?”

  A small, nervous laugh escaped Hannah’s lips. She opened her mouth to speak and hesitated. She shouldn’t have come. After a deep breath, she forced out what she came to say. “I will not run forever,” she said, “I want to fight back, but I can’t do it on my own. I was hoping you would help me, but I see that I would be asking too much.”

  Sundeep gave no reaction as Hannah spoke. Sundeep cast her gaze to the floor and when she looked back up, Hannah thought she saw the shimmer of tears forming in her eyes.

  “No one here has much love for the Republic” Sundeep said, “But no one here has the means to help you. You see us out there working the fields because we cannot afford the equipment required to do it for us.”

  “I see that,” Hannah said. A moment’s pause hung in the air between them. “Come with me.”

  “I could not,” Sundeep said with a shake of her head. “My parents, my foster parents, need me out there, working the fields. I couldn’t just leave them. They’re too old for this work.”

  Hannah nodded.

  “Hannah, I want to support you. I still seethe anytime I think about what they did to us. They ripped us from our families, tore us from loved ones, and divided us out like cattle. I was prodded and poked, studied, and finally deemed harmless. Then word leaked out that an ‘illegal’ was living here and…well, I can still hear the shouts of my father as he threatened them, making them leave. My foster family has always been kind to me. At first, I could see the sorrow in their eyes when they looked at me. They wanted to take me away from where I would be in the spotlight, so they brought me here. I cannot just abandon them.”

  “Would they fight?”

  “That moss we collect is the only source of food we have. It doesn’t taste like much, but it’s nutritious. And it’s one of the only things that will grow reliably in this blasted soil. The Conglomerate setup terraforming stations a decade ago. In ten years, this arid desert will be a grass-covered plain. They say that then, we’ll have more food than we can eat. Until then, we would not have the strength to fight.”