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

by Jason Hutt

  “Now, with the advent of the ability to transplant the human mind from one brain to another, just as you were copying a file from one location to another, we are on the verge of conquering death. No longer are we held back by the crude trappings of our slowing biological processes. Everything that makes an individual unique can be preserved and passed on and the brain can be replaced just as simply as a heart or a kidney.

  “Imagine if we still had the creativity of Michelangelo, the inventiveness of Da Vinci, the intelligence of Einstein, the diplomacy of Churchill, or the wit of Wilhelm. Where would the human race be if we could maintain the expertise of the greats who came before us? How much farther and quicker could we have advanced if Goddard could have collaborated with Einstein, with Hawking, or with Leveau?

  “Thanks to the incredible work of the Marshall Conglomerate that tantalizing possibility will now be a reality.”

  The room burst into applause again as Hunter walked over and patted Marshall’s CEO Cera Kranz on the shoulder. Maria struggled to not vomit all over the table. Instead, she took a quick sip of water and then made a quick exit out of the ballroom and onto the balcony.

  She stared out into the night, at the ever-present lights of the buildings around them, through the golden glow of the atmospheric field, and at the faint pinpricks of stars visible through the field. The wind whipped across the balcony and Maria felt a slight chill. She breathed deep and enjoyed the cool burst of air in her lungs.

  Footsteps approached from behind her. “Is this where I can find the table for pariahs?”

  Maria offered Admiral Dorn a half-smile.

  “I’m glad you made it,” Maria said, “You look tired.”

  “We just got in a couple hours ago. It’s been eventful.” The Admiral handed Maria a champagne glass and Maria accepted it with a bit of reluctance. “Despite the circumstances, I assume you’re still celebrating the news.”

  “I should be…I should be ecstatic.”

  “Come now, Maria, this will all blow over.”

  “Thank you, Admiral-”

  “I’m not sure that title is appropriate any more. How about just Monique?”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “I will be placed on leave tomorrow, pending the completion of the investigation into the report filed by Commander Akimbe.”

  Maria’s jaw dropped.

  “The security of the shipping lanes in that section of the Republic falls under my authority. I was the officer in charge. If what he says is true, and I have little reason to believe it isn’t, then I will bear the blame.”

  “Maybe we should have sat at the same table after all,” Maria said.

  Dorn laughed. “Yes, everybody’s getting dirty on this one. My entire command is under investigation. My staff has threatened to walk out if the Chiefs go through with this, but they’ll come to terms in due time. It seems I’ve finished my last command for the Republic.”

  Maria just shook her head. “You seem to be taking it in stride.”

  “Years of practice. You can’t let your troops see you get rattled by bad news – doesn’t inspire confidence. Don’t be fooled though, deep inside I’ve gone supernova. I just hide it well.”

  “You can’t tell by looking at you.”

  “Rage is a weakness, causes you to overextend, make bad decisions, and compounds the initial problem. I’ve learned to take it out in other ways.”

  “What will you do? Is there a Mr. Dorn out there somewhere?”

  “No. I came to the conclusion long ago that any attachments would be a detriment to my career goals. Attachment can be viewed as a weakness for someone in my position. Admiral Dorn is made of tempered steel; she doesn’t have a heart, in the center of her chest are a few finely-tuned gears.”

  Maria laughed.

  Monique drank what remained in her glass. “But here we are at the President’s Ball. Now is not the time for lamenting our failures. Now is the time for celebration, for drinking and dancing. For watching which Senator sneaks off with which aid. For watching lobbyists latch on to their public servants, leaching every last ounce of rectitude from the spineless bodies of their elected representatives, present company excluded of course.”

  “I don’t know that I should be,” Maria said.

  “So, does that mean there’s something to the allegations I’ve heard?”

  “When those inspection teams land, it’ll be the end of Demeter,” Maria said, “I saw enough on my last visit…Cillian was desperate…people are starving. I couldn’t believe what I saw. I’ve been pushing for more security out there, more regulations, more enforcement.”

  Maria just shook her head as she looked out into the night. She fought back emotions that simmered just below the surface.

  “I’ve hung myself here. I thought I was coming here to make the Republic better, to look out for people and now, well…I don’t know what to think.”

  “It’s easy to know who your enemy is in wartime,” Monique said, “It’s much harder when they hide behind a smile and a handshake.”

  “We’re a fine pair, aren’t we? Disgraced and about to be dismissed.”

  “What will happen to you?” Monique asked.

  “Depends on how benevolent Hunter is feeling. Once they strip me of my seat, they could let me fade into oblivion. I have a feeling though that they’d rather put my head on a pike in front of the Capitol.”

  “Well, there’s something to be said for going out with dignity and grace,” Monique said, “On the other hand, sometimes it’s better to really raise hell and let them know you’ll fight to the bitter end.”

  Chapter 17

  Word arrived of Max’s capture just as Hannah entered the sparring room. Reggie’s report filtered in over her earpiece as she approached Ironheart, who stood facing her, arms clasped behind his back.

  “I assume you’ve heard the news?” Ironheart asked.

  Hannah nodded. “This doesn’t change anything.”

  “You understand your focus. I can’t risk you becoming sidetracked and trying to get him out.”

  “Not something you need to worry about,” Hannah said, “He got what he wants. He’ll rot there for the rest of his life. Whether that’s a month, a year, or ten years, I don’t really care.”

  “Look, I understand things aren’t great between you two, but he is your father and I-”

  “He’s as much my father as you are,” she said, carefully stressing each syllable, “He’d rather I didn’t exist. Now, can we get on with this? Where’s the instructor?”

  “I am the instructor,” Ironheart said as he held his hands out and bowed. “We’re a little short-handed. Regardless, the less you know about our operation, the better.”

  “Don’t trust me either?”

  “Do this job, come back alive, and maybe I’ll trust you. Given the target, this is prudence more than anything else. If they pick you up, you’ll have little to tell them. They already know who I am; the rest, well, I’d prefer they didn’t find out. You should know though, that if you are captured, it’s likely my contact will try to have you eliminated,” Ironheart said, watching her reaction.

  Hannah frowned a bit and cast her eyes at the floor. “I understand,” she said, “I won’t get caught.”

  “Good,” he said, “Now, let’s see what we can do to make sure your confidence is backed up by your actions.”

  Ironheart approached Hannah and moved in for some attacks that were not intended to injure. They went back and forth, her blocking most of his thrusts with ease. As the session wore on, her mind wandered. She thought of Max being led away in cuffs.

  How could he leave me here? How could he just abandon me?

  Ironheart punched and Hannah dodged.

  What the hell was wrong with him? Why did he just quit on me?

  Ironheart swept his leg and Hannah jumped.

  He’s an asshole.

  Ironheart left himself open. Hannah threw a punch with her right, but it was a feint and
Ironheart went with the punch. He grabbed Hannah’s arm, pulled her toward him, and mashed his elbow across her nose. She screamed and blood started trickling out.

  “Pay attention,” he yelled. “You need to keep your focus.”

  “Gah, you asshole, that hurt,” she said, wiping the tears in her eyes.

  “You can’t afford to be distracted, Hannah. If you can’t tune that anger out, you’re going to miss something and you’re going to fail. You’ll be caught and then you can spend your days meeting up with daddy in the exercise yard until they decide to execute one or both of you.”

  Hannah shook her head. “I’m not going to end up like him.”

  “Then put it out of your head and focus on what we’re doing.”

  “I will.”

  “We’ll pick up when you do.”

  “What am I supposed to do now?” She asked.

  Ironheart shrugged. “Go have a drink. We’ll pick up in the morning. Get it out of your system and come back to me with a clear head. We’ll start the day with incapacitation techniques and getting into your gear.”

  “I’m fine,” she said, “Can we just continue?”

  “You’re not fine,” Ironheart said, “And we’ll pick up in the morning.”

  She stood and stared as he walked away, blood covering her nose and chin, her hand with a white-knuckled grip on the staff. She shook her head in frustration and left the room, heading straight to the maintenance closet that served as her quarters and cleaned up with a sonic shower. She didn’t want to go have a drink, she wasn’t that person. She wasn’t Max.

  She hated Max. Max left her here and walked into a trap. Max left her with nothing and nowhere to go. The Republic had ripped her family, her life away. The Republic took away the last person in the galaxy that cared if she lived or died. After twenty minutes of lying on her bunk, Hannah got up and marched to the Phantom’s bar.

  The place was about a quarter full, but still noisy, dark, and emanating a dozen different flavors of stench from walls and floor that likely hadn’t been cleaned since the ship rolled off the assembly line. She ordered a beer, it was either that or whiskey, and sat at a table by herself. At the table to her right, a group of three young men and one woman were playing some game on the tabletop that Hannah couldn’t see.

  Every now and then someone whooped, until something happened that made the youngest chug his drink. The rest of the table cheered him on, banging their fists and mugs against the table as he emptied the glass. He slammed the empty mug on the table and pitched backward, landing on the floor at Hannah’s feet.

  His companions erupted with laughter and even Hannah cracked a smile.

  “Are you okay?” Hannah asked.

  He gave her a lopsided grin and said, “I’m doing just fine. The view’s actually quite nice from here.”

  Hannah rolled her eyes but offered a hand to help him up. As he got up, he ran his fingers up the outside of her thigh. Hannah’s smile dropped, she pulled him forward with a jerk, and slammed her head into his nose.

  “Ah, what the fuck?” He yelled as he held his hand over nose, trying in vain to catch the blood that was now pouring down his face. The laughter from his table abruptly died.

  “Don’t touch me again, asshole.”

  “Pistol’s a bit of a jackass, Miss, but he’s harmless. Didn’t mean nothing,” said the oldest of the bunch.

  Hannah stood there, waiting for the kid to make another move. Her lower lip quivered and her weight shifted to the ball of her back foot.

  “Miss,” the old man said.

  Hannah didn’t hear him. She took a sudden step forward, swept her leg, dropped the kid onto his back and brought her closed fist down on his face. Someone in the back of the room shouted. The kid’s three companions were now out of their chairs.

  Hannah didn’t wait for them to strike. She pivoted and cracked the lone woman who had been at the table across the jaw with her elbow, grabbed the other young man at the table by the shoulders, drew him closer, kneed him in the groin, and delivered a head-butt to the bridge of his nose. She swept her leg trying to knock the larger old man off his balance, but her leg struck what felt like a steel beam. She winced.

  “Greetings,” he said, “The name’s Stump.” He picked Hannah off the floor by the scruff of her shirt and held her in the air. Hannah dug her fingers into his forearms but couldn’t break his grip and in the next moment, she was flying across the room. She landed amidst clangs and clatters as a table, two chairs, and several mugs went flying. A blossom of hot fire erupted on her lower back. She scrambled to her feet, ready to charge. Stump stood waiting for her, motioning her forward.

  “Enough!” The yell came from Ironheart, his roar deafeningly loud, as the room lights went to full bright, and a piercing shriek filled the air. After a couple of seconds of all the bar patrons scrambling to cover their eyes and ears, the lights and sounds returned to normal. “Are you finished, Hannah?”

  She stood, chest heaving as she gulped air, sweat running down her face. “Yes,” she said, “I’m finished here.”

  Stump gave her a grin that suggested he would be happy to do this again some other time. Hannah locked eyes with him, not willing to back down. Ironheart stepped between them.

  “I think you should go get some rest,” Ironheart said.

  Her jaw quivered as she looked around from patron to patron. They were all tensed, braced for whatever she would do next. She breathed deep and unclenched her fists. She nodded at Ironheart, then turned on her heels and left.

  Hannah returned to the training room the next morning with a large red lump on her shin. Ironheart was already there, standing before a table filled with assorted equipment. He was sorting through a small kit as she walked up behind them. He held out his hand and in the center was a small patch.

  “No thanks,” Hannah said, “The pain is a good reminder not to be stupid.”

  “That’s nice,” Ironheart said, “But the welt is an identifying mark. Use this to get rid of it.”

  “Okay,” Hannah said.

  “It is important that you do nothing to stand out, that you act normal, that you act like you belong. That goes from what you say, how you say it, and how you act when you’re saying it. This isn’t a long con. You get in, you get the job done, you get out.”

  Hannah nodded. “Look, about the fight…”

  “I don’t care, Hannah. Fights happen around here from time-to-time, just like any other group, but anyone who is a continuous problem either ends up dead or soon learns just how tough it is to be out on one’s own.”

  “I understand.”

  “Good. First things first, you need a codename. It won’t due to have everyone calling you by your real name. You don’t need or want the notoriety. How about…”

  “Shadow,” Hannah said.

  Ironheart gave her a smile. “Not bad. That’ll do. All right, Shadow, we’ve only got a couple more days of prep time for this. We’re going to go through gear, cultural, and mission training. We’ll do some flash training. It doesn’t give you the muscle memory or instinct from actual practice repetitions, but it’ll give you a foundation to start from.”

  Over several hours they reviewed the ins-and-outs of false ID chips, proximity triggers, secure comm protocols, local slang, stealth suits, local greetings, and a dozen other things that left Hannah’s head spinning. When she finally returned to her quarters, her muscles ached and her head felt like knowledge would pour out if she turned her head to the side.

  She laid down and started replaying everything Ironheart had demonstrated on the contacts she now wore. Her eyes darted back and forth and she reviewed topic after topic. She was in the middle of the review of slap patches when she fell asleep with a smile on her face.

  ***

  The world around Max moved in an incomprehensible blur. Since the moment the sentry put its cold rigid clamps around his biceps, he had been passed from robot-to-robot or robot-to-person and back. He was pushed, prodded
, stuck with needles, scanned inside and out, as he moved from from room to room on Ceres. All the while, his handlers gave him looks of smug satisfaction as they elicited painful reactions from Max with a pinch here, a jab of the needle there, and a grip that was just a bit to firm on his elbow.

  Max was the main attraction of the three-ring circus, with lawyers, pundits, and politicians providing the sideshow, while vast crowds lined up to heckle him as he was paraded around in front of the public. Max had never seen so many people gathered to watch a shuttle land. Even before the prison transport’s landing ramp descended, he could hear the buzz of the crowd. A swarm of cameras hovered above the crowds and a legion of reporters raised their arms and shouted questions. Max passed through the gauntlet toward what he hoped was a gallows and a quiet finish to it all.

  He had expected to be put under, to be given the sweet release of unconsciousness so they could extract every last detail from his mind and drift through an eternal slumber not knowing if he would ever be re-awakened. Now he wondered if they just wanted to make sure that he knew that the whole of the Republic reviled him.

  A squad of eight flesh and blood Republic soldiers accompanied him on the return trip to Earth. The leader of the security detail had looked at him throughout the trip with nothing less than raging-hot contempt as she roughly moved Max along. The rest of the squad would only look at him impassively, with little hint of the hatred or revulsion they felt. But when they opened their mouths to give him a terse order, he could hear the threat in their voices.

  People in the crowd had held signs asking for his death or worse. They had shouted at him in spittle-loosing diatribes as their faces flushed with enough anger that their heads quivered and eyes bulged. Somebody threw something at him. A small rock caught him in the temple, drawing blood. Security drones converged on the spot and pushed the crowd back.

  Max was ushered to a waiting aircar. Trees lined the landing platform and Max stole one last glance at them as they swayed in the breeze. He breathed deep and a myriad of smells assaulted his senses, so different from the recycled air of spaceships that always contained a hint of the purifying agents that scrubbed the air. He tried to tune out the shouts of the crowd, but it was impossible to not feel the hate.