The Suns of Liberty (Book 3): Republic

by Michael Ivan Lowell

  And he had to get to one of those suits.

  But he’d never make it there. Not at this pace. He could feel the Guards closing in out there. Debris was flying everywhere. The building was coming apart.

  Reynolds leapt to his feet. Broke into a run. His artificial knees, souvenirs from his storied but short-lived career in the pros, kicked in. He zoomed down the corridor. Bionic muscle and pure, shit-fire adrenaline pumping through his veins.

  The bullets zinged by. Some miracle of chance allowed him to reach the weapons room alive and unscathed.

  “Jameson!” he yelled as he entered, but instantly his spirits crashed.

  The bullet-riddled body of the young scientist was sprawled across the floor. His two closest friends were dead.

  “No!” he heard himself groan, and a single tear streaked down his cheek.

  He blinked it away. He would have to do this on his own.

  But then his eyes widened. The kid had made it easy for him. An impact suit was laid out across the floor next to his corpse.

  The kid had put it into entry-mode. These suits were damn hard to put on and required at least two people, normally. But Jameson, in evidently his final act, had prepared it for the lieutenant.

  Reynolds made a beeline for it.

  It was the oddest-looking thing. Like the hollowed-out back-shell of a suit of armor. Dodging and ducking the incoming tracer fire, Reynolds was able to lay himself down in it, and the suit automatically closed in around him, unsheathing from the shell to form a tight cocoon of black titanium steel.

  As it closed in on him, he realized it wasn’t the standard-issue black like all the other impact suits he’d ever seen—it was navy blue. This suit had to be brand new.

  Reynolds wondered if Jameson had been planning on surprising him with it. Had he made it just for him in honor of his college days at Navy?

  Reynolds had been a star halfback in college. His bulky frame had meant the pros would use him as a fullback, but his favorite memories of the game were busting out long gallops for the Midshipmen.

  Jameson had enjoyed hearing the stories of those legendary games.

  The suit buzzed to life, and its on-board CPU linked to Reynolds’s own Neural Transmitter. He and the impact suit were now one.

  Reynolds rolled onto his side and glanced toward the wall. The suit’s green infrared/radar/sonar-scanning view kicked in like night vision, and he could see past the wall, see the Guardsmen approaching the building.

  Not that many, but all of them well armed with the laser pistols.

  He recognized their battle formation, and a plan of attack formed in his mind. He knew exactly where and how he would hit them, and just hoped he could outrun those damn bullets.

  And that’s when the Happy Birthday song started.

  The jingle danced across the helmet’s sound system. Just what he needed in the middle of a firefight!

  “Not now, Ricky!” Reynolds grumbled to himself.

  In his visor the suit’s HUD sizzled and the green vision faded away. Replaced by the smiling visage of young Jameson. “Okay, Ram,” Jameson’s voice said, as the kid constantly referred to him by his playing-days nickname, “this is the present I’ve been working on for you. Knew how you liked these things, so I just had to make this. Maybe you can keep it off budget until I can pay—” Reynolds thought-commanded the message away—he’d listen to it later—and as his visor cleared, two more bullets zinged just above his head.

  “Shit!” he yelped.

  He turned back, took one final glimpse at Jameson. “I’m sorry, kid.” His throat tightened, but he shook it off.

  He steeled his resolve and sucked in a deep breath.

  “Minutemen,” he said into the general com so that they all could hear. “This is Lieutenant Reynolds. Commander Rocco is down. I’m in charge now. I’ve got an impact suit, and I’ve got a plan. When I say go, I want you to exit out the south wall. You’re gonna find a hole in it there, ‘cause I’m gonna make one. When you get out, you come at those bastards with guns blazing. Give ‘em everything you’ve got. And then you get the hell outta here!”

  Reynolds took another breath. “Me? I’m gonna ram ‘em!” And with that, Reynolds rose to his feet, still scanning the outside with the suit’s scanner…

  And charged.

  Just before he smashed through the first of four walls he heard the roar echo through the facility as the Minutemen reacted to his words. It was a collective war cry.

  Roderick “The Ram” Reynolds blasted though the south wall and hit the Council Guard like a wrecking ball in a bowling alley. Reynolds had timed it so that the Guards had no chance to fire before he was on them. His speed and force of impact crushed their bones to jelly inside the light infantry armor they wore. He made a clean pass straight through them, and when he was done, he circled back and came at them from the rear.

  It was then that he felt the first of many laser-bullets rip through his armor and puncture his skin. But the momentum, the anger, the pure speed was keeping him going.

  The suit was reaching five hundred miles per hour. He was like a streaking missile the Guardsmen couldn’t target, smashing through their lines.

  The entire attack force on the southern side turned toward him, and when they did, the remaining Minutemen who were healthy enough to escape came pouring out of the hole Reynolds had made.

  The suit was the weapon, but it was Reynolds’s expert use of it that made it nearly unstoppable.

  The Minutemen poured out of the compound in droves as Reynolds provided them cover. He couldn’t outrun the near-light-speed velocity of the bullets, but he could outrun the Guards’ aim.

  All the while, the building was rapidly emptying of the surviving Minutemen troops.

  Finally, the Guard-in-Command had seen enough. He ordered the Council troops to level the compound with a strategic application of a dozen or so projectile grenades.

  Reynolds made a sweep into some brush just behind the Guards and roared back at them from behind. He passed through in a haze of pink as the bodies erupted.

  He spun the suit around with his back to the compound, dirt spraying up from beneath his heels, and burst forward straight into another line of Guards when—BOOM!

  The massive simultaneous grenade blasts erupted behind him.

  He felt like it was fourth and ten and he’d just been punted.

  The kinetic energy of the blast took him off his feet and propelled him up and over the remaining Council forces. He activated the boot jets in the suit and launched into the sky. He cleared the tree line, up above the rural fields and farms, before the charge ran its course—and then smashed through the top of a very full grain silo.

  From the ground, the hole he made could not be seen. Which was probably why the Council search team that scoured the area for survivors and the wounded never thought to check the silo.

  Inside it, a barely conscious Reynolds bled profusely into the golden wheat around him. He tried his com again. Tried to reach the general. Tried to reach COR.

  Nothing. Still blocked.

  Lying on his side, he let his helmeted head drop into the grain. He watched crimson seep into the yellow—the golden wheat mound all around him—as his eyes grew dim.

  Blackness fell.

  CHAPTER 10

  NORRISTOWN, PA

  The man called Lantern entered his room, closed the door, and stripped off his sweat-stained shirt. The makeshift gym they had here was not what he was used to, but anyone motivated enough could get a decent workout wherever they were, Lantern knew. He stepped into his small bathroom and flipped on the shower. Lantern didn’t mind the cramped quarters; he didn’t need much space.

  What he did need was solitude.

  He unbuckled his belt, unzipped his pants, and dropped them to the floor. When he went to slide down his boxers a voice startled him.

  “A-hem.”

  The voice was female. It could belong to only one person.

  There goes
the solitude. “I’ve asked you not to do that.”

  Rachel Dodge materialized on the other side of the main room, near his computer console. “Well, if we’re going to be working together so closely I figured I needed to check out your...credentials...a little closer, Diego”

  Lantern frowned. “Please don’t call me that.”

  Rachel’s eyes traveled slowly south, down his muscled, sweaty, lean form, to linger at the crotch of his boxers. “Why not? Your Alvarez looks pretty impressive from here.”

  “I’m not Ward, you can drop the act.”

  “Fine,” she said sharply. “But I really don’t know why you don’t like to be called Diego Alvarez. It is your real name, and we all know it.”

  “Drayger doesn’t.”

  “He isn’t here.” Rachel’s eyes narrowed with understanding. “You’re ashamed of who you were, aren’t you?” It wasn’t really a question.

  In any case, Lantern didn’t answer. He just continued to glare at her with his pained expression.

  She strolled over and took a seat in his small living room. “Those were some dark days. I quit the Agency too. No harm in that. The place became a den of snakes. Still—”

  Lantern sighed. “I’m going to take a shower, and then you’re going to tell me what you found out about Rage and that machine.”

  “Way to assume I just spend my time sneaking around spying on everyone. We only came up with that plan yesterday.”

  “Haven’t you been?”

  Rachel rolled her eyes sheepishly. “A little.”

  Lantern smirked and closed the door.

  Rachel heard the shower curtain open and then close. A moment later she heard the shower curtain slide open again. Wet footsteps slopped on the floor, and she heard the door handle make a small...

  Click.

  Smart man, she thought with a grin.

  After Lantern had showered and changed into fresh clothes he unlocked the door and stepped out to find Rachel sipping one of his beers, having clearly raided his fridge. She grinned at him and pulled out a fresh cigar from a small white hip sack Lantern hadn’t even noticed her wearing before.

  “Don’t even think about it,” he said.

  “Too late.”

  “This is going to be very dangerous, Rachel. You might want to get serious.”

  “There you go again, L, assuming that I’m not being serious.” She rolled her eyes and stuffed the cigar back in the hip sack.

  Lantern strode over to his console and brought up a 3D, real-time scan of the room Scarlett and Spectral were staying in. The duo were seated on Scarlett’s bed very close to each other.

  “You ever find it creepy how that big thing follows her around like a puppy dog?”

  “We don’t know Spectral’s full capacity for detection,” Lantern said. “The Council knows about you. It could have motion detectors. I still think it’s easier to send the Hollow.”

  “Why haven’t you sent that thing in already?”

  Lantern smirked and punched a few more codes into the computer. “Here’s all the data the Hollow has retrieved on them in the last twenty-four hours.”

  Rachel giggled. “Once a spy...” Then her eyes went wide. “Hey, does the general know you’re doing this?”

  Lantern shook his head. “He gave instructions not to disturb them,” he said, then arched his eyebrows. “I knew what he meant.”

  “Look at you, breaking orders and everything. Maybe you are ready for a bad girl now, handsome.”

  Lantern ignored her.

  She wasn’t ready to let this go. “I’m shocked. I thought you were ‘yes, sir-this’ and ‘yes, sir-that.’” She punched him in the arm. “My mistake,” she said, nodding her approval.

  Lantern glared at her sideways. “Pay attention.”

  A few more keystrokes and a room-sized Digi-sphere display exploded in computerized aqua blue all around them.

  “Fuck me,” Rachel said, peering all about. “Is this what I think it is?”

  They were standing in the middle of a miniature recording of the entire arena of battle at the Hall of Chambers in Philadelphia.

  “I’ve gathered all of the satellite recordings of that day and edited them down to just the most interesting moments for those two.”

  “What do you mean interesting?” Rachel asked.

  Lantern turned and strode to the center of the room. Right in front of him was a freeze-frame aqua-blue image of the members of the Legion standing on the roof of the Green Dragon Tavern. Deep inside, underground, was the secret lair known as the Hall of Chambers.

  “Look here.” Lantern pointed to the miniature versions of Scarlett and Spectral, who were standing right in front of their faces in the scan. Lantern sent a thought-command to let the image run, and like a movie coming off of freeze-frame, the action started.

  Scarlett shouted something to Lithium, who was about to exit down the door off the roof. Lithium spun back to her, and she pointed out toward three giant Spores that, at present, were heading out across Lantern’s living room near the front door of his quarters. On the recording they were homing in on the Resistance attack force that was disembarking from the helicopters on the interstate. I-95 was off the grid of the recording—somewhere out in the hallway had the scan extended that far, Rachel thought. But she could tell what was happening well enough.

  “Now, watch closely.”

  On the recording, Scarlett pointed out toward the Spores, and seconds later, the Spores fell.

  Rachel gasped. “She could sense when they were going to be disabled. She tried to warn him! If she was really on our side, why would she do that?” Rachel asked skeptically.

  Lantern shot her a sly glance. “That’s what I thought. Watch again.” He played it back, but this time the scan picked up a new frequency. It was shooting out from her form. On the scan, the frequency was bright white. It made contact with the Spores, and they fell. Completely inoperable.

  “Shit! It was her! She disabled them!”

  Lantern nodded with a grin.

  On the recording, Scarlett turned toward the other direction and did it again. Three more fell.

  “She was telling the truth. She really was John’s secret weapon!” Rachel exclaimed.

  “Apparently.”

  Rachel grinned. “Well, I guess that makes some sense then.”

  Lantern shot her a suspicious glance, like he was wondering how many times she’d snuck into the duo’s quarters. She knew he was on to her. Lantern was too smart to think she only had a habit of sneaking into his room.

  “Why? What did you hear?” he asked her.

  “Nothing. Well, not nothing—I mean, I thought I had daddy issues!”

  Lantern just stared at her flatly. Not something he wanted to know more about, clearly.

  “She’s not looking to reunite with Papa Bear Rage, let’s put it that way.”

  “Her father is the most dangerous terrorist on the planet.”

  “He’s not gonna win father of the year either, I can tell ya that much!” Rachel sighed. “But there was nothing damaging. Mostly she vented.”

  “About what?”

  “You name it. Us, this place, daddy, the Council, daddy again. She’s not a happy camper. And she’s a crier. Every time I’ve been in there.” Rachel cocked her head at him and placed her hand on her hip. “Do you know that thing gave her a massage while I was there? If you ask me, she’s not got it so bad.” Rachel arched an eyebrow mischievously. “Wonder what else it does for her?”

  Lantern scowled. “Stay on topic, please.”

  “The topic being that there doesn’t seem to be any evil master plan. And that the robot seems to be there to cater to her every need.”

  Lantern nodded. “No reason not to trust them.” Then he scrunched up his mouth. “But the Council’s fooled me before.” He sighed. “We need to stay on it. Unofficially.”

  Rachel pointed to the screen. The duo were headed toward the door of their room, where an armed Minute
man was waiting to escort them to wherever they had requested to go. “I’m going in right now. Can you keep track of them and let me know when they are returning?”

  “Will do,” Lantern said, turning toward his consoles. “What do you want me to tell Ward?”

  “Ward?” Rachel asked. “He doesn’t know about this.”

  “I mean...” Lantern was not sure how to ask what he was thinking. “Won’t he want you back at his place at some point?”

  Rachel did not like what he was insinuating, and for some reason she could feel the heat on her face. “Let’s get this straight,” she shot back at him, “I’m not any man’s possession. I do whatever I want, with whoever I want, whenever I want.”

  Lantern was visibly thrown by the sharpness of her tone. “Sorry, I just thought...you know...the whole...sex kitten...” he stammered.

  Crap. Had he just said sex kitten out loud?

  He braced for impact...

  But Rachel softened. “Well, that just goes to show, if you’d actually just pay a little attention to me”—she let the little girl voice return—“you’d get to know me.” She turned on her heels and stepped out into the hallway like a runway model on the catwalk.

  WILLOW GROVE, PA.

  Roderick Reynolds awakened feeling queasy. The blood that had seeped out of his many bullet wounds had long since dried up. His vision was blurry. As his mind slowly cleared away its cobwebs, one thought dominated.

  Why the hell am I still alive?

  Somehow the suit itself had cauterized his wounds, and he could see a readout in his HUD of various antibiotics and painkillers being applied to the injury sites. One to the left side of his chest, missing both his heart and lungs. Two more to both arms and one to each leg. It also included a warning that he needed to receive immediate medical assistance.

  Fortunately, all of the bullets had passed clean through, and none of them seemed to have permanently damaged the suit’s system—the only thing keeping him alive right now or out of so much pain he would not have been able to function. The only adverse effect he could see was that the readout in his HUD went fuzzy and turned sideways for a split second every now and then, but only for a split second, and never enough that he couldn’t read it.