The Suns of Liberty (Book 3): Republic

by Michael Ivan Lowell

  The room they were in was essentially a long board room. The large round table at the center of the room did not have enough chairs, so many members sat along the sides in a second ring of seats, allowing the fifty members of COR to sit in something resembling their traditional circle, all facing each other.

  Livingston Roosevelt was the next to bolt from his chair. “We are debating this man’s promotion, not his expulsion! He also ended the raid at Willow Grove and saved hundreds of lives by taking on the Council Guard alone!”

  “In a suit one of his subordinates built using Resistance funds that were never approved by this body!” Rosalie shot back. “I move to amend the motion!”

  “With funds he himself probably provided. Shall we not forget that this man is also an important funding source to this very organization!” Roosevelt said.

  “So, we put him in charge of the Minutemen because he writes big checks?” Rosalie asked with a smirk.

  “That is not what I meant and you know it.”

  “Sounds like that’s what you meant,” someone shouted.

  Roosevelt’s red hair was being matched by his face, and he tried to contain himself. “This man has experience, he has know-how, he’s already been de facto running the Minutemen for weeks now, and he’s wielding an impact suit that can do things that I’ve never seen—”

  Rosalie cut him off. “Impact suits are a waste of money. They always end up killing the user sooner or later. They’re just death traps.”

  Roosevelt snapped. “Did you even see the footage? This one is different. I’ve done a good deal of study on this and—”

  Rosalie was having none of it. “It was built by unauthorized personnel with unauthorized resources that were needed elsewhere. That’s bad leadership. End of story.”

  Leslie was fed up with all the interruptions and breaches of decorum. “What is your amendment?” Leslie demanded.

  Rosalie clenched her jaw and nodded. “I move to amend the motion to strike the phrase “promoted to chief commander” and replace it with “relieved of all duties.”

  “Seconded,” another member shouted.

  Leslie was stunned.

  She and Roosevelt shared a wide-eyed stare before she regained her composure. “Relieving him of all duties is tantamount to kicking him out of the Minutemen. Surely—”

  “Yes, it is,” Rosalie said flatly.

  “You can’t be serious!” Roosevelt roared. “Half this assembly wants this man to lead the Minutemen, and you want him kicked out?”

  “I don’t know if I’d call it half,” Rosalie smirked. Confident.

  Roosevelt sat there with his mouth open. “I’ll take that challenge. Call the question.”

  “Seconded,” Rosalie said quickly.

  The members voted for the amendment, 27-22.

  Roderick “The Ram” Reynolds was a Minuteman no more.

  Later, Leslie had to break the news to Reynolds in a small lunch room just off of the debate hall. She feared Reynolds would explode in anger and vent his feelings with his usual unvarnished decorations. Maybe pound on a few vending machines, kick a few chairs. Lord knows he would have been justified. But instead he kept his cool—at least on the outside—listening without a word, standing stoic, arms crossed over his wide chest.

  His eyes told another story entirely.

  So Leslie got down to turning this defeat into the only useful outcome she could think of.

  “Rod, I need to ask a favor of you.”

  Reynolds rolled his eyes and shook his head as if to say, “Oh, of course you do!” He was still a statue.

  Leslie knew how angry he was, but she also knew he was not angry at her. “You can turn it down. I certainly wouldn’t blame you if you did. But I have a feeling this movement means more to you than just a bruised ego.”

  Reynolds was still fuming. He said nothing, but a twinkle in his eyes told Leslie he was listening. And that she was right—Reynolds could easily be living in his mansion with his two kids, far from the world of politics or the Resistance. Not having to move his kids from safe house to safe house. Not having to bankroll Resistance activities. All of that was his choice.

  “The Suns of Liberty have a couple of new members that I’m not sure we can trust. I need you to go there and watch them for me.”

  Reynolds loosened up a bit. “Spy on them? That’s not really my skill set.”

  “No, I mean join up.”

  “I’d be a member of the Suns of Liberty?”

  “Look, I can’t ask you to do this officially because I don’t have permission. COR is certainly not going to say yes, and the Revolution makes the final call, but if you go there on my recommendation I think he’ll accept you.”

  Reynolds began to pace. “Who are these newbies you’re sour on?”

  “Spectral and the Lady Rage.”

  Reynolds froze. “Oh.”

  Leslie locked eyes with him. “Are you game?”

  Reynolds snorted a breath and grinned. “Say I go out there and he lets me join the team. Would that let you rub Ms. Gone-With-The-Wind’s ass in it?”

  Leslie snorted. She liked that description of Rosalie.

  “It would.”

  Reynolds grinned broadly. “Put me in the game then, coach.”

  Leslie felt like shouting “Hell yeah!” and pumping her fist in the air. That would not be very dignified, though. Still, she couldn’t help but smile. Rosalie might have wanted to kick Reynolds out of the movement, but instead she’d allowed Leslie the chance to expand his role.

  She agreed with Roosevelt—she’d never seen an impact suit like Rod’s. That was not a weapon you just sat on the sidelines. No, that was something you rammed right into the heart of the enemy.

  And she planned to do so.

  “Take a few days, Rod. Get your things in order. Go see those kids of yours you’re so crazy about, and get them somewhere safe. After this, you will become infamous, and the Council will be gunning for you.”

  CHAPTER 25

  BOSTON HQ—SITUATION ROOM

  TWO HOURS LATER

  Ben Drayger held his breath.

  Just when he thought things couldn’t get any worse, Paris had dropped news on him that had sent him into a tailspin. And now, he knew that Rev was about to tell him some more.

  “There’s just no way we can do that,” Revolution stated flatly.

  Yep, he’d been right.

  Paris Starr-Drayger bolted up from her chair at the round table, planting herself directly in front of the Revolution, her face red. She didn’t like taking no for an answer, Drayger knew that for a fact. “Are you shittin’ me?” she shouted. “Bennie lost his leg for you! He saved your ass at Freedom Rise, saved your ass at Trenton, and saved your ass in motherfucking Philly and turned himself into a damn cripple for you!”

  Drayger felt himself shrink at that last comment. What did she mean by that? Did she see him as less of a man now?

  “Sir,” Drayger said nervously. “Sir, I know we are stretched thin, but this is her sister. They’re going to kill her if we don’t pay them.”

  “Ben, we’re not just stretched thin. Resistance HQs are being attacked across the country. Eventually, Tarleton will be bold enough to come to Boston. And COR could be attacked in Baltimore at any time. We have to be ready to move at a moment’s notice.”

  For the first time Leslie spoke from her hologram. “Nor can we pay the ransom Mr. Drayger. COR has allocated all of our funds. Until the EU comes through, we just can’t afford to pay off loan shark debts.”

  “Can’t or won’t?” Paris shot back angrily.

  Drayger marveled at his wife’s bravado. He knew she was distraught—who wouldn’t be? But these were the leaders of the entire Resistance she was talking to. People he knew she respected.

  Drayger felt Revolution’s eyes fall upon him, but he just kept peering down at his shoes. He knew very well that he could be a contradiction, and the truth was, his behavior was just as much a mystery to himself
as it was to everyone else. A nervous, even shy young man at times, and at others, the boldest speaker in the room or fighter on the field. He feared Revolution had yet to decide if he was courageous or reckless. He hoped it was the former, but the truth was, it was a question even he could not answer for himself.

  What Drayger did know was that the one person that consistently scared the shit out of him, and yet also inspired him, even saved him, was Paris. Where would he be without his Paris? Certainly not a member of the Suns of Liberty.

  Revolution ignored the comment. “How did this all happen again?” Revolution asked calmly.

  Drayger felt his spirit crash. Until now, no one in the Resistance had heard this story. He hated telling it. Hated even admitting it to himself. And now with all that had happened recently—

  He sighed and rolled his eyes. “It’s my fault.”

  “It’s not your fault, Bennie!” Paris said, taking her seat again.

  “No. It. Is,” Drayger said forcefully. “I couldn’t keep the costs down on the Neurolyzer. You know how hard it is to get a loan. And in New York, under the eyes of the Council, well, you can’t. You just can’t. So, you know, I...I went to the people I knew would get me some cash.”

  “The gangs,” Leslie said from the hologram.

  “Yeah,” Drayger nearly whispered. “I know it was dumb, it was, but I was desperate.”

  “We were desperate,” Paris added.

  Drayger nodded. “She...she helped me design it. In fact, the whole thing was her idea. If I didn’t have my Paris”—Drayger let loose one of his wide smiles, the first since he’d heard the news about Paris’s sister Angel being taken captive—“I couldn’t have done any of this.”

  “And now those bastards have Angel, and they said they’d kill her in seventy-two hours if we didn’t get them their money. That was twenty-four hours ago!”

  Revolution nodded and leaned toward them in his chair. “Ben. Paris. I appreciate your service to the cause.” He turned toward Paris. “You are right, Ben’s become an integral part of our team in a very short time. And I’ve heard reports that you are an outstanding field commander for the Big Apple Minutemen.”

  “Thank you, sir,” Drayger said, gazing down, his cheeks flushing. Paris was still rock solid at his side. No way she was backing down from a fight just because of a few compliments.

  She flexed her bicep and made a fist, pointing to the curve of her muscle and the inked heart design that had been scrolled there.

  “You see what that says?” she asked Revolution.

  The tattoo read, “Kiss My Sweet Sexy Ass!”

  “I’ll make a deal with you.” Revolution again ignored the comment, rose from his seat, and ambled toward Drayger. “I’ll give you what I can spare—which isn’t much—and you do what you need to. Save that girl, Ben. We’re grounded until Sophia gets that helium-3 anyway.”

  Drayger was stunned. He never thought Rev would give him the time away—secretly, that was the best that Paris had been hoping for from the start. “Thank you, sir, thank you! I’ll save her, I’ll save her.”

  “I can give you a ride there. But then you get yourself back here. Forty-eight hours, that’s all you’ve got. Then we go on offense.” Revolution crossed his arms, and Drayger felt the metal man’s eyes bore into him. “Tarleton’s begun the Purge, and we need every available resource to help fight it.”

  BALTIMORE HQ

  COR TEMPORARY DEBATE CHAMBER

  The representative from Georgia, Rosalie Delford, rose from her chair.

  “We are under attack, pure and simple!” she shouted at the assembly.

  Leslie nodded. “I don’t doubt that we’re under attack. My question is what do you want us to do about it?”

  Leslie had darted straight from her holocom with Revolution and Drayger into this meeting.

  “I want him to do something about it!” Rosalie growled.

  The fiery-red hair of Livingston Roosevelt rose in response. “Madame, they are but a small group. Powerful as they are, they have to be very strategic in their response, don’t you see that?”

  “What I see are our people dying in droves!”

  “They saved your life. They saved all of our lives!” Leslie protested.

  “Yes, they did. And I’m not questioning their loyalty or their effectiveness. I’m questioning the fact that they are only five people.” Rosalie motioned toward Roosevelt, using his words against him. “Five people against an entire army. How can we ever win?”

  “Then why did we found the Suns of Liberty to begin with?” Leslie asked, frustration palpable in her voice.

  “That was a different time. This is no longer about covert operations or surgical strikes, Madame President. This is open war!”

  “The gentle lady is right, and they are massacring our Minutemen,” said one of the members loyal to Rosalie.

  “We need to send the Minutemen into battle! Let them defend themselves!” shouted another.

  Leslie stood her ground. “The Minutemen are untrained volunteers using weapons that they own or borrow. They can’t stand up against high-tech weaponry and military tactics. We’d be sending them to their deaths.”

  “They’re already dying! No one’s discounting their sacrifices. At least this way we could take back some ground from the Council as they make those sacrifices. Right now they’re sitting ducks!” another member said.

  Livingston Roosevelt bristled. “Surely you’re not suggesting we sacrifice the precious lives of our volunteers, for what...to make a point?”

  Leslie interjected. “The Revolution has made it clear, we are fighting a war of attrition. Now, none of us may like that fact, but it is the only path he sees to victory. And at the end of the day we want to win. No one ever thought that would come easy.” Leslie steeled her gaze at Rosalie. “And this is very much still a war of covert operations and surgical strikes.”

  “Yes! What choice do we have?” demanded the elderly Representative Lewis from Texas as he turned toward Rosalie. “He and they are our best forces. Do you seriously believe that we could replace them with something better?”

  “I don’t know,” Rosalie admitted.

  “That is the question on the floor,” Leslie said with some exhaustion. “General debate will be concluded unless someone can bring forth an actionable item on this issue.”

  No one spoke.

  Finally, Rosalie shrugged. “I could call for a no-confidence vote in his leadership,” she threatened, and several members mumbled their approval.

  Their reticence flew all over Leslie. “Fine, who is your replacement? I ask again. Have you all forgotten that this man, this team, saved all of your lives?” Leslie demanded.

  “Hear, hear!” a loud enthusiastic response from all across the room answered back. Leslie could tell she still had the majority. If anything, COR’s support for the Suns had grown in numbers since Philly. And those supporters were more enthusiastic than ever in that support. Getting rescued from certain death tended to have that effect. So what was wrong with Rosalie and her faction?

  “Well,” Representative Lewis from Texas drawled, “he and I went through the same thing, thanks to that Rage girl. If that’s the kind of danger he faces on a daily basis, the man has my support. Tee-totally and without reservation!”

  Leslie thought back to when she had been convinced Scarlett Rage had murdered the representative from Texas right in front of her. Just like the Suns had been sure Rage had murdered the Revolution right in front of them. She hadn’t, in either case, but the Rage woman’s ruse had been incredibly painful for the older gentleman from Texas. The Revolution himself was still bouncing back from being put into the near-death stasis. It was a hard process for the human body to endure, and these members had witnessed the slow recovery of one of their own members daily since they’d been hiding here in Baltimore. The old Texan’s words seemed to quiet the troublemakers.

  “Do we have any motions for action?” Leslie asked. It was always pos
sible Rosalie or one of her flock might propose using the Minutemen as an attack force as they had just threatened. She feared the vote on such a matter would be close.

  No one spoke.

  Old Man Texas had shut them down.

  Leslie let the silence settle on everyone’s shoulders.

  “Very well.” Leslie pulled out a folder and opened it. She shuffled through the many papers therein. She tried to contain her excitement. Only Livingston knew what was coming. She’d wanted to keep this announcement a secret so that it would be a morale booster, but the previous debate had made her regret that decision. There was no way Rosalie and her contingency would have mounted such a protest had they known about the trump card she had hidden up her diplomatic sleeve.

  Leslie grinned. “Seeing no motions, we will move on to my report. Maybe this will calm some of the fears that are out there about the execution of this war. The European Union will announce this week that they are disbanding the International Banking Consortium, thereby canceling the Council’s main funding source.”

  The members of COR broke into spontaneous applause and cheers. They all knew the importance of this move. “Second,” Leslie continued, and the room quieted down, “I have secured an open line of credit with the Europeans that will extend to all current, past, and future funding needs until such time as the Republic is restored.”

  The assembly collectively caught its breath in its throat. Audible gasps permeated the room. “As of now, the war against the Council is being bankrolled by the European Union.”

  The room exploded in cheers. The Council’s main financial ally had turned against it.

  When the noise died down Rosalie again rose from her chair, skepticism hanging on her face. “And just what are they asking for in return, we might ask? Is the US dollar going to have to feature the Queen of England on it from now on?”