Renegades of PEACE (Secrets of PEACE Book 2)

by T. A. Hernandez

  Zira finished reading, then skimmed over the article again. It was impressive…and incredibly stupid. Whoever had written it might as well have painted a giant target on their own back and sent personal invitations to Ryku’s assassins. “Who did this?”

  “I have no idea.”

  “Do you think it’s true? Did he really kill his own father?”

  “Oh, it’s true,” said Tripp. His voice was soft but sure. “I’m positive of that.”

  Zira did the math in her head. 2107—that would have been around the same time Tripp left the Project. “You knew?”

  Tripp shrugged. “He told me he was going to do it. At the time, I didn’t think he meant it. Chairman Mason went missing the next day.”

  “But no one else knew,” Zira said. She looked at him incredulously, and he bowed his head. He suddenly seemed much smaller to her. “You didn’t tell anyone. Why?”

  “There were a lot of other things going on. I was young and stupid, and I didn’t know what to do. I just ran. I’m not proud of it.”

  There was more to it than he was saying—she could hear the weight of it in his voice. “What happened?” she asked.

  “That’s a story for another day, kid.” He took the computer from her again and went back to reading the news.

  Zira clasped her hands together in her lap. He’d always been tight-lipped about what had happened when he left the Project. She didn’t want to push the issue, and she knew she shouldn’t feel so damn resentful that he kept shutting her out. He had a right to keep whatever secrets he wanted to. But they were friends, weren’t they? She’d opened up to him about what had happened when she left the Project. Maybe not completely, but certainly enough to have earned a little more trust from him. What was he so afraid of, anyway?

  Feeling as frustrated with herself as she was with him, Zira stood up and retrieved her pack from the other side of the room. She went to the kitchen and began cleaning her gun for what must have been the tenth time that week. They needed a new job soon. She wasn’t sure how much longer she could handle being stuck in this place with nothing to do.

  * * *

  She got her wish later that afternoon when Tripp woke her up from a nap. “I just got a message from Chase. We have a new job, and it’s urgent.”

  Zira sat up, rubbed her eyes, and began pulling on her boots. “Who is it?” she asked.

  “The person who wrote that article about Ryku killing the other chairmen. Chase and some of the others at the base managed to track down the author, so it’s probably only a matter of time before Ryku does the same.”

  “And when he does, he’ll send someone to arrest him. Or kill him.”

  “Kill her,” Tripp said. “The woman’s name is Trinity Jones. She usually just writes those crazy conspiracy theories you see on the Net sometimes—aliens, Bigfoot, government experiments, that sort of thing.”

  Zira frowned. “So she hit a little too close to the truth this time.” And then she’d decided to publish her findings for all the world to see, apparently without bothering to make sure there was no way on earth someone could trace the article back to her. The woman was either suicidal or brave to the point of insanity. Possibly both. “And we’re supposed to get her to a safe house somehow?”

  “Yeah,” said Tripp. “Same as always.”

  “Does she know we’re coming?”

  “No. She might take some convincing.”

  “And for all we know, the police could be on their way to arrest her as we speak. It’s risky.”

  Tripp nodded. “Like walking right into a trap, but I’m not in a position to be arguing with Chase right now.”

  Zira gave him an apologetic look. That was because of her, no doubt, and she knew how careful he always tried to be. This was far more dangerous and unpredictable than he could possibly be comfortable with.

  “We’re closest to her,” Tripp said, “and Chase thinks she could be useful. He also thinks the two of us have the best shot at getting her to safety given your…skills.”

  Her skills. Right. Shooting things and killing people and generally being able to fight her way out of bad situations. “You make it sound so easy.”

  Tripp shrugged. “I can call Chase and tell him this is crazy. Because it is. Maybe if you back me up, he’ll let us off the hook and forget about this whole thing.”

  He’d also have another reason to dislike and mistrust Zira, and Trinity Jones would be left in the Project’s custody to be executed or sent to a labor camp. She’d been stupid, posting accusations like that, but at least she hadn’t been cowed into fearful submission like most of America’s citizens. Or maybe she was just too shortsighted to anticipate the full repercussions of her actions. Either way, Zira had to admire her gumption. Chase was right; the rebellion could use someone like Trinity. “No,” she said. “It’s all right. We should do it.”

  “Then grab your things and let’s get out of here. I doubt we’ll be coming back.”

  CHAPTER NINE

  Revolver sat as rigid as a marble statue on the cafeteria bench, but remained alert. Always alert. He caught every movement and heard every sound, from the glint of a dust particle in the sunlight to the whispered conversation between two young women in the furthest corner of the room. He was the only person at this table, and both tables to either side of him were empty as well. In the two weeks that had passed since his induction into the ranks of unit E-2, the other members of the Project had stopped most of their whispering, staring, and pointing, but they still avoided him whenever possible. The unit A researchers had been his only source of human interaction during his life inside their facility, but even they chose to ignore him now.

  Not that Revolver was bothered by this. He was incapable of feeling annoyed or offended or even lonely. It was simply an observation, and since it was irrelevant to the work he had been assigned, he didn’t dedicate his thoughts to the subject any further as he continued to eat his supper. The meal was not optimally nutritious, but his body was more efficient at processing calories than most people’s. It would suffice.

  A girl stood at the end of his table. She’d been there for a few seconds, which wouldn’t have been unusual except for the fact that no one else ever remained in such close proximity to Revolver for any longer than it took to scurry past him. She was average height, well-dressed, with brown hair tied back in a ponytail that hung between her shoulder blades. She caught him watching her and smiled, then took a few steps towards him. “Do you mind if I sit here?” she asked, motioning to the seat across from him.

  “No,” Revolver said and went back to his meal. He thought up several questions about the girl’s decision to eat with him. No one else ever sat by him, and she could have taken any one of the few dozen other empty places scattered throughout the cafeteria. But he didn’t ask. It wasn’t important.

  They ate without saying anything else to each other for several minutes. A few people stared at them and whispered to their neighbors. If the girl heard them, she didn’t show it, but Revolver heard. They voiced many of the same questions that had occurred to him.

  “What is she doing?”

  “Why is she sitting with him?”

  “Doesn’t she know what he is?”

  After a few minutes, they seemed to lose interest, and Revolver tuned out the usual chatter that resumed. “I’m Aubreigh,” said the girl.

  “Nice to meet you. I’m Revolver.” It wasn’t nice to meet her—he couldn’t have cared one way or another. But he remembered Chairman Leon’s lessons about social norms and courtesy, which had included practicing customary introductions. It was what he was expected to say.

  “Is that really your name?”

  “No. My official birth record lists my name as AS3-100104. The researchers in unit A gave me the name Revolver.”

  “That is a lot easier to say.”

  “Yes.”

  Silence fell between them once again. Aubreigh pushed food around on her tray with her fork while Revolver fi
nished the last of his meal. She looked up and tilted her head to one side. “You’re working with Chairman Ryku now, aren’t you?”

  “Yes.”

  “You’re his bodyguard?”

  “Yes.”

  “That’s good.” She looked down at her food. “What happened to the other chairmen was awful. I can’t believe anyone would do that.”

  Revolver said nothing. He’d put the pieces together himself as soon as he heard the news. Ryku had killed the other chairmen. He was almost certain of that, but he’d been told not to say anything about it. A few days ago, he had asked Jared what the point was of Ryku having bodyguards when he was in no real danger. After all, Revolver had been created for far more complex tasks than standing beside the office door while Ryku worked. Why wasn’t he being used in a more effective manner? Jared’s jaw went tight, his eyes narrowed, and his mouth turned down in an even deeper frown than before. “Don’t ever say anything about that again. Not to me, not to Ryku, not to anyone.” Revolver had added the subject to his mental list of things he shouldn’t talk about—a list which had grown significantly ever since Ryku gave him the black band he now wore around his left arm.

  Aubreigh was still waiting for a response, so he just nodded.

  “I’m glad he has someone looking out for him,” she said. “One less thing he has to worry about. All the extra work he has now must be overwhelming.”

  “Maybe,” said Revolver.

  “Well, you work with him all the time. What do you think?”

  “Based on my assessments thus far, the chairman seems capable of leading the PEACE Project alone for as long as he needs to.” And as long as he wanted to. Ryku wouldn’t be willing to share power anytime soon given what he’d done to take it in the first place. But that wasn’t something he should mention, either.

  “Oh, I’m sure he’s competent,” Aubreigh said. Her eyes darted around the cafeteria. “He’s a fantastic leader. I was just concerned about his workload—for his health and stress. We need a strong leader right now.”

  She was afraid. Or at least, he thought she was. He often had trouble reading other people’s emotions, but he was fairly certain the change in her voice and the speed at which she was talking resulted from fear or something close to it. “Why are you afraid?” he said.

  “I’m not.”

  Her voice still had the same high pitch, though. Either Revolver had misinterpreted her emotional response, or she was lying. It would be impolite to accuse her of lying, though. “It was a guess,” he said. “I don’t experience emotions. It can be difficult to recognize them in others.”

  “That must be…” She scrunched her mouth to one side and continued pushing her food around her tray. “I guess I was just a little nervous. I don’t want you to get the wrong idea.”

  “The wrong idea about what?”

  “All that stuff I said about Chairman Ryku. I talk too much. I’ve always talked too much.” She glanced at her CL and stood up from the table, even though she’d only finished half her meal. “I should get going. It was nice meeting you. I guess I’ll see you around.”

  “Yes,” said Revolver.

  “Maybe we can have dinner together again tomorrow.”

  “Do you want to?”

  “Sure. Why not? Unless you’ve got better company.”

  He shook his head. “I’ll be here.” She nodded and gave him a wave over her shoulder as she walked away.

  Revolver finished eating and returned his tray to the kitchen. He walked back to Chairman Ryku’s office and relieved the older E-2 operative who’d taken his place while he ate. Resuming his position outside the cracked-open door, he listened as Ryku finished up a CL call with one of the regional E-1 officers.

  It was the twelfth such call Revolver had seen Ryku take that day. Being the Project’s only chairman was a big job, and he was a busy man. He rose before the sun was up each morning and went to bed long after it had gone down, but today had been busier than most. In between receiving reports and giving directions to not only his own operatives but everyone else in the Project, he’d been working with a team of computer specialists in unit A. They were trying to track down the source of a disparaging article about Ryku that had been circulating the Net since morning. So far, they hadn’t been successful, and the chairman’s frown seemed to grow each time he got off a call with one of them.

  Perhaps Aubreigh had been right about his workload. Maybe it was too much for one person to handle. Revolver wouldn’t say that, of course. Ryku told him what to do, not the other way around. He had been taught the Project’s chain of command when he was still a child, long before he interacted with anyone outside the select group of researchers tasked with monitoring him.

  His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of footsteps. Throughout the day, many footsteps had passed outside the building that housed Ryku’s office and personal living quarters, but Revolver picked these ones out because they were familiar. That long, heavy pace belonged to Jared. Revolver opened the exterior door for him before he could knock.

  Upon seeing Revolver, Jared’s brows came together in wrinkles set low over his eyes, and his mouth turned down at the corners. Revolver turned away and went back to his post as Jared entered the office. He closed the door behind him, but Revolver was still able to hear everything going on inside.

  “I assume you’re here to give me some good news?” Ryku said. Jared had been charged with overseeing the computer technicians’ work and informing the chairman of any new developments.

  “Yes, sir,” said Jared. “The most likely source is this woman, Trinity Jones. She used to be a reporter for a small news program, but she started writing for some of those alternative media sites on the Dark Net. Unit C transferred her to a food service job on her manager’s request, but she kept writing. Mostly just crazy conspiracy theories. Aliens invading the Atlantic coast, fake moon landings, that sort of thing.”

  “Crazy or not,” said Ryku, “distributing information without Project approval is illegal.”

  “It is, but unit C has bigger problems to deal with.”

  “Fair enough, though perhaps unit C needs a reminder that all of our country’s laws are important. That can wait. Go on.”

  “She lives in the Mid Pacific Region. I’ve already sent the address and everything we know about her to your CL.”

  “Good,” said Ryku. “How many people have seen the article?”

  “A lot,” Jared replied. “Unit A set up commands to pull the data and prevent anyone from sharing it, but we don’t control the whole Net. There are ways of circumventing those blocks.”

  There was silence, then the soft creak of Ryku’s chair, then footsteps—slow, calculated, barely audible—as the chairman paced the room. “What has the public’s reaction been?”

  “Divided. Most are denying what she’s saying, but some seem to be buying into it. The worst part is that they’re paying attention, but clearly she isn’t credible.”

  “That doesn’t mean people won’t believe her. We should set up a press briefing, and Trinity needs to be taken care of.”

  Jared didn’t answer right away, and when he did speak, his voice was softer than before. “So you expose her for what she really is. Make an example of her. You could have her apologize during the press briefing and tell everyone it was all a hoax, then send her to a labor camp.”

  “No,” said Ryku. “This is treason, and the penalty for treason is death. I’ll have Revolver take care of it.”

  Revolver shifted a little closer to the door. Venturing outside the compound could be informative, a chance to learn more about the world he’d only ever seen in pictures and videos.

  “You don’t have to kill her,” said Jared. “People respect mercy in a leader.”

  “There will be room for mercy once these people understand consequences. Right now, there is only room for strength. Thank you for the information. Please send Revolver in on your way out.”

  Jared pushed the d
oor open and nodded to Revolver as he walked past. Revolver went in and stood in front of Ryku’s desk. “I assume you heard all of that?” the chairman asked.

  “Yes.”

  “Good. I’ll compile a mission file for you.”

  “What do you want me to do?”

  Ryku placed his hands on the desk. “I’m going to issue an arrest warrant for Trinity Jones and send it to local law enforcement in her city. I want her apprehended before she gets any ideas about running away. We’ll ask for her to be transferred here and you will go to retrieve her. Once you have her, you’ll take her to a secluded location and kill her.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Ryku nodded and began pulling up files from his CL. Revolver started to leave, but stopped. “Is there something else?” Ryku asked without glancing up from his work.

  “Why go to the trouble of killing her?” Revolver asked. “Why not just have her make a public apology, like Jared suggested?” It seemed like a reasonable idea, and a simpler one to carry out.

  Ryku looked up at him. “Because it makes us look weak. It would give people the idea that it’s acceptable to write lies about the Project. Anyone who does so will get a slap on the wrist and a chance to apologize, but they do their time and then they’re free to go. The lies will continue to circulate, and people will believe them because people are foolish.”

  Revolver had met plenty of intelligent people in his life and didn’t understand the chairman’s miscalculation. Ryku was smart. Jared was smart, though perhaps in a different way. Chairman Leon had been exceptionally knowledgeable. “Not all people are foolish.”

  Ryku nodded. “You’re right. A person might be smart, but collectively, they are no more intelligent than a herd of sheep. They need strong leadership, stringent rules, and constant protection. They have a strong leader now, and in order to protect them, it is my duty to enforce the rules. We must show them that careless actions have consequences. When Trinity Jones disappears, everyone will know why, and that will make them think twice before they write anything that undermines the PEACE Project or its leader again.”