The Suns of Liberty: Legion: A Superhero Novel (12 page)

     “She’s the third member of your team,” Howke told
Arbor. Her call sign would be Velocity. Her new limbs would give her incredible
speed.  Even faster than the
Velocosuits
they used in the past—which had
often proven fatal to the wearer in a crash. Velocity, by contrast, would have
more control. She too would wear a protective suit, but she was being
designed
to crash
. As an offensive weapon, she would be able to run straight through
a concrete wall with no ill effects. She could travel at a top speed of 750
miles per hour with no threat of injury in the suit. And in any case, all her
limbs were robotic, made of titanium steel alloy, like Arbor’s armor.

     “A human missile,” Von Cyprus smirked.

     Arbor was immediately thinking about how he could use
someone with such abilities.

     “Now, are you ready to meet the other two members of
your team?” Howke asked them, as if they could say no.

     Von Cyprus excused himself and went back to work.
Howke, Arbor, and Ray strolled back down the hallway to another waiting room,
flanked by two dozen Guards now, who joined in from other hallways as they
passed by them. It made Arbor paranoid. Howke opened the door, and as Arbor
peered inside at the two men sitting there, all he could think to say was “Son
of a bitch!”

     Ray swallowed. “Exactly.”

CHAPTER 12

I
t
seemed like a bad idea.

     “I don’t know,” Ward said. “How do we know the frequency
of these devices won’t interfere with the chemical mixture of the serums? I’ve
not tested these, and some frequencies have been known to—”

     “I’ve tested them, and they have no effect on the
serums,” Leslie said.

     “Why don’t you just make them standard issue?” Ward
glanced around at the newly refurbished lab Leslie and her people had at their
disposal. “Why just me? If these things can really disable any computerized
machinery, they’d be useful to anyone. To everyone.”

     “You know the answer to that.”

     ‘Too expensive.”

     “Sure, there’s that. But we also can’t get the
materials in to Boston. Your little cuff darts just happen to be perfect. The
design mod was simple.” Leslie shook her head. “They’re yours, Dr. Ward. You’re
going to need them.”

     Ward shrugged. Clearly not going to get out of this
one. If Leslie wanted it, these new “Disabling Darts” were going into the suit.

     Leslie pressed a button on one of her many computer consoles
in the room, and a small section of the wall to their right opened up. Inside
was a new version of Ward’s Spider Wasp suit. Or as he liked to call it, his
bug suit.

     “We’ve made some other modifications. This new suit is
twice as tough as it was before the last upgrade. It’s also got servos in all
the joints to add some strength for you. I’ve built in a face shield that will
automatically come down in times of extreme temperature, water, or gun fire.”

     “Face shield? Is it bullet proof?”

     “Yes. Up to at least .50 caliber.”

     Ward shrugged again. He had to admit, given what he’d
already gone up against as a member of the Suns, a little added security wasn’t
a bad idea.

     Actually, it was reassuring, now that he’d given in.
He’d been prepared to be irritated, but instead he was feeling kind of
thankful.

     “We just don’t know what you’re going to go up against
in there, man or machine.  I’d expect both. This is the headquarters of the Freedom
Council.” Leslie took in a deep breath. Let it out. “I don’t think you should
be going at all, but the General is unwavering and I am not going to stand in
his way.”

     Had COR actually debated this move? “I’m sure you
could stop it if you wanted to,” he said.

     Leslie seemed to think her reply over carefully before
she answered. “We all know the risks of allowing them to keep the chamber. I
just wish there was another way.”

     “Well, maybe I should just focus on taking out the
Guards and Sophia should be the one to take out the machines.”

     “We can’t be sure what kind of machines are there. It
was a machine that killed John, remember. What if they have Spores waiting on
you all?”

     John Bailey. The legendary Saratoga. His death at the
hands of the Spores had been a particularly devastating blow to the Suns. Ward
had barely gotten to know the man before he died, and now, seeing everyone’s
prolonged mourning over his passing just accentuated what a blow it was to lose
him.

     And that made Leslie’s point pretty stark. If the
great Saratoga couldn’t withstand them, what chance had he against something
like a Spore?
Not much.
Spores could be sent around the world to kill or
destroy almost anything or anyone.

     And then there was Hunley, aka Ramsey Hollis—the superman
of the sea. Another machine had killed him. Yep, hanging around the Suns meant
you needed protection from killer, evil, blood-thirsty robots.
Disabling
Darts, check.

      Ward just shrugged again.

Ward
thanked Leslie and asked to be excused.

     The truth was he just wanted to rest. To be alone and
drown in his thoughts. She had two young doctors on staff take him to his new
quarters.  It was his home anytime he was there. Anytime he wanted it. An indication
that they had room to spare now. The freeing of Boston had been good to them.
No more cramped spaces.         

     Local members had returned to family—very emotional
journeys given that most of them had been long considered dead. Boston was healing. Slowly.

     Ward wished he could say the same thing for himself.

     He put his things down in the rather spacious room. As
soon as his guides left the room, he closed the door. Locked it. He dug out the
(now old and obsolete) bug suit, pulled a dart full of the serenity serum, and
pricked a vein in his wrist. He lay back on the bed.

     And closed his eyes.

At
about that same time, Leslie received an urgent call from Blake Lane,
editor-in-chief of the Resistance-related newspaper,
Common Sense
.
Lane’s voice was normally calm and controlled.

     Not today.

     “I just received a message from William Howke,” Blake
said as she drew a long breath into her lungs, and Leslie figured the notorious
chain smoker was probably taking a drag. “And you are not going to believe it.”

     After the editor had replayed the content of the
message, Leslie dropped her phone onto her desk and plopped into her chair. Her
eyes wide.
What the hell?
  There was only one person to call.

     She sent an alert to the Revolution. It was time to
rally the leadership.

CHAPTER 13

PHILADELPHIA, PENNSYLVANIA

THE HALL OF CHAMBERS

T
he
room was large, surprisingly dark, and slightly medieval. The Hall was tucked
beneath a dive of a tavern called the Green Dragon, which was itself located
inside an old abandoned power station on the banks of the Delaware River. A
destination designed to throw off the Council who had long wanted to find the
governing body of the Resistance.

     Members slipped in from a dozen smaller “side
chambers” scattered along the periphery. Some strode across the large circular
polished floor of the Chamber to find their seats; others simply stepped in
from their own private chamber rooms located just behind their designated
throne-seats. They each sat at tall leather chairs that circled the large Hall.
The members wore robes, making them look more like Supreme Court justices
rather than legislators.

     These were the members of the Congress of the
Revolution, or COR. COR was the highest authority the insurgency had. The
elected civilian leadership of the Resistance. One representative from every
state.

     Seated at the center of the circle, presiding over the
meeting, was Dr. Leslie Gibbons, Representative of Massachusetts and the
elected president of COR. Seated at the chair just to her right was the Revolution
himself. The only non-elected voting member of the body. The formal representative
of what passed for the military of the Resistance.

     “Today,” Leslie said, opening the session, “we have
important business before us. We start with two competing bills. The first
comes from the gentlewoman from Georgia and is an offer of amnesty from
Chairman Howke for every member in this body, The Suns of Liberty, and possibly,
though this is not clear from his communiqué,
all
the members of each HQ
might also be included in the offer.”           

     Murmurs broke out among the members. They had already
debated this issue heartily in the enormous compound’s living quarters located outside
the Hall of Chambers. The offer from the Chairman had come to the offices of
Common
Sense
. The gentlewoman from Georgia was the first to take up the offer’s
cause. There was widespread thought in COR that Boston would soon be attacked
and, without the help of the Fire Fly, the Suns would not be able to hold it.
Fear, Leslie knew, was driving this mood among some of the members of COR. But
there were others—more, she hoped—who had not succumbed to that fear.

     “The second,” Leslie said, quieting the murmurs, “is a
public declaration of liberty aimed squarely at the Council. To say that we, COR,
are here. And that we are not disbanding until true democracy is restored to
the Republic. And that we will not accept any compromise.”

     Leslie stared out at the members around her. “I bring
this bill to the floor myself. This would make the Council and the public
officially aware of this body. It would acknowledge what is already reality. We
are at war. And, ladies and gentlemen, Boston showed us that this is a war that
we
can
win!”

     Several members came out of their seats applauding her
impassioned plea. Leslie’s eyes widened and she chuckled a bit. The members were
usually so somber. Being somber was a tradition they started when they founded
COR some seven years ago. No one ever talked about it, but the formality, the
general decorum of the members, was all a nod to the importance of what they
had lost and what they were fighting to restore.

     Democracy. The Republic.

     The gentlewoman from Georgia rose, and the voices in
the room quieted down. She then took her seat again and leaned into her microphone.

     “Congressmen, I too share in the glee of our victory
in Boston.  But we must be realistic, without the Fletcher girl’s help our
forces would have been greatly outmatched. We can’t count on her to come to our
defense every time,” she said. “For all we know, she views us as great a threat
as the Council.”

     Leslie sighed. “We’ve been over this and over this.
Fiona Fletcher is not a threat,” she said, with a bit too much of an edge. “She
was simply a scared, angry girl. With good reason.”

     Several eyes glanced Revolution’s way.

     Revolution said nothing. He didn’t even move.

     “Nevertheless,” said the gentlewoman from Georgia, “I
think we would be foolish not to consider some kind of a compromise with the
Council, now that they seem to be in the mood to negotiate. And I know I am not
alone in these sentiments.” Several congressmen nodded their heads.

     “How do we know this offer from Howke is genuine?” It
was Livingston Roosevelt, representing New York. His big oval eyes locked onto
Leslie’s. She knew he was just trying to help. Neither she nor he thought it a
good idea to try and negotiate with Howke, but many did. Many at the New York
HQ whom he represented did, in fact, so Roosevelt had to be careful. New York had more supporters of the Council than any other city. And even in the Resistance,
New York was the most moderate unit.

     But not Roosevelt. He had won his elections despite
that.

     “Lantern has confirmed the authenticity of the offer
that was sent to
Common Sense
,” Leslie said, unable to stop the disappointment
from clinging to her words.

     “The
message
may be genuine, but what about the
offer?” Roosevelt replied.

     No one spoke for a moment.

     “Would someone like to call for a vote on moving ahead
on a compromise with the Council, then?” Leslie asked.

     Revolution, almost imperceptibly, inched his head
toward her. For Leslie, the subtle movement that most would have missed spoke
volumes. But what could she do? There was clearly strong sentiment on the floor
for a compromise. They could only hope it would fail.

     “Yes, I so move,” said the gentlewoman from Georgia.

     “Is there a second?” Leslie asked.

     There was.