Sullivan Saga 1: Sullivan's War Read Free Page A

and saw a small boy lying in the sand, clutching his arm. The boy’s mother rushed to his side and cradled him.
    It was time to go. If the boy was seriously injured, Sullivan didn’t want to be around when the police and paramedics arrived. He got up from the bench, slung his bag over his shoulder and made his way east across the park, away from the playground and away from the Underwood Building.
    When Sullivan emerged onto Fifth Avenue, he paused to study some of the centuries-old buildings that still existed in Manhattan. There was nothing this old on Edaline. By the time the missile attacks on the rebel-held neighborhoods had ended, much of Agrona was in ruins. Sullivan had somehow survived it. As far as he knew, his parents hadn’t.
    He’d woken up in a military hospital. The doctors had told him that it was a miracle that his injuries had been so slight. He’d fractured his femur. Aside from that and a few minor cuts and bruises, his body was sound.
    Over the weeks that he spent in recovery at the hospital and later at the orphanage, he stopped every man or woman in a uniform and inquired about his parents. He told them that they hadn’t been rebels; they had only been trying to survive. Everyone he spoke to assured him that they’d look into it. He doubted if any of them ever had. Thousands had been killed in the bombardment. The government’s official number was eleven thousand, but most people knew it was at least two—maybe even three—times that.
    Sullivan wandered Manhattan aimlessly before finally slipping into a bar on 77th Street. He took a seat at the bar and followed the bartender’s gaze toward a large screen covering the wall at the far end of the room. A news report was on. The caption below the image of the reporter read “Assemblyman Palmer Found Murdered.” Behind her, Sullivan recognized the front entryway of Underwood Building.
    “Can you turn the volume up?” asked Sullivan, turning to the bartender.
    “Sure thing.”
    The reporter’s voice rose to an audible level. “… Palmer, who had long been a champion for Edaline’s admittance into the Stellar Assembly. The vote for that planet’s admittance, which had been scheduled for tomorrow, has now been postponed. The reaction at the Stellar Assembly hall has been one of shock and sorrow. Kevin?”
    The scene switched to an anchor sitting behind a desk. “Thank you, Evelyn. For those of you just joining us….”
    “Put the game on,” said a man at the far end of the bar.
    The bartender switched the channel.
    “Some news,” he said, turning to Sullivan. “What can I get you?”
    “Anything on tap.”
    The bartender poured a beer and handed it to Sullivan.
    “Thanks. Did they say if there are any leads, any motives?”
    “No. The news just broke. I guess they found him this morning but had kept it quiet until now.” The bartender watched as Sullivan took a sip of the beer. “Your accent. You’re not from Earth?”
    “No. I’m from Calandra,” Sullivan said, lying.
    “Here on business or pleasure?”
    “Business. But I have the day off, so I’m exploring the city.”
    “Welcome to New York.”
    “Thanks.”
    Sullivan gulped down the rest of his beer then handed a pre-paid credit card to the bartender. He’d bought it before leaving Edaline; he didn’t want any of his purchases to be linked to him.
    The bartender scanned the card and handed it back along with a terminal. Sullivan glanced at the amount, added a tip and pressed “Enter.”
    “Thanks again,” he said, getting up.
    “Enjoy your visit.”
    “I already am.”
    Sullivan emerged back out onto the street as the sun was beginning to set. He made his way back to Central Park to find a quiet spot for the night. Even a planet as wealthy as Earth had poverty, and no one ever paid very close attention to the homeless. He’d find a group and try to blend in.
     
    3
     
    ALLEN AND WAGNER sat at their facing desks, tossing a baseball back and forth. It had been