They sat at an outside table in the plaza. “You were in the military?”
“Made sergeant. And I fought in one of the so-called peacekeeping actions. We didn’t keep the peace, and many suffered for what we did. Others benefited. Depending on which were which, we became both respected – or at least tolerated – and hated. But never accepted. No, neither side accepted us as anything other than interlopers in their country, necessary or not.”
His eyes unfocussed, and Karl could see that memories had overtaken him. Karl spooned some ice cream into his mouth, but the earlier attraction no longer gave him joy. Did they truly see him as an agent of destruction instead of one of protection? That hurt. Only he and his brothers- and sisters-in-arms stood between people like the islanders and the predations of other powers.
The old man returned to the present. “Sorry. Memories. Sometimes they come unbidden. And when a man reaches my age, memories are all he has left, so he pays attention to them when they come – bidden or unbidden.”
Karl nodded agreement, though he doubted that the old man spoke the truth. Surely more remained than just memories.
“Soon, my family will celebrate my ninety-fifth birthday.” He pursed his lips. “The grandchildren and great-grandchildren will all come around and find themselves bored by the antics of an old man whose life at that great age will seem to them to now lack all meaning, to have no purpose.”
“Surely, not so bad.”
The old man regarded him for what seemed a long time. “You are kind. My name is Paulo.”
“Karl.” He extended his hand. The old man took it in a surprisingly strong grip.
“Karl, sixty years ago, I looked much as you do today: young, fit, strong. Vibrant with life.” He looked up to the sky. “I know how the young look at the old – I did the same. They cannot see beyond the wrinkles and the feebleness of body. They do not know that the mind can remain the same, that we recall the times when we could do everything that they could – and perhaps more.”
Karl really couldn’t imagine Paulo as a young man. Nor could he see himself as a ninety-five-year-old. Actually he began to doubt that he would see another five years, let alone another sixty. The islanders were right to fear war.
“But I bore you.” Paulo smiled. He looked at the insignia on Karl’s uniform. “Pilot?”
“Yes, sir.”
“So you will fly one of the shuttles up to space should the unthinkable happen?”
“I will.”
“Ah, were I only young again, I would go with you. I think it would be something to see the world from up there. No borders, no nations. Only land and sea.”
Karl nodded, but his thoughts had gone elsewhere. This man had children, grandchildren and great-grandchildren, and what had he, Karl, accomplished in his own life?
The old man ate his last spoonful of ice cream, and looked regretfully at the empty bowl.
“Would you like another?” Karl asked.
“Kind of you. Yes, yes I would.” He smiled. “However, I don’t allow myself more than one per week. You follow the orders of those who outrank you; I follow those of my wife and of my body. I enjoy the ice cream, but perhaps too much.” He stood up, using the back of the chair and the table for leverage. “I’m okay once I’m on my feet,” he said, waving off support. “It’s the getting up.” He laughed. “I think that they’ve made gravity stronger these past few decades.”
A lovely, black-haired young woman approached, no fear or doubt in her eyes.
“Grandfather, so here you are.”
“Just talking with my friend, Karl,” Paulo said. “Karl, this is my granddaughter, Paula. Named after me.” He chuckled. “Sorry about that, Paula, but you had the misfortune to be born on my birthday. Paula, my friend, Karl.”
Karl took the soft, warm hand in his own, and bowed over it, German style. “My pleasure, Paula.”
She mostly ignored the gesture, but studied his face a moment before turning to her grandfather. “Time to get you home. Grandmother is worried.”
Paulo laughed. “It’s good to have someone to worry about you. Would you like to come along and meet the family? I think we will find supper on the table when we get there. You might have something to eat.”
Karl looked at his chrono. “I would. Unfortunately, I must return to base soon.”
The young woman smiled at him, and he returned the smile. She looked interested, and he could find himself interested, too. Unfortunately, the old man’s words intruded, and he wondered if it would be right to allow her to get involved with someone like him, someone who would leave when those orders came from above.
The old man extended his hand again. Paula had moved away – giving them privacy, or distancing herself from his contamination? Had he mistook her look?
“Karl, listen to one who knows, who has been there. The only people we protect them from are ourselves – in other uniforms. We are the problem. I learned that too late – after I already had enough regrets to last a lifetime. We think of ourselves as the protectors, but we aren’t; we are the destroyers.
“Next time you have a free day, come and visit. Just ask for Old Paulo, and anyone will direct you.”
Karl waved goodbye. As he turned slowly to walk back to the base, he noticed a man watching him from the shade of a doorway. Not an islander, he thought, though he couldn’t exactly say why he had decided that. He didn’t allow his gaze to linger, but let it pass by, though keeping his attention on the man. The man’s head followed his progress across the plaza.
He nodded to himself. A watcher. Oberst Dreschler’s idea, no doubt. Weber had much to answer for. But why would they target him? Perhaps all officers were now considered security risks? He shrugged to himself, and began the long walk, ignoring the bus that made the hourly run.
On the way, he thought on what the old man had said. He supposed that every nation’s soldiery were told the same thing. “Your role is to protect your country from enemies that would destroy it.” And if one side increased the strength of its army to better defend against a possible enemy, would not that enemy, too, increase its strength? And where did it all end?
He shook off the thoughts and the conclusion to which they led. If he and his did not exist, the others, like the North Americans, would use their lack of counterparts to force the ETO to follow their dictates. While he and his existed, they could not do that without fear of a retaliation that would beggar them.
But the cost – the expense of having an Army, Navy, Air Force, and Space Force – did much to beggar each and every nation or alliance. Unfortunately, the ETO could not trust the others to cut back, to stand behind the treaties they signed, and that made it impossible to cut spending.
Trust. There lay the nub of it.
He approached the gates, and reached in his pocket for his ID. He presented it to the guard, who examined it carefully even though they both recognized the other by sight.
“Welcome back, Herr Major,” the guard said, and passed him in.
As he walked to the mess hall, he wondered again at Paulo’s words. Were they truly destroyers? He had joined the Forces in order to protect the homeland. Had he made a mistake and wasted the years he had served? He wondered at the “enough regrets to last a lifetime”. Would he, too, have regrets enough to last a lifetime? That uncomfortable thought remained uppermost in his mind until sleep finally released it.
FOUR
DENVER
Monday, May 31st
Something had changed, though Dr. Christine Burnett could not figure out what. She fought hard to expand her consciousness. Everything felt familiar, though different. She had felt this before, though not this. This felt wrong. She tried to fight. It weighed her down, drowned her in molasses, heavy, sticky.
“That’s it, Doctor. Come on back.”
An ally. She clung to the thought, to the words, to the sound of a voice, as she never had before. She opened her eyes. Nothing. Blind?
“I’m going to slowly in
crease the light,” the voice said. She recognized the voice, but couldn’t place it. Nonetheless, it registered as a friend.
A faint glow appeared in front of her, some metres away. Relief washed over Christy like a wave. Not blind after all. It slowly increased in intensity. She raised her right arm from the chair’s armrest – she sat reclined in a chair? – and held her hand up. Yes, she could see the fingers now, against the light – just. But the exertion tired her, and she lowered it again. She relaxed, the chair soft and supportive. She turned her head to the side, trying to make out what sort of room enclosed her.
“Time to wake up, Doctor,” the voice said. She wished she could place it. She didn’t want to wake up. “You have duty.”
Duty. Her head snapped forward, eyes narrowed, seeking out the owner of the voice.
“Yes, duty.” She could tell he smiled when he said that, though she could see nothing of him.
Christy pulled herself upright and stood, her legs complaining, feeling like rubber. Duty. Strength returned. The light continued to brighten. She could almost see the walls, now. She turned, and saw a shadow move.
“Yes, Doctor Burnett, duty.”
The word stung her. She let go of the armrest; she needed no support. Duty called. The shadow became solid, the light fell on the face. She knew the face. Anger grew within her.
“Jensen,” she snarled. She could see his throat, knew that if she threw a punch just so, she could crush his windpipe. He’d die, writhing on the floor, gasping for air that wouldn’t come. She tensed.
“No!”
The order stopped her, held her fast.
“I’m your friend, your ally, remember?”
She heard his voice again, teaching her, helping her. Friend.
“There!” He pointed in the still rising light.
Christy turned to follow his aim. A second shadow detached itself from the black wall. It drew closer, forming into another familiar shape. A man, a man she recognized.
Jensen spoke again. “Corporal Tieff has betrayed us, betrayed the United States of North America.”
Rage overcame her. The punch she’d not used on Jensen exploded from her shoulder. Tieff blocked it, and replied with a punch of his own. She knew the counter. Spinning with the aid from the block, she kicked for the groin. Another block. He caught her leg and threw her back. She landed lightly, breaking her fall in the prescribed way, then came to her feet.
“Here!”
Jensen tossed something to her. A gun. She caught it, released the clip, saw eight shiny bullets waiting, and reinserted it in the handle all in one quick motion. One pull of the trigger, and duty done. The gun came up to shoulder level. She looked down the barrel, framing Tieff’s chest in the sights.
No. This felt wrong.
“Fight it,” Tieff said.
Fight it?
“He betrayed us, betrayed the USNA,” Jensen retorted.
Her finger tightened on the trigger. Gun comfortable in her hand, arm relaxed, ready for the recoil, she stood strong. A traitor. She needed to complete the mission. Wrong. Something felt wrong.
Tieff held out his hand, pleading almost. “Please, no. You have a name: Doctor Christine Burnett. Who are you?”
Who was she? Doctor. Doctor Burnett. Christine. Christy.
Jensen’s voice hardened. “You belong to the state. You have duty.” The word rocked her again. “Tieff betrayed us.” Betrayal meant death. “Use the weapon.”
She looked down at the gun. It felt so familiar in her hand, yet when had she ever held a gun? Tieff must have seen the doubt in her eyes, for he breathed a sigh of relief.
“Remember who you are.”
“An agent of the state.”
“Doctor Christine Burnett.”
“He betrayed us.”
“Doctor Christine Burnett.”
“Betrayal.”
Her head swam. Her finger tightened again. Traitors deserved death. Duty demanded this of her.
“No!” she half-shouted the word. She swung her aim from Tieff to Jensen. “What have you done to me?”
Jensen smiled sardonically. “What you have done to us.” Then he relented. “Welcome back, Doctor. You can lower the gun. The bullets are fake. The only way you can hurt someone with that gun is to hit them over the head with it.”
“I know other ways,” Christy said, and realized to her horror that she did.
“Yes, you do … now.”
Tieff joined Jensen. “Thank you for not pulling the trigger, Doctor.”
“What have you done to me?” she asked again.
Tieff’s smile, when it came, looked ghastly. “Sleep-learning, Doctor. Your program.”
“My program? No.” She shook her head. The things she knew. “We don’t drug our participants. And I designed my program to enable men and women to perform mechanical tasks where no experts could be found – primarily for in space, but out in the field for the Army. How to do repairs during EVAs or on a military vehicle for those who have no training. If you combine a certain mental state with sleep, then provide – my God!”
They had perverted it. Colonel Westorn, it hit her in a flash. He had used her, her ideas, her methods, her technology, and had then perverted them into ugly, slimy creatures which should never have seen the light of day. He had poked through her files, stolen what he needed. He had stolen and implemented ideas that she had only just considered. Fortunately, some of her more recent ideas had remained locked in her head, never entered into a computer anywhere. She had wondered at herself for not committing them to files; now she knew why she had not done so. Even then, she’d had that niggling feeling that something smelled.
“That bastard!”
Now both Jensen and Tieff smiled, truly smiled. Jensen took her hand, which she allowed, the shock of discovery having done something to her internal inhibitions.
“Christy … may I call you that?” he asked, and she nodded. “Christy, it’s decision time. You have several options. First, you can walk out that door, and report us.”
The light in the room had reached the level where she could make out the door.
“Where are we?”
“On the base. We brought you back soon after you went to sleep. The labs are closed for the weekend … as you know.”
“In my own lab? How long?”
“Not your lab, but one similar – the one Colonel Westorn used. Only three days.”
Three days? They’d done this to her in three days? They deserved jail or whatever they called it here – the stockade? But would they really let her go?
“You said options, plural.” His hand felt warm, so warm, as it covered her own.
“You can allow us to smuggle you back out, to go on the remainder of your R&R, and then to return as if nothing had happened. Return to your work.”
She could never do that. Not now that she knew.
“Or you can help us.”
“Us?”
“Those of your subjects for whom the treatment didn’t go precisely as planned. As you know, your methods work very well with only a minority of your test subjects. The same with the Colonel’s program: It only works for those who either can’t or don’t want to shrug off the effects like we did, like you did.” He gave a wry grin. “Though you had an abbreviated treatment, so who knows how you might have done otherwise.” He shrugged. “Anyway, Colonel Westorn has transferred the ‘graduates’ out to a special unit.”
“Can I sit down again?” Her legs had lost the regained strength that ‘duty’ had given them. Jensen moved her toward the recliner. “Not in here!”
He smiled knowingly. Tieff opened the door, and they went to one of the recovery rooms. She sat down at a table, and the two men joined her. Private Cutter, who had awaited them outside the sleep-learning chamber, stood guard at the door.
“Colonel Westorn has transferred the elite test subjects out to the elite units; he’s returned the ones for whom the training didn’t work at all to the units they came
from; and he’s kept those of us who either know or suspect too much here.” Jensen shook his head. “I don’t think he counted on us. He probably thought the program would either take us completely or not take us at all. We’re a problem, and I think that’s the only reason this lab isn’t working full time. He doesn’t want more like us.”
“How could I be of help?” Too much information, too fast, she thought. But then, when had she ever had just the right amount of information at just the right pace? She grinned inwardly at the absurdity of that thought. “I don’t have any real ‘in’ with High Command, I’m just a contractor – a minor one. I suppose I could talk to General Milton – he authorized my experiment.”
Jensen laughed, somewhat bitterly, she thought. “No, that’s not what I meant at all. We need to escape. We need to get into space and, from there, to go to a colony world.”
“That’s desertion,” she said, gaping at him. “You volunteered for the service. You have a duty—.”
Jensen interrupted her, “If we remain here, eventually Westorn’ll decide that he can’t risk having us around. He’ll have us killed. If you talk to General Milton, that will just happen all the sooner. At the first hint of an investigation, Westorn will disappear us.
“You speak of duty.” She felt that sudden tensing that the perversion of her program brought about upon hearing the word from him. “Well, our duty doesn’t consist of getting ourselves killed for no purpose other than to cover up a superior’s crime. We have a duty to life, too. And civilians have a duty to us to not ask us to die for no reason.
“We need to escape so as to not die uselessly, needlessly, and we’re asking for your help.”
Christy looked at him, astonished. How could she get them into space? And even if she could, that would make her a criminal, too. They asked too much of her.
“I’ll have to think about this,” she said.
“We will defend ourselves. Innocent people will die – both us and those they send against us when Westorn realizes we won’t go down quietly, easily. We don’t want that. So we want to escape. It’s our only hope.”
Not With A Whimper: Destroyers Page 3
