by Mich Moore
Melody Dinard, Martin Flemish and Marsha Van de Veer—were all exceptional officers and dedicated guardians for the AIs. In his opinion, the metal rascals received more love and attention than ninety percent of the human children in America or the new United States. Pete and the others would be fine. Well, as long as you didn't start throwing Rover into the mix. Palladino sniggered into his beer.
"Hello, Eugene. Mind if I join you?"
Palladino looked up, shielding his eyes from the glare of the sun. It was Susan-what's-her-face, one of the Army Family Advisors always circling overhead like hungry vultures, waiting for one of the DAT families to curl up and die.
"Yes. Uh, I mean sure, take a seat. And call me Gene." He flexed his long arms, examining the still puckered skin caused by the heavy shrapnel he took when the Advance South's laser mountain blew apart.
Susan threw a disapproving look at his bare chest and then primly sat down. Palladino belched loudly for his own amusement.
"Nice party, huh?" She casually did a sweep of the yard. The Higgins's children and two of the DATs, Peter and Colleen, were standing by big Leo, one of the horses attached to Palladino's unit. It appeared that a discussion was underway as to who would ride him first. One of children was pointing to an obvious defect in their plan: no saddle.
"Yes, it's okay. Good for the kids to get out in the sunshine." It was late March, but the weather was quite warm. Upper seventies. Bone-dry air. Marsha Van de Veer, the DAT mom who had put together this birthday party for the AIs, must have spent the last month nagging Mother Nature for good weather.
"Which 'kids'? Iain and Adele? Or Peter and Colleen?"
Palladino poured the remainder of his drink onto the grass. "Hey, Suze. I thought this was a social visit?"
The Army therapist began to backtrack. "Oh, it is. I was just asking about which children you were referring to, that's all. I know how much the DATs enjoy charging up on days like this." Like the others before them, the military DATs had tiny solar cells—well over ten million of them— embedded throughout their skins. Now they could sun themselves all over. The difference in general DAT mood was appreciably better, and the DAT engineers were credited with another successful idea.
"Listen, I know the difference between a DAT and a child, okay? Just because Marsha and Martin have gone around the bend doesn't mean it's contagious." Captain Marty Flemish and his DAT partner, Captain Marsha Van de Veer, were the proud 'parents' of Colleen. Both evangelical Christians, they had their DAT baptized by the chaplain at Scott Air Force Base and had taken a welding torch and symbolically fused shut Colleen's OFF switches with the argument that since an AI was technically a 'created being,' no one had the right to arbitrarily 'kill' them. Colonel Higgins had reprimanded Flemish and Van de Veer for tampering with military property, but they remained defiant in their belief. And Colleen continued to attend church with Marty and Marsha every Sunday.
"Well," Susan said drily, "since they're the third couple who have 'gone around the bend,' it does give us something to consider, so to speak." Palladino snorted. By 'us' she meant the bank of fat-cat psycho docs that all the AFAs reported to like faithful dogs.
"Susan, tell the good folks down in Alabama that everything—everyone—is fine. The mission has not been compromised—"
"Gene, that is certainly not what anyone is thinking—"
Palladino put on his best corporate bullshitting face. "—and the DATs are still on target for their growth goals, and hey, we're just having a blast with them. It's fun working with Pete. Don't get me wrong. It's hard work sometimes. But Helen and I feel like we're accomplishing some great things with him. And if you asked, I think he'd say that he felt the same way."
Susan's face became less taut. "We have asked him."
"Oh?"
"Yes. Sorry, we have to monitor them fairly constantly. Especially with Iain and Adele and the others visiting the compound now."
Palladino reached down and plucked another beer from the cooler beside his chair. "Hey, you know. We sure could have used that kind of attention back in Kentucky."
Boward smiled wanly. "Colonel, I'm not trying to minimize your loss there, but sociologists rarely work the battlefield."
Palladino smiled. "Two of your people were there. I'm just saying that maybe if they'd received the same kind of 'monitoring,' one of 'em would still be alive and three of my men wouldn't be taking dirt naps."
Wisely, Boward remained silent.
Palladino tipped up his can and drank in great glugs. "So, Suze, what did Pete say? Or am I allowed to ask that?"
"Oh, don't be silly. Of course you are. As Pete's father, you are entitled to see all of his psych evals." She stood and pressed the wrinkles out of her slacks with her hands. "Pete told us that he enjoys being with you and Helen very much, but he's a little concerned about how tired you both seem to be. Gene, do you and Helen complain about fatigue a lot in front of Pete, because that might not be the healthiest behavior for him to see and possibly emulate...."
Palladino fought the urge to slap Suze upside her head.
Later that day Palladino, brandishing his third bottle of beer in an hour, told Helen about his conversation with the psychiatrist in a less-than subdued tone of voice that conveyed his total frustration with the situation. Helen was loading her fourth load of dirty dishes into the dishwasher that day. Peter was lying on the living room floor watching television.
Helen held up a plate for closer examination. She contemplated the swirls of dried gravy on it. "Well, maybe she has a point."
Palladino shot her a pained look. "Well, I should have known not to get any good sense out of you on the subject." One of Helen's master's degrees was in child psychology. "Birds of a feather tend to fly into airplane engines together."
Helen showed him the plate. "Sir, the only thing keeping me from hurling this at your fat Italian head is the knowledge that one day someone else is going to do it for me."
Palladino sneered. "What? You put a hit out on me?"
"Nope. It'll just be some nice person out there performing a random act of kindness."
"Baby, you were singing a different tune last night when you had your hands all over me."
Helen became very still. "What are you talking about? I was at the REFLA briefing last night. Remember?"
Palladino's sobered instantly. "No. What? ... "
"The only person here was Mrs. Grayson. She babysat Pete." Mrs. Grayson was an octogenarian Patriot who often volunteered to do housework for the DAT moms.
A tiny dribble of beer leaked out one corner of the now dumbstruck colonel's mouth. "Jesus, you don't think—"
Helen cracked up. "Gotcha!"
At first Palladino looked surprised. Then angry. Then relieved. "Woman, if you were a man I'd punch your lights out."
Helen shrugged. "Major, if you were a man I'd certainly let you try."
Palladino grabbed two more beers from the fridge. "Y'know, you're the funniest person in a world of one."
Outside the sun was setting. Warm orange sunlight poured in through the window above the kitchen sink. This was her favorite time of day. When the day's chores were almost done and she could put up her feet and relax with a glass of wine. She carefully set the plate inside the built-in china cabinet.
"Sir, if it makes you feel better, I don't think that we complain too much in front of him."
"What she's calling 'complaining' is just normal conversation between two people. And, hell, sometimes we got problems. So what?"
Helen sighed, wanting this particular conversation to end. The lieutenant colonel loved a good rant, especially after knocking back a few. Normally she could just stand there and endure him, but today she was bone tired. All she wanted to do was take a hot shower and go to bed.
She turned on the radio that sat beside her four-hundred-dollar mixer on the counter and found the local NPR station. It was the storytelling hour. She loved this program. Happiness crept into her heart on tiny ballerina feet.
The co
lonel still had things on his mind. "She was way off base. All these people do is look for something to be wrong or go wrong. They're paranoid. It's just ironical how the biggest crazies on the planet get a license to run around calling everybody else nuts. They're nothing but educated snitches."
"Which are they? Crazy or snitches?"
"Both," he barked back. "They're crazed snitches."
"Got it."
"Speaking of crazed; how's Carole?"
"Holding her own. I stopped by the hospital last night and we talked some. She's dealing with a lot right now, so please don't refer to her as 'crazy.'"
Palladino shrugged. "Crazy is as crazy does. All of you women are loony tunes. And you've got Suzy Tattletale leading the charge."
"Susan has the responsibility of making sure that Pete and the others are in the best possible environments."
"Basta! In my book she's nothing but a paid informant. They all are. And since when are they allowed to contact Pete without notifying us first? We're his parents, not them. I'm gonna have a little tête-à-tête with Higgins about that one. We got rights."
Helen turned up the volume on the radio to drown him out. "I'll be finished up in here soon."
That was his cue to leave her alone.
"I'm gonna watch some television." He disappeared into the main hallway.
She called out after him, "When are those guys from Redstone coming over?"
"Tomorrow," he shouted back.
Palladino stomped off into the living room and settled his bulk down into his leather recliner. He
