Guns And Dogs

by T. A. Uner

Argos wasn’t convinced.

  Chapter 11

  AL Command Center

  Los Angeles, CA

  “I’m starting to think she hates me,” Johnny said right after Gina returned to Earth. He was glad to be off Penal One. While impressive, the space prison’s orbit around Earth made him queasy every time he looked out of the command room’s viewport windows. “She’s always talking down to me; acting like she’s better than me, and she always has a smug-ass look on her face.”

  “I don’t think she hates you Johnny. Remember what I told you before? Give it time. Keep being friendly, and work hard at AL. Eventually, you’ll earn her respect.”

  Patrice was busy in the main computer room at AL headquarters, surrounded by computer terminals manned by tireless AL personnel. Johnny wondered if she ever slept, or ate for that matter. When she saw them enter she turned towards them.“I may have a lead on who Grendis is.”

  “Let’s hear it,” Argos said. Both Jessie and Studs looked up at Patrice inquisitively.

  “Take a look at this.” Patrice handed Argos a razor-thin tablet.

  “According to this data Grendis is an Inciter working for the Lycarian Government.” Argos turned to Johnny and passed the tablet to him. “An Inciter is an agent who infiltrates other worlds and helps destabilize governments—making them easier to topple.”

  Both Jessie and Studs barked. Johnny smiled. The dogs were always eager to chime in with canine vernacular. He only wished he could understand it.

  “I believe the Lycarians are trying to alter Earth’s timeline,” Patrice added. “They may be trying to add Earth to their sphere of influence.”

  “Is that what TimeBoss says?”

  Johnny remembered learning about TimeBoss during his training: The awe-inspiring Mega-Computer that could detect changes in the timeline. He longed to see it up close, but would his junior AL clearance get him in?

  “I was about to go to TimeBoss’ chamber, care to join me?”

  Argos nodded. Johnny held his breath and waited. “Johnny you stay here with Jessie and Studs, we’ll be back in a hour or so.”

  Johnny nodded, while concealing his dejection. He could’ve sworn he saw a twinkle of amusement in Patrice’s eyes. After she and Argos left the room both Jessie and Studs licked his hand and nuzzled his leg. He eyed the dogs and smiled. “Well, looks like we’ve got some quality time with one another.”

  (2)

  Not being able to join Argos and Patrice hurt. Not only because he wanted to see TimeBoss, but it made him feel like the kid on the basketball court who was never picked by a team.

  His wounded pride was not the only thing troubling him. Memories of Maria’s departure resurfaced in his mind. He wondered if he’d ever get over her leaving for Europe to pursue her dream. He left the control room, Jessie and Studs following him loyally, and headed for the fitness center. He had an hour to kill, and this was the best way to do it.

  After changing into his tracksuit, he found a pair of boxing gloves and started pounding a punching bag while the Dobermans watched with interest. He pretended the bag was Patrice and let loose on it. Soon his arms felt sore, but it was a good feeling and soon his anger abated. Sweat clung to his back as he continued pummeling the bag. The faster he punched the more Jessie and Studs would egg him on with their barking. But for some reason, he could not get Maria out of his head. It was as if her face was branded into his memory. Staring at a television monitor that was tuned to CNN, he wondered how she was doing, and where she was in Europe. He was so dazed by his thoughts that he didn’t hear Jessie and Studs’ barking, welcoming a newcomer into the fitness room.

  “Johnny?”

  He turned around. It was Argos. “When I couldn’t locate you in the computer room I thought I might find you here. Looks like I guessed right.”

  Johnny eyed his wristlink and noticed that almost two hours had elapsed since he’d begun his workout. “Sorry Argos, I must’ve lost track of time.”

  Argos grinned. “That’s alright, looks like you had a lot on your mind.”

  Johnny wiped his face with a towel. “How so?”

  “I’ve been known to come here to blow off some excess steam. I’m just glad I wasn’t on the receiving end of that punching bag.”

  “Did you learn anything from TimeBoss?”

  Argos shook his head and sat down. “Not yet, but if anything crops up TimeBoss will find it. Sorry we couldn’t let you come with us, but you’re not cleared yet.”

  “No need for apologies Argos, I understand. Besides, Jessie and Studs kept me company.” He resumed his boxing. Johnny’s knuckles were sore but he kept at it. Trying to punch Maria’s image out of his head.

  “You wanna talk, Johnny?”

  Johnny stopped. “What makes you think I wanna talk?”

  Argos grinned sheepishly. “I raised two kids, son, I think I know when a teenager has a lot on his mind. C’mon what’s the matter?”

  “Ohh, a lot actually. I don’t know where to start though.”

  Argos took turns scratching Jessie and Studs’ behind their ears. “The beginning is usually the best place to start.

  A day before he met Argos, Jessie and Studs, Johnny had a premonition that something very bad was going to happen in his life.

  Inside his bedroom, he looked up at the ceiling fan and saw his life spinning out of control. First his father’s disappearance, then his declining grades, and now his girlfriend taking a hiatus from their relationship. Maybe permanently. He wanted to call her but that would make him look needy. But he was needy, he needed her to stay.

  He opened the window to his bedroom and looked out. He felt like he’d stuck his head in an oven. The sky was tinted beige where the white Arizona sun serenaded his face with bright rays. Rain came seldom in Phoenix, and he wished today it was in the forecast. He looked around at his neighborhood. Apart from a group of kids tossing a football in a front yard the area was devoid of human activity. Their loud chatters echoed throughout the neighborhood and Johnny wished he could share their carefree mood.

  He returned to his room and slumped into his desk chair. He realized he had an appointment this evening with Dr. Fields, the shrink his mother had found for him. But he really hadn’t helped. He urged Johnny to be positive and spouted all sorts of other feel-good crap. Must be nice to make good money feeding people lies, he thought.

  On top of his desk he saw a box-cutter and ran his finger down its side. He’d forgotten how he’d come to own one. But there it was. For a moment a strange thought crossed his mind and he tried his best to force it from his head. But it returned and he felt helpless.

  Dr. Fields had given him a prescription of anti-depressants, sometimes he took them, and sometimes he didn’t. He had a feeling they were placebos instead of salvation from his negative thoughts. Why did doctors always feel the need to preach crap to teens? Instead of helping me get rid of my problems, Dr. Fields tries to make me forget them. Seemed like the whole world was out to get him. First by taking his father away from him and his mother, then his girlfriend. He wondered what calamity would befall him next.

  A framed picture of him and his father stared back at him from the top of his dresser. He picked it up and rekindled the memory of when it was taken. Little League. Those were happy times. He placed the picture back on the dresser and pocketed the box cutter. Why he decided to do that wasn’t quite clear. At least not yet. He grabbed his Jeep keys and stuffed them into his front pocket.

  He went downstairs into the kitchen. His mother had left him a note on the refrigerator that she was called into work today on her day off. He envied her, at least she had something to take her mind off her troubles. He didn’t have that luxury.

  His backpack, filled with coursework, waited for him in the corner of the laundry room. He hadn’t finished any of his homework, and tomorrow he had a physics test in Mr. Garrett’s class. “Screw that.” He entered the garage, started his Jeep and took off down the main road that cut through his neighb
orhood, passing a series of cul-de-sacs that made up his community.

  “Where am I going?” he asked himself. The truth was he didn’t know. It was an aimless drive, just short of being a joyride. Except joy was the furthest thing from his mind. He sped down West Northern Avenue, passing the suburbs of Peoria and Glendale, two of the largest suburbs of Phoenix. He thought about visiting his friend Fred who lived nearby, but then realized he’d be at school right now. The irony of the situation made him clench his fist and pound it against his steering wheel, accidentally setting off the Jeep’s horn.

  In his rearview mirror he noticed a police cruiser trailing him. He turned his attention back to the road, trying not to attract too much attention. A few seconds later he saw flashing lights in his driver side mirror. “Damn! This is the last thing I need today!”

  Johnny felt like flooring the jeep, to try and distance himself and the cruiser. But he knew that would only cause more problems, and he really didn’t need to add more trouble to his burgeoning list of woes.

  He slowed down and pulled into the parking lot of a gas station. The cruiser followed him like a shadow before pulling up right behind him. He took out of his license and pulled out a bent copy of his vehicle registration.

  After waiting ten minutes. Yes. Ten minutes. The officer stepped out of his cruiser and slowly made his way to the driver side window. Johnny looked up at the officer who stared back at him solemnly behind black Ray-Bans. “You in a hurry son?” he asked.

  “No, sir.” Not knowing how else to answer such a clichéd question. This is probably what they ask everyone they pull over. “I was trying to get to school,” he lied, hoping the cop wouldn’t see through the deception. He’d forgotten his backpack at home, but would the officer notice that?

  “Let me see your license and registration, son.”

  Johnny handed it over. At this point he didn’t care about getting a ticket, he just wanted to get away from this cop and be on his way, wherever that was.

  The police officer strolled back to his cruiser. Inside the jeep, Johnny felt like hours had gone by before he returned. “You’re clear, son,” the officer said, giving back the license and registration. “But try driving more carefully next time, Mr. Veto.” He handed Johnny a yellow slip which he recognized as a warning.

  As Johnny pulled his wallet out of his front pocket to put the warning slip inside it, the box cutter slipped out and dropped into his lap. The officer, with his trained eyes, immediately noticed it. “Can I ask why you’re carrying a box cutter son?”

  I wish you’d stop calling me son, you stupid pig. He cursed his luck and grabbed the box cutter before trying to jam it back into his pocket. “Ohh, I had totally forgotten that I had it on me, officer.” It was the second lie he had told the cop.

  “Why don’t you step out of the Jeep, son.”

  Johnny felt a painful jolt in his stomach. Like someone had stuck him with a knife. “Why? Is there a problem.”

  “There won’t be a problem if you do as I say, son.”

  I’m not you’re freaking son, piglet. He had no other choice but to do as he was told. He stepped out of his jeep, slowly. “Back away from the vehicle, son.”

  “I still don’t get what this is all about?”

  Raise your hands above your head.

  “Why?”

  “Just do it!”

  Johnny complied and raised his hands. The officer started patting him down. He felt the cop’s hands over his front pocket, right where he’d stuffed the box cutter, before it was taken away from him. “I’ll ask again, why are you carrying a box cutter?”

  “Didn’t I just tell you?”

  “A smart mouth huh?” The cop smiled, but it wasn’t a friendly smile. More condescending than kind. “Last chance, kid.”

  “What? Not gonna call me ‘son’ this time?”

  The officer grabbed Johnny by his collar and spun him around before pushing him against the hood of the Jeep. “What the hell is this shit?”

  “It’s called resisting arrest…son!”

  Johnny wondered what might’ve set off the cop. He hadn’t done anything headlong. He smelled the cop’s minty breath as he struggled. I’ll be damned if I get arrested for just speaking out for myself, he thought. He felt the weight of the trooper applying something on his wrists as cold metal greeted his skin. He summoned a last gasp of strength before nailing the officer in the shin with the heel of his shoe. A loud squawk escaped from the officer's lips and Johnny felt his grip loosen. He lashed out again, this time with his elbow, almost smashing the officer’s nose. The Ray-Bans had fallen off the officer’s face, revealing two vulture-like eyes. Johnny knew he was in a boatload of trouble. There goes my spotless record.

  “Damn punk.” The officer recovered quickly, and tried fastening his arms around Johnny’s torso like a harness. Instead of taking off like a rabbit, Johnny felt like a snail stuck in mud when he felt the cop’s arms clamp down on him.

  He lost his balance and tumbled to the asphalt road. His knee catching the surface of the road. It felt like a hornet sting. And now the cop’s weight was on top of him. There’d be no escaping this.

  An hour later he was laying on a bunk inside a cell. It smelled of stale alcohol and unwashed clothes. His lone roommate a sleeping man with a wrinkled forehead wearing a threadbare raincoat with brown stains plastered across it.

  He stood up from his bunk and called out to the guards. But there was no answer, except grunts and four-letter words from the occupants of neighboring cells.

  He sighed and slumped back onto his bunk. His jeep was probably impounded and getting it out would cost more money than he had in his dwindling savings account. Worse, he wondered how he would face his mother, who had likely been alerted of his incarceration. This was beyond embarrassing, and contradictory to how he was raised. The only good thing was his father wasn’t around to see him now. It would’ve saddened Scott Veto’s noble heart.

  After Johnny finished his story, Argos rubbed his chin in contemplation. “Sounds like you contributed to your own calamity Johnny. Look, I know losing your pops had a lot to do with it but it’s how we deal with problems that defines us. Just giving up and embracing mediocrity doesn’t solve anything.

  “Happiness isn’t something you pick up at the grocery store, nor is it something that comes to you at a certain age. It’s a trait that lives within all of us, and it flourishes when you begin appreciating the things in life we take for granted.” He smiled and patted Johnny on the back. “Ok. End of lecture.”

  Johnny nodded, but said nothing.

  Chapter 12

  Inside TimeBoss Chamber

  After Argos left, Patrice had remained behind. TimeBoss was a high-maintenance piece of technology that required careful supervision when it was scanning for timeline changes. Despite its need for human interaction, TimeBoss’ internal monitoring was efficient at keeping its operating systems nominal during intervals when it was not scanning for timeline discrepancies, and, in the event of a catastrophic event, it would alert AL Command promptly.

  While occupied with her task, Patrice struggled with the idea that perhaps she’d met someone close to her age who could challenge her intellectually.

  As Johnny’s trainer, she was well-versed with his file. His middle and high school grades were mediocre at best. Nor had he ever been perceived as being gifted in any manner. But Patrice found these facts superficial. After all, Einstein had been a poor student and barely graduated from college.

  Still, Argos was very high on Veto. But was that because he had been a close friend of Johnny’s father? Or, did Veto indeed possess some hidden aptitude which was equal or greater than hers? If that was the case, then she and he should be getting along quite well, yet, her conscience reminded her of how coarsely she had been treating him ever since they’d met. A part of her found this thought disturbing, so she stopped monitoring data to take a short break.

  She removed her glasses and rubbed her eyes, and dec
ided to leave the chamber to get a drink of water. Right before she reached the door an alarm sounded.

  “Detecting timeline alteration,” TimeBoss said in its calm, yet commanding voice. “Current timeline results in seventy-two percent change from original timeline.”

  “Seventy-two percent? Shit!” Patrice raced back to her station, nearly tripping over her high heels in the process. Anything close to twenty-five percent was cause for alarm, but seventy-two percent? AL headquarters was protected from any alteration in the timeline, since it existed within an artificially-generated field that was outside normal spacetime, that way any change in the timeline wouldn’t affect its existence, thus allowing AL operatives to correct altered or corrupted times.

  Not knowing what to expect from the altered timeline, Patrice’s heart raced like a gazelle. Eying the monitor, she noticed that the altered map of the United States was vastly different from the one she’d known all her life—the southeastern seaboard, from Virginia to Florida, as well as all deep south states, was called The Confederate States of America, while Texas had reverted back to an independent republic.

  “Locate origin of timeline change,” she ordered TimeBoss.

  “1861 AD; North America; Baltimore, Maryland; United States of America; Earth. Death of sixteenth American President Abraham Lincoln. Cause of death, unknown virus.”

  Patrice thought hard. Abraham Lincoln had died in 1865, after being shot in Ford’s Theater by a disgruntled southern sympathizer named John Wilkes. A virus was never involved. How had this happened?

  “Are there any records remaining from the alternate 1861 pertaining Lincoln’s death?” Patrice asked.

  “Affirmative. Processing visual information for analysis.” A second later a digital 3D image appeared in the center of the room and Patrice watched with interest as archived information readouts flashed beneath a computer-generated image of Abraham Lincoln. “Apparently the physicians at the time chalked it up as smallpox.” She watched as an ancient picture taken during Lincoln’s autopsy was displayed. It depicted lesions and sores across his face and arms. But the poor photo quality made it difficult to get a better look at the deceased president’s condition.