The Chess Pieces

by Joshua Landeros

  “Care for the password?”

  “No, no, it’s more fun this way.”

  She stopped her chowing and walked up to the edge of her couch, gawking at his work. The machine glowed a bright maroon upon activation, but the light softened after a few seconds. As he fiddled with it, a holographic beam shot into the air and expanded so that the image became a simple square, looking like a cutout of a meadow floating in the middle of the room. In the center of it was a tiny display box awaiting the password. However, with more clicking, somehow the request was bypassed and he was at the starting menu. Still, a warning popped up.

  “Wow, it’s supposed to be voice-activated. You don’t happen to be a tech whiz? Any second now it’s gonna lock you out.”

  “I’m not done yet…”

  The simple square became a complex 3-D polygon of light, a soft blue in hue. Each face of the polygon was a different menu, one Internet access, another full of games along with many more applications. He strolled through the many options by sliding through the holographic menus with but his pointer; left, right, up, down, even diagonally.

  “There, the code I’ve added should deter any malfunctions in the software, both foreign and homegrown.”

  “Captain, I’m grateful. I could use a refresher course on programming.”

  “I’d be glad to teach you. Perhaps over coffee sometime.”

  Alyssa found an excuse to look back at her burrito, hoping to God she wasn’t blushing. She gathered herself, but in those few moments Howarth was standing once more and looking at something else. It was behind the polygon on the wall in front of them both, next to the window. It was a gorgeous painting of Clint Eastwood as The Man with No Name. From the piercing eyes down to the gleam of the revolver in his hand and cigarette in his mouth, Howarth was in sheer awe.

  “Wow, that’s… stunning.”

  “It’s a hobby of mine. My dad would have loved it.”

  “I’m sure he would’ve. You put my own work to shame. I’m afraid I’m terrible at portraying people of all things.”

  “Captain Howarth, I hate to be blunt but this is about my father, isn’t it?”

  The assertion finally tore the Head Director’s gaze away from the painting.

  “Yes, this does go back to him.”

  He walked over to her small rounded kitchen table, pulling out her chair for her. Only after she was comfortable did he seat himself.

  “Don’t tell me I’m under investigation,” she said

  “No, that’d be insulting. I just thought it’d be proper to pay you a visit considering all that’s happened. Sorry to say this, but one of my other specialties is playing shrink.”

  “Are you going to take notes about me as well?”

  “Sure, I suppose I’ll stick to the essentials.”

  Alyssa put her beer down, now feeling her stomach gurgle. Work had been able to take away the ordeals of life, even though only with more work, but it was comforting. Now it was bubbling back to the surface. Until the captain, she’d been considering taking down that painting. Now Alyssa saw how much she needed it to stay where it was. She wanted to burst into tears, rest her head on the man’s shoulder, and just sob on and on till there was nothing left. She refused.

  “What can I really say? I mean I hadn’t seen my father in years,” she trailed off, “since I was a kid, in fact. The news of his death hit me, and I honestly I didn’t know how to react.”

  She found herself unable to look him directly into those stabbing dark brown eyes. The eyes seemed to pierce right through her ruse. She needed a different channel to flow down on.

  “I guess when it all comes down to it, it’s my mother I think about the most. She’s taken it so hard.”

  “Amy Viramontes,” the man shifted in his seat, “she had been doing so well prior. The doctors do say she should make a full recovery, though.”

  “I imagine she’ll stay off the booze after an experience like that,” Alyssa muttered. “Thing that strikes me the most is how much she cried for him despite all these years of telling me she hated him.”

  “Times like this a person’s real emotions come pouring out, often without warning. Has anyone been in contact with you during this ordeal? Anyone at all?”

  “A few relatives made phone calls, but nothing of real significance, I’d say.”

  She felt a warm hand on her own. Alyssa looked down at it, as if confused, before looking back at the somber face of the man. He leaned forward slightly.

  “I know it may not seem like it, but there will be justice for you.”

  “Thank you, Captain.”

  “I’ll get out of your hair now, Alyssa. I’m sure you’re dying to get some shuteye.”

  He got out of his chair at the table, heading for the door. Alyssa understood despite the lack of words. She walked the captain to the door, opening it for him.

  “I wouldn’t be offended if you had a plate or two,” she offered.

  “I’d love to, ma’am, but I’ve got to keep busy if I ever want to make corporal,” he said as he tipped his hat with a smile. Apparently, he could read faces and reached in his pocket, producing a small card.

  “If you ever need to reach me, this is my personal number. Don’t hesitate to ask.”

  Alyssa felt herself smile deeply, exposing her dimples.

  “Bye, Captain. Remember, you promised me coffee.”

  “I know just the place,” he said sincerely. “Be seeing you.”

  ***

  UNR Headquarters

  The Honors Hall was normally unoccupied even before everything had become undone. It was meant to be a room where heroes were to be revered for all eternity. It was never to be a battleground, but the scars were impossible to miss. Kearney walked past the golden-brown pillars, several of them having bullet holes and some blown apart by explosions.

  Those scarlet walls won’t do anymore he thought objectively. The color had symbolized the blood of their enemies, but now all it reminded anyone of was the horror that had taken place there. The short but beautiful Dr. Hamilton was beside him. She had always been timid, but it showed now more than ever.

  She went out of her way to avoid even the smallest of cracks on the marble floor. Her eyes darted about incessantly as well. Is she afraid ghosts still wander the place, or is she worried because she thinks an enemy soldier is hiding behind one of those pillars? Kearney could see her believing either of the two, and so he took no chances and addressed it.

  “Please refrain from staring every which way once we meet with him”, Kearney advised.

  Dr. Hamilton suddenly realized what she was doing and instead began to follow Kearney’s lead: keeping her eyes forward at all times. Right on time as well, for up ahead was their Chancellor. He was standing before the remains of the cyborg statue. Though it had fallen, it was still mostly intact. The statue of Venloran himself still stood, and the UNR symbol on the wall behind it was unscathed as well.

  “Dr. Hamilton, Kearney, good morning to you both” he greeted as they neared.

  “Morning, Chancellor” Kearney replied.

  “Morning, honorable sir” Hamilton said, “I wanted to reassure you that Dr. Thorton has gotten your request, but he hasn’t had time to thoroughly look it over. He sends his apologies.”

  “Training new interns can wait. I did, after all, stress just how important this matter was.”

  “It’s not that. It concerns the latest patient you’ve sent us. His recovery has met some…troubling roadblocks.”

  “Has something happened to him?” Venloran asked with worry. The trepidation in his voice confounded Hamilton. She’d never heard it before.

  “He’s in the best of care, sir, but there appears to be some confusion” she made sure she said the next part with extreme delicacy, “regarding the orders for his surgery. Surely just a slip-up on our end.”

  “My orders were clear”, Venloran stated.

  “We explained that to him, but every attempt to get him to comply h
as resulted in him only demanding ‘more’. So far he’s turned down all surgery attempts.”

  “I hate to be blunt, but can’t you just put him under and proceed from there?” Kearney asked her.

  “I brought that up with Dr. Thorton, but he said denial of the general’s request could result in a psychotic break. We may need the assistance of the Head Commander if we’re to get anywhere. I-“

  “That won’t be necessary.”

  At the word of their Chancellor, both of them fell silent.

  “There is a way to fulfill his request”, said Venloran, both arms behind his back. There was no more uncertainty in his tone. “Weapon Project IV will be implemented immediately. His choice to be its first recruit is his own.”

  “Understood. We will start preparations within the hour.”

  “Sir”, interrupted Kearney politely, “it’s almost time.”

  Venloran nodded, “All right, and Hamilton, tell Thorton that this conversation isn’t over. Once this matter has been seen to, I want him to start digging into those files I sent him. Project Spartan is of the utmost priority.”

  Dr. Hamilton prepared to say something, second guessed herself, and instead said “I will inform him, Chancellor.”

  “Good, and one more thing: All work for this project is only to be carried out here at UNR HQ. I’m giving your team a generous schedule as well. By the end of this month I require only a data report. By the next, you will have something of practical use for me. I expect great things, doctor.”

  Though the doctor could not hide the sheer surprise on her face, she only nodded her compliance and bowed.

  The Chancellor and his assistant departed for the elevator as Hamilton headed for the door to the roof. There waiting for them was Aliss Howard, fully donned in his overcoat and SSF armor. He clicked the button for them and stood aside to let them pass.

  “Your car is ready and waiting, sir”, the cyborg reported.

  Aliss joined them inside and positioned himself in front of them both. As the doors began to close, he peered at the Honors Hall. All it is now is a desecrated crypt. The elevators doors shut and the machine lurched into motion as they moved downward. Our site for commemoration and pride turned into the sight of our greatest betrayal and our greatest mistake. Unit 21, you will not be allowed to get away with this.

  Chapter 3 - Reflections

  October 6, 2065 - Rock Creek Park, Washington D.C.

  “It’s been six months of picking up the pieces since that horrid day. Even though much time has passed, we are all here because we refuse to forget. Chaos flew free for only a brief while, but, as all can see, the effects of that single moment were devastating. I owe it to every family out there to say that I am truly and deeply sorry. Our soldiers served admirably, and they shall rest eternal in the Elysian Fields.”

  Venloran stood at a familiar podium in Rock Creek Park, behind him but a few seated in chairs while many thousands stood before him. The clouds above were a sickly gray, but pokes of the sun’s radiance managed to squeeze between the cracks. It was a pleasant enough day, even if the occasion was one Venloran wished did not have to take place. In his brief pause, he looked over the scarred faces of his audience. It wasn’t just his men who had suffered. It’d been his country, his people. The man felt anger and anguish all at once.

  “Today, I gather us all here for S.S.C. Unit 23 in particular because people tend to forget things that can hardly be called minute details. This valiant soldier died keeping me safe. Valerie Iglesias was the single child of Erick and Sally Iglesias, who are deceased. She was buried alongside her parents, but her memory will not fade! Today is October sixth, the day The Expansion was brought to an end and we truly became the UNR! She and Luis Viramontes both helped bring this dream to fruition years ago and fought for the UNR endlessly. Even so, we have had incidents of people questioning the merit of the SSF.

  “We never turn on our heroes just because we may be confused or even terrified! Now is the time for us to pull together! We all need to remember one thing above all: the cost of insurrection is always tragedy! It always has been thus. The remaining scum will be hunted down. Retribution will be delivered and justice will be dealt. We promise this to the republic, to the families, and our honorable service men and women will carry it out. These atrocities will not be allowed to continue!”

  There was applause, but the Chancellor could only partly enjoy it. There were no howls of ecstatic pride, no cries of battle eagerness, only mere clapping. From his fever pitch, he now descended into something calmer.

  “Today, I wish to commemorate our valiant as we will always continue to do so. Let it also be recounted that the quest for justice is perennial, Nitimur in Vetitum.”

  Venloran stepped away from the podium as Major Johnson rose from his seat. When he spoke, his lips nearly pressed against the microphone.

  “Attention!”

  In front of the crowd, a rifle party readied themselves.

  “Raise arms!”

  They followed the order simultaneously.

  “FIRE!”

  The round of shots exploded to life. Each person amongst the crowd did not budge an inch, even though with that single shot each of their hearts had bounded quite wildly. This was true of everyone there, all except for the Chancellor. The following shots only caused his fist to curl.

  Not too far away from the podium, on a field of grass where trees had been removed, a large circular wall stood. It was around seven feet tall and was composed of smooth gabbro. This monument had but one opening where the enormous number of citizens could enter. Once inside, mourners were surrounded by the reflective walls. As people paid their respects, flowers piled up immensely.

  Civilians and decorated servicemen and women alike placed their gifts at the base of the wall. Each one of them stared into the face of the structure. Engraved in it were the names of all the soldiers who had died that day, but above all those names there was an inscription which was also larger: Nitimur in Vetitum. Every person there may not have known each and every last one of the names on the plaque, but it had been hammered into them the meaning of that phrase.

  Venloran, Kearney, and the entire UNR Cabinet were all amassed at the site. They were the first to enter. Aliss Howard accompanied them. He stood by the entrance as they walked around, analyzing the wall. Of all those names he read, only two gave him pause: S.S.C. Unit 18 and S.S.C. Unit 23. You two, and your friend, you all have left a mark in your own way. Valerie, we never had a chance to catch up.

  Major Johnson himself took a slow stroll. He knew these faces in a different way than anyone else did. Fellow soldiers viewed them as now gone brothers and sisters. To Johnson, it was as if he was looking upon the faces of his own beloved children. Children that had been snatched away. His chest lurched, as a feeling of helplessness set in deep.

  ***

  Cardinal Cove, Bowie, Maryland

  The moonlight reflected magnificently off the flowing waters. Among the reeds and tall Wye Oaks, a structure stood, not having been born from nature’s gentle caress. Twenty-five hundred square feet and sporting a second-story deck overlooking the scenic Patuxent River, the shoreside lake house was also surrounded by trees, giving the manmade structure a very earthy tone. Unlike the dark forest, though, the house was lit up in a spectacular fashion.

  Watching the house in the blackness were several men, weapons in hand and full-on camouflage, makeup donned. Shying away from the light, these soldiers listened closely, not to the music and laughter emanating from the house but instead to the ambiance of the woods. The chorus of crickets, the rustle of leaves and branches toyed around by passing wind and not a single footstep.

  The pair were holding their position in the shadow of a large tree, the men puny in comparison. Surveying the house with a night vision optical that turned the area into bright shade of greens, the soldier put up his hand. His partner took out a pen-cap-sized flashlight, blinking it twice. Off in the gloom and quiet, who knows how
far away, there was a return of two blinks.

  With that a thud came from around the tree, the heavy thud accompanied by the snap of a twig. Both soldiers went into action immediately, approaching the target from opposite sides of the great oak. Their eyes were fixed on the man standing there in his overcoat, his face shrouded in the night and his breathing calm. It was the gunmen who for a moment thought they were dead.

  “Good, just what I wanted to see,” said the figure, nodding his head. “Our boys staying frosty.”

  Though one of the soldiers relaxed, the other stayed on edge. He put his gun down, but his chest did not rest.

  “3-05, you dog,” said Jackson. “A lack of confidence in your fellow man?”

  Even in the night’s shade, both could see a faint smile on that face.

  “Don’t go turning me into an asshole. I’m just making my rounds. Report?”

  “Sector Five, clear, not a soul.”

  The man’s penetrating eyes drifted from the familiar friend to the presumed irregular. The soldier could feel its stare.

  “Keep him shaky, Jackson, but keep his gun pointed at the potential hostiles.”

  “Seniority is just another word for liability, so will do.”

  “All right, carry on.”

  The near-silhouette straightened its long tan coat before walking away, the sheen of his combed-back blond hair dazzling. It wasn’t long before he was gone.

  “Cyborgs creep me the hell out.”

  “He may be one of them, but believe me, Aliss Howard’s a real national hero.”

  ***

  Kearney walked into the kitchen, every granite countertop covered with food being prepped by professional chefs. He looked at his watch for a second and then back to the workers before him. The room was heavy with spices and sauces, paprika and parmesan, a real variety for the temporal lobe. Dazzling as all the colors and smells were, Kearney’s focus was elsewhere. The head chef seemed to sense an observant eye upon his work and, upon seeing the well-dressed man, rushed over to him.

  “I’m sorry we’re a tad behind, sir, but the ham took longer than expected.”