He finally reached his mother and father and put his head next to her lap. He was feeling really tired for some reason. He shifted his head and met his father’s gaze. Good. They were both alive. Well, Jack knew he was still alive. He was in too much pain to be dead. No. Actually, he really wasn’t in any pain at all. But it wasn’t the ethereal lack of pain he would expect in Heaven. It was the “I’m in shock and I’m gonna die of blood loss so please get this fixed up real soon” kind of pain that was hovering just outside where he could actually feel it.
Not that he was actually going to die of course. When he was younger he could have. But he’d had the Peloran treatments. He could feel his body healing itself already. He was really going to have to let his leg lay straight if that was going to heal. Maybe he wouldn’t need the splint after all. No. He probably would. It was going to take a long time, and a lot of food, for his body to do all the healing it needed, and there was no way it was going to burn a lot of energy fixing a leg when it had more important stuff to heal. Internal bleeding could kill you a lot faster than a bad leg in most cases after all. Unless a mountain lion were chasing you. In that case he would probably be questioning which was most important. Running or bleeding?
He blinked and looked at his father. His father smiled back. His father smiled up at his mother. And as Jack watched, he saw his father release his last breath.
His mother screamed again and the headache came back with a vengeance. Jack looked at his father for a very long time, wondering what he should feel. Grief he supposed. Pain. Yeah, that too. Anger. Yeah. Anger definitely. Once this concussion and all the other stuff got fixed up, he figured he was going to feel all of that. There was something else he was going to need to feel too though.
He frowned, trying to get his muddled mind to go through the right thought processes to get to where he needed to be. It was so slow. He was so tired. It was hard to think. Oh right. He had it now. Yeah. He was going to find out who did this. Who destroyed Yosemite Yards. Who killed his father. Once he knew that, he was going to kill them. Yeah. That sounded like a really good plan. That would feel real good.
The decision made, he felt darkness calling and surrendered to it.
Hello, my name is Jack. When they called for volunteers to fight the Shang, I signed up real quick. I wanted to kill ’em all for what they did. I did real good in training too. A life of swimming and fishing and dancing and playing music makes for real good physical fitness let me tell you. Of course they wanted me as a pilot. That six weeks changed me good. Real good. I found out what I was made of there. I found out what I wanted.
The Metal in the Man
A dry Texas westerly wind blew dust around the dirt yard in front of the building. A breath of hot morning air scorched down throat made for less harsh climates. He was less than a kilometer from the Gulf of Mexico. And here he was, getting a dry, hot wind from the west. Well, it could have been worse. It could be a wet, hot wind from the east. Eight weeks. It was hard to believe that was the difference between this harsh landscape and the lakes of Minnesota. Between peace and War.
The United States of America were going to War. Every State from Alaska to Panama, every Colony from New Washington to Liberty, they were all marching to War. It was unimaginable. But here it was. Two centuries of star travel all brought down to a single word. War.
And for Jack, that meant eight weeks of training. Well, one week of healing, mentally and physically. The physical was easy. Mentally, he was pretty certain he wasn’t close to healing yet, but he’d put on a good show for the shrinks. He bet at least one or two of them had guessed it was an act, but they’d not been willing to put their objections down on paper. Not against someone with his physical aptitude. The military needed every volunteer they could get after all.
Boot camp had been the hard part. He had no idea how recruits survived it in the old days. Twelve weeks of Parris Island? No thank you. One week of hundred kilometer marches and an hour to sleep like the dead had been more than enough for him to never, ever, want to go through that again. Ever. For the first time in his life, his body had actually failed him in the end. Almost. He’d missed the three-minute mile mark, but at least he’d crossed the line in the end. Which was better than half the battalion.
And six weeks later, here he was in the heart of the Republic of Texas. Possibly the most powerful of the American States, especially after Yosemite, he supposed it made sense. He just wished it wasn’t so hot and dry. It made his skin itch, and his mouth was always parched. He really hated this place. Of course, if things went right today, he wouldn’t have to be here much longer.
There was a War to fight after all, and the Marines needed every pilot they could punch through this abbreviated training schedule yesterday. Literally. News of the Battle of Mars had arrived last night. There was only one, final test to pass and Jack would pilot a starfighter in the ranks of the Republic of Texas Marine Corps. Texas. Jack sniffed raw, dry wind into his lungs and coughed it out again. Well. He would leave soon, one way or the other. There was no need to waste perfectly good ill feelings on a land he was about to get away from.
He turned from the bleak landscape and walked up to the door, to feel cool air streaming out over him. He smiled and looked down at the 40-kilo German Shepherd guarding the door.
“Hey, Bruce,” Jack said to the older dog, enjoying the cool breeze.
“Jack,” the dog answered, tongue hanging out the side of his mouth betraying his perpetual amusement. Bruce had been one of the first Uplifted German Sheperds, and he still loved laughing at all the young pups wanting to join the Marines. “Six weeks to the day. You know what that means?”
Jack gave the dog a feral smile. “Yes it is and yes I do. I find out how I’m gonna start killing Shang.”
“That’s the spirit,” Bruce said with a hearty bark. “Remember, if you need character witnesses…” Bruce trailed off with a leading expression.
Jack laughed at the statement before frowning in thought. Was Bruce more than just a guard dog? “Are you part of the test?” he asked, genuinely curious.
Bruce barked again in laughter and sat down on his rump, cocking his head to the side. His tongue seemed to hang out even more, giving a truly comical look to the dog. Certainly a lot more comical than the time he’d seen Bruce running off a trespasser with the full rabid dog act, foaming at the mouth and everything. “What do you think?” Bruce finally asked.
Jack rubbed his jaw, considering the question with care. “Maybe,” he finally said with a smile.
Bruce answered with another bark of laughter. “Get in there. You don’t want to be late because you stopped to talk to an old guard,” Bruce ordered.
“Yes, Sergeant,” Jack snapped back. He turned for one more glance at the dusty grounds where Bruce’s pack patrolled, just like every morning. They felt…more watchful today. He caught one of them glancing at him. That was Annabelle. She turned away when she caught his gaze and returned to prowling the perimeter. He thought about asking if there was something wrong before shaking his head. The pack wasn’t worried. They were expectant. Of course, this was the day for that.
“Go,” Bruce barked more sternly.
“Yes, Sergeant,” Jack answered and turned into the building. “You’ll tell me if anything bad’s about to happen right?” he asked, covering all the bases just in case.
“Always,” Bruce returned before letting out several amused yips.
Jack considered what was going on with the dogs as he walked into the cool air of the building that had been his home for six weeks. Every day he’d spent eight hours in a single classroom with every candidate in the school, learning everything about the cybernetic intelligences there was to know. He’d also spent eight hours in a training room, alone with the people he was here to impress. Half the time they trained, working together to fly anything from fighters to warships. The other half, he answered questions from knowledge of history and physics to what kind of jelly he wanted on his peanut
butter sandwich. Assuming he liked peanut butter sandwiches. Or jelly. They said it was to gain an accurate psychological profile.
And between each class, there had been four hours of nothing. Since he’d joined the military, he’d never had so much free time as here at Corpus Christi, and he still couldn’t figure out why. He had time to eat, to study if he wanted to, to work out in the gym, to sleep, or whatever he felt like. It was four precious hours that were his with no structure at all enforced from on high. The only rule was that they could not leave the perimeter.
That was fine by him. He’d spent most days playing with the dogs. Uplifted dogs as it happened weren’t much different from normal dogs when it came down to it. They loved to play fetch, have their tummies rubbed, or get in wrestling matches. Bruce was a wrestler. Annabelle had a favorite ball she loved to chase. Tony had become his best friend, not to mention a constant wet nose, when he found out Jack came to the yard with sugar cubes in his pocket.
He stepped into the classroom that took up the center of the Marine Training Air Station and filed down the auditorium steps until he reached his row. He squeezed past those already in their seats and sat down in the same assigned seat he’d held for the last six weeks. Then he leaned back in his chair, stretched, and began to study the other Marines.
Like most Americans, every Marine here had taken the Peloran Treatments that first began wiping out most diseases a century ago. Some of them looked as old as their fifties or sixties, and a few could have passed for their teens, showing that they’d been alive when the Peloran made Contact. The first Treatments weren’t as reliable as the modern ones, and slowed or froze the aging process at different ages.
Most were like Jack, twenty-five years of age until the day they died. Because every single Marine in the room belonged to the smallest subset of Americans who would never age another day in their life. And with that, came all the other little side effects that affected people them. Improved eyesight, superior strength and endurance, quicker reflexes, and intuition. They saw and reacted to threats faster than anyone. They could have been the perfect genetically engineered super soldiers. Unfortunately, or fortunately depending on the point of view, most of them lacked the innate mental temperament it was that drove people to seek physical conflict. And so most pursued normal civilian jobs until Yosemite fell and the call for volunteers flooded the United States.
A soft bell sounded and a room full of men and women fell silent. On time to the second, their instructor walked out onto the stage, the chink chink sound of regulation Dress White cowboy boots on the hard wood floor filling the auditorium. The instructor stopped behind the podium and peered out from under the white cowboy hat that topped the uniform of the Republic of Texas Marine Corps. His eyes squinted at the two hundred Marines in the room and he nodded in what might have passed for approval. “I will not lecture you today. Those of you here have passed the written exams and the physical training. I congratulate you. Now listen to me one last time. All of you will be leaving today, going to your next duty station. Many of you will become ground or naval combatants, trained to fight in all elements. Some of you will become pilots as well. Listen to me now, one last time, and you may change the verdict in your favor.
“The cybernetic intelligences that you may meet in the next hour are between one hundred and over two thousand years old. They share the memories of every single member of their family that has been born in that time. And the newest families have the memories of those that came before. They have spent over two thousand years learning how to be human. Once they pick a partner, a holoform, and a name, they will be human, indistinguishable from any other human you will ever meet in every way that matters.
“If they pick you, they will have chosen to be whatever you need to fight and to live to fight another day, until the War is over for you, one way or the other. Your best friend, your sister, your brother, whatever it is, they will have chosen and accepted that role in your life as your partner. The head of every single cyber family is here, so if you are not chosen here you will not be chosen by any cyber. If you are not chosen, you will not be a Marine Corps combat pilot.
“And that is all. You will be escorted to your training rooms one row at a time and then you will wait. Once everyone has been escorted to their rooms, those of you who have not been chosen will be escorted out. Those of you who have been chosen will have a few minutes to get to know your new partner and then you will be escorted out. Those of you who are still on the bubble, this could be a long day. It will be your last test. Convince the cybers that you are worthy of working with them, or you will be escorted out alone. Goodbye, good luck, and get the Hell out of my classroom!”
“Oorah!” the Marines chorused back.
Jack stepped out of his line and into the open door of his training room. The door shut behind him, closing him into the white-walled room, and he sat down in the single chair. He looked at the bare walls for a moment before plugging a crystal encased in clear plastic into the chair’s arm. The computer read the crystal, and jazz music filled the room. Jack smiled, shut his eyes, and leaned back in the chair. It would be several minutes before everybody got into their rooms, so he might as well relax while waiting.
“He shouldn’t be so cocky,” a female voice he recognized said five songs in. Jack opened one eye to scan the room and saw the speakers lined up at the top of the wall were live. Well, two of them were at least. The light above speaker five blinked out. Yup. He’d been right.
“I don’t know. I like his choice in music,” a much older female voice that sounded like a nice old aunt said. The light above speaker three came on.
Jack suppressed a smile and shut his eye, listening to the cybers continuing to talk. Cyber Number Five didn’t like him, never had truth be told. She was the crazy aunt that shouted at all the kids for placing a toe on her lawn. Well, maybe she wasn’t that bad, but he’d never liked her either. He was surprised that cyber had shown up here at all. Cyber Three on the other hand seemed interested. Cyber Five was just here to talk the nice one away. Well. He really couldn’t allow that. He was a little disappointed that Cyber Seven and Cyber Four weren’t here to talk to him. He wondered why, but cleared his throat and entered the conversation.
“You do know I can hear you, right?” Jack asked, opened his eyes, leaned forward, and cut the music.
“You should be more respectful,” Cyber Five said in a frosty tone.
Jack sighed. “Look, you aren’t here to talk to me. You’re here to stop Three from choosing me. But that’s Three’s decision, so why don’t you just go and find someone else here who will work with you rather than envision stabbing you through the speaker?”
Both speakers remained silent and Jack wondered if he’d gone too far. He really didn’t like Five but hoped his interjection hadn’t pushed number Three away. He breathed in and out, holding onto his calm, and waited.
“What if I decided to choose you?” the voice from speaker five suddenly filled the silence.
Jack smiled. He glanced at the silent speaker three. “I’d throw you back,” he said, eyes on Five’s speaker again.
Silenced reigned again for a long time. “Why?” Five asked.
Jack shrugged. “When I fish, sometimes I catch Crappie or Bass. I don’t like them so I throw them back. Northerns I like. I keep them. I wouldn’t like you the way you are. And you wouldn’t like me unless you changed yourself so much you probably wouldn’t like you either. So I’d throw you back and we’d both be happier.”
The silence lasted another thirty seconds this time before speaker five spoke again. “Three has left. I’m your last chance,” she finally said. “Convince me to choose you or you will be escorted out alone.”
Jack swallowed this time, eyes flicking over to speaker three. He licked his lips, wondering if it was true. He wondered for a moment if…no…no. He shook his head. “I don’t accept your premise. I don’t think Three is gone. I think you’re testing me. Even if I’m wrong th
ough, it wouldn’t change things. You’re too bound up in rules for you and me to ever work well. We’d be fighting each other as much as the Shang, and that would kill us both dead in the end.”
“You are correct,” speaker five said. “We would fight each other. Goodbye, Jack. Enjoy your escort.” The speaker went silent.
Jack leaned back in his chair and waited for the door to open. When it didn’t after a few seconds, he tapped the crystal and the jazz music began to play again. If he was wrong, he had just gambled everything and lost. No, he hadn’t really gambled actually. He really wouldn’t have enjoyed working with Five. But if Three had left already…or if none of the others were here either, it would be all she wrote. He shut his eyes and breathed in and out, willing himself to be calm. A minute went by, the jazz bubbling in the background, and the door did not open. Two minutes.
“So you think I’m a Northern?” Speaker three asked with the tone of a quizzical aunt asking why he’d thought it was fun to toss rocks into the water.
Jack smiled. He’d played his cards right. He left the music on in the background since the cyber liked it. “I think you’re a lot more likely to be one than Little Miss Tightypants over there,” he said with a wave towards speaker five.
Three let out a hearty laugh. “I will have to tell her you called her that,” she continued in a wry tone. “Later of course.”
“Of course,” Jack echoed with a chuckle. “I’m glad Five was lying by the way.”
“Five wasn’t lying. Five was testing you,” came the response.
Forge of War (Jack of Harts) Page 2
