What Tomorrow May Bring

by Tony Bertauski

  It makes them seem dangerous. And surprisingly enticing.

  “I wish I could do that, enlist right now, before my birthday. I’d be gone before my assessment,” I say.

  Jay stops pacing around my room to stare at me.

  “What?”

  “I just thought of a plan,” he says, a bit reluctantly.

  “Is it a good plan?” I say. “’Cause you know that’s the only kind of plan I like. The good kind.”

  “Two things. Shut. Up.” He says it in that voice that makes me do just that.

  “This is probably stupid as hell, but I’m going to say it anyway.” Jay runs his hands over his face, which makes me nervous. “There’s a phantom, in the place,” he says, but he’s being careful and only mouths the word “phantom”.

  “Can you fix it so you don’t have to wait until your birthday? Can we both enlist now so you can come with me?”

  I’m stunned. Not only because Jay is suggesting this but because there is a phantom sim-seat. A phantom is completely anonymous, no feedback, no tracking, and there’s end-to-end encryption. I’d be able to move through the network undetected. If it’s real, it’s immeasurably more dangerous than any unregistered, illegal sim-seat. We’d have to move fast, that sim-seat won’t stay an entry point for very long.

  “Do you think you can do it?” Jay asks with narrowed eyes.

  I slowly nod my head as I think about how I could change my age in certain files. “I’m pretty sure I can.”

  “Pretty sure is how you feel just before something goes very wrong,” Jay informs me. “You need to be sure sure.”

  —

  I have certain capabilities with digital data. When I’m immersed, I can exert some control over the flow of data instead of passively allowing the exchange of information.

  When I’m in there, I sense the interactions happening and I can track the ones and zeros, the yes and no responses, and I can follow the patterns they make. This is the crucial thing. Where other people see only a door for their simbody to walk though, I also see the tunnel under the door. It makes me an excellent infiltrator. Jay is the only person who knows I can do this. I can’t use my sim-seat at home; it would be too easy to track me. I managed to disable certain security protocols on a sim-seat at school, though. I don’t do much because I’m too afraid of getting caught, but sometimes I’ll look at what my father’s up to, let his shipping schedules flow around me. Stupid, I know.

  “Hurry up.” Jay sounds nervous. “And don’t make any stupid mistakes.”

  He stands watch for me because I can lose awareness of my surroundings pretty easily. I pull the head gear down from the compartment above and tighten the strap around my forehead. The familiar feel of suction secures the helmet to my cranium.

  “Listen. I don’t make stupid mistakes,” I say, trying for humor because I’m jumpy too. “Smart mistakes? Okay. But never stupid ones.” I flip the visor down, and it too secures itself in place. The real world disappears, and all I can see is the faint blue glow of the system in standby mode.

  “Would you hurry up?” Jay says between gritted teeth before I’m enveloped by silence. I slip my hands into the glove-like armrests. There’s a tingle on the tips of my fingers as the connections are made. The faint glow becomes momentarily blinding, and I’m in. I stretch my arms out in front of me, but I can’t see them. I don’t have a shadow and I don’t leave any footprints behind. I’m a phantom.

  I’m not going anywhere near the military nodes, why risk it? I track down certain files and make some changes that will propagate out. In a couple of hours, I should show up on a recruitment list that indicates I turned seventeen last week. We hotfoot it out of there once I’m done. A couple of blocks away we see a red hand print on the wall of a store. Beside it, someone has scrawled The Blood of our Blood is on Your Hands.

  —

  My orders arrived yesterday. I qualified for the Special Forces evaluation. By the time my altered file is scrutinized, I’ll probably be seventeen and old enough for the military anyway. Or dead. When I told my mother she looked relieved. She didn’t ask how I was able to enlist before my birthday. It just reminds me that I’m never going to be who she wants.

  There’s this thing I do, in my head. I have a grey box and I shove all the stuff about my mother in it and then slam it shut. And when those things are in the box, it’s as if they don’t exist. I don’t ever open it and I can’t consciously think about it, or it won’t work. That brown mark is still there. It didn’t go away. I might need to cram that mark in there too.

  Jay got his invitation to try for Airborne two days ago, so we’re leaving together. He’s very pleased that he’s leaving before his mother’s party. She, however, is not. I requested a posting to Intelligence. I think I’d be okay there. Intelligence is not a combat position, and I’d be pretty decent at it. Maybe even like it. I’ve been expecting the worst for so long that it’s strange to feel optimistic.

  We’re going to a base somewhere near the border in the Arizona desert. I left a message for my father at his office. He hasn’t responded, and I have a train to catch in the morning.

  3

  Present - June, 2125

  It’s the end of the second week of the Special Operations Assessment and Selection course, and we’re down to 150 candidates. Half of us made it halfway.

  I hear “Private, you think that’s funny? Beat your face, all of you!” and I sigh.

  We all drop and start the twenty push-ups. Barry, my battle buddy this week, can’t do it. He’s struggling. Barry shouldn’t be here, and he’s making it difficult for the rest of us. I want to get this over with. I just want to pass.

  “I said give me twenty, you ugly skid! There’s no one here who’s going to do them for you!” The drill sergeant’s face is a bright scarlet, skin stretched taut as he yells at Barry. I recently figured out that a skid is a skinny Deviant. Our enemy.

  “This private will, Drill Sergeant,” I find myself saying loudly as I continue my push-ups. I don’t dare eyeball him.

  “Will what?” he screams at me.

  “This private will do her battle buddy’s push-ups, Drill Sergeant.”

  I still don’t look at him because I’d probably chicken out if I did. Barry is my battle buddy, which means our fates are intertwined this week. If he’s held back, I’ll be held back too, which will make it that much harder to qualify, and I don’t have a lot of room for error. And, since he’s my battle buddy, he’s my responsibility this week. Not that I think he’d do the same for me. I finish my twenty and stand at attention. My heart beats loudly as I wait.

  “Then let’s make it sixty,” my DS shouts, an inch from my face. “I want to hear you count ‘em out, skid. You’ve got sixty seconds.”

  The rest of the platoon has finished the twenty and stands rigidly at attention, waiting to see what happens. They must think I’m crazy. Maybe I am. Barry hesitates for a moment before climbing to his feet, wobbling a little. I drop and count out loud. It’s harder to do push-ups while yelling. My muscles screech at me to stop, but I block them out. I fix on the tip of the drill sergeant’s polished black boot in front of my face. At fifty-four my body prepares to mutiny, but I think about what the DS could do to the whole platoon as punishment for my failure. I finish the sixty. I get up and stand at attention, breathing heavily, as I force my arms not to tremble.

  I don’t know if I made things better or worse for myself.

  Recall is announced, which means training is over for the afternoon.

  “D-fac!” the DS orders, and I exhale.

  D-fac is the Dining Facility. He’s going to let us eat. Maybe even sit down for the five minutes allotted for chow time. I take off before he can change his mind.

  —

  I‘m on my bunk in the barracks. We got permission to sleep. I can’t lift my arms. I have never done anything like that before, and I hate people looking at me. Desperation, combined with temporary insanity from lack of sleep, perhaps. T
hey have to give us four hours of sleep per day now, but they do not have to be consecutive hours.

  Tonight, because of the number of washouts, two barracks were consolidated. Barry got himself into sick bay so I guess I’ll have a new battle buddy tomorrow. Those of us remaining are a bit cocky. Well, the boys are, anyway. Some are practically naked, showing off muscles and brand new tattoos and making up stories about their fresh scars.

  Ugh.

  They swagger noisily around their side of the barracks trying to act like men, putting choke holds on each other and pulling stupid pranks. One boy was quietly and thoroughly taped to his bunk when he foolishly went to sleep before the others. Now he’s cursing and promising revenge as he struggles to get out of his bindings. A bunch of the other boys stand around laughing and cracking jokes. I need earplugs or something.

  There’s a girl from my platoon in the bunk beside me who’s trying hard not to cry. I noticed her today because she wouldn’t give up. Even when she was falling to pieces, she kept marching or standing at attention or whatever pointless thing we were ordered to do. I surprise myself by slipping over to sit on the edge of her bed.

  She jerks away from me.

  “I don’t want anything,” I say quietly. “I only want to tell you to hang in there. I watched you today, and I know it’s hard. It’s hard for me too, but we both gotta stick it out, okay?”

  The girl wipes her nose with the back of her hand and nods at me with wide eyes. “I’m Anna.”

  “I’m Jess. We should get some sleep.”

  “Why did you do that today?” Anna asks me. She means the push-ups.

  I shrug, a little embarrassed. “I couldn’t let that boy hold me back.”

  She nods. “I’ve really gotta make it. I want to get out there, waste some skids, and do my part to safeguard this country. My brother did it, and now it’s my turn to do my duty.”

  Her voice is surprisingly fierce.

  Then she asks, “Will you stay here?” The scared little girl inside her has returned.

  I shake my head. “Then neither of us will make it. We’ll look weak. We can’t afford to depend on anyone else in here, or we’ll be like Barry.”

  “After today, you don’t need to worry about anyone thinking you’re weak,” Anna says quietly.

  I slide back into my own bunk.

  —

  Anna is a bit down the line from me as we receive a lesson on land mines and other explosives. I nod at her. She nods back but looks a bit embarrassed. I gather she doesn’t want to be friends or anything; that’s fine, I’m used to it.

  We’re at the border on a stretch of barren red sand, a few miles out from the base. I’ve never been this close to the dark, looming wall that keeps the Deviants out. To the south, I can see the strange protruding formations of the badlands, but it’s hard to tell how far away they are. It’s humbling to think how long this desert has been here, that dinosaurs once walked the very earth I stand on…

  And that’s just the kind of thinking that can keep a girl distracted from more immediate problems. Such as land mines.

  There are land mines hidden between us and the wall, and we need to clear the area. We’re shown several methods, and my group uses all of them. We believe the area’s clear.

  “Someone needs to walk across, or tell their team to do it all again,” our instructor says.

  No one reacts. The instructor was expecting this. She crosses her arms and waits. She’s got all day. There is some furious huddling in the groups around me, but I know my team has done everything properly. We swept the entire area, but we concentrated on clearing a corridor down the middle to allow us to walk single file. I think this exercise is about fear. We could check and check again while the enemy advances on us, but at some point we have to trust that we’ve done it.

  “I’ll go,” I say, and step outside the safety area without waiting to see anyone’s reaction.

  I’m right, or I’m wrong, but at least we’re no longer paralyzed by indecision. I have a suspicion that the mines aren’t live. Why would they spend so much time and money training people, just to blow them up? Down the line, Anna watches me. I step gingerly, but move at a fairly rapid pace, and soon enough I’m at the other side.

  Bolstered by my easy crossing, Anna follows my lead. She moves too quickly, though, without enough caution. When she’s about a third of the way across her group’s section we all see her freeze; she must have heard the click that tells her she depressed a trigger. Anna stands there for a moment and the finality of her predicament registers. Did they use live mines? She could stay where she is forever, but we all know that’s impossible. I hold my breath, willing a different outcome. She slowly lifts her foot.

  She does not die in combat, doing her duty, defending something she believes in. Hers is not a heroic death. This is a stupid training exercise.

  I can’t depend on anyone, and I can’t take anything for granted, I tell myself as I gather up Anna’s belongings and load them neatly into her pack. It’s still sitting on her stripped bunk in the morning, looking alone and forgotten.

  —

  Less than a week left and I’m about to start the Victory Tower, which I’m looking forward to. As it stands right now, making it to Special Forces could go either way for me. I need to perform exceptionally well here, and my rock climbing experience gives me an edge.

  I have to complete an obstacle course at extreme heights, using ropes and ladders and my own strength, and finish by rappelling down a fifty-foot wall. This is to prepare us for traversing the barren, crumbling world on the other side of the border. Two people are still ahead of me. I want to yell at them to hurry up.

  The dark-haired boy in front of me eventually takes hold of a rope and begins to pull himself up. He doesn’t look like he has much experience at this. I hope he doesn’t hold me up. My hands clench in anticipation. I hadn’t realized how much I missed climbing.

  I finally get the nod and haul myself up the thick rope, hand over hand, my feet holding the rope taut beneath me. I climb higher and higher. A rope ladder is just out of reach. I rock my body to begin swinging, and my momentum builds until I can grab the ladder. I transfer and continue to climb. Next is a series of suspended rungs, like a schoolyard jungle gym. I grasp the first and use my abs to swing forward, grab the next one, and move rung by rung across a chasm, the bottom unseen, far below. My feet find a solid surface, and I pause for a moment to take deep breaths. This is great, exhilarating! I see a trapeze swing and grasp it firmly with both hands. I use the available space to take a running leap and swing out. I soar back and forth, arching my body to increase my velocity. I let go and fly through the air to land on a platform below. I continue to move, climb, swing, crawl.

  Up ahead I can see the finish. The platform ends, drops off to nothing. The dark-haired boy is there, preparing to rappel. He has the ropes set up incorrectly and will have no control over his descent. I don’t know if I should intervene or not. Will I lose or gain points for helping? Around here it’s hard to tell.

  “Wait,” I shout.

  I make my way over and correct the ropes. Our times are critical, that’s what made my decision. I don’t want him to delay me by injuring himself.

  “Okay, go,” I tell him. He looks at me, a little incredulous.

  I quickly hook myself in and wait impatiently for him to drop down.

  “Go!” I urge him. “Push off with your feet. You can control your own speed.”

  He begins hesitantly; drops only a few feet each time, but eventually gets more daring and makes it to the bottom. I swiftly follow in two drops and hit the ground beside him. I disengage myself and look at him. Why is he still here? I leg it. I need a strong finish time.

  —

  I have another day of qualifying, but I’m almost done. I managed a first-time Go on everything so far: swim, march, obstacle, navigation, even physical fitness. Everything except the firing range; that was a No-Go. I have to try again. I have psychologica
l now, and then tactical, which includes hand-to-hand.

  It’s a relief to slide into the sim-seat and I reach for the helmet. This is the one that will make me eligible for Intelligence. I am very confident of my abilities.

  My fingers tingle as the connection is made, and it starts. The IQ test comes up, twelve minutes allotted. I whip through it, maybe missed one because I ran out of time. Next is a battery of multiple-choice scenarios aimed at gauging your personality. They claim it’s impossible to manipulate it.

  Wrong.

  Here’s the fun stuff now. Analyzing text and parsing, sorting clusters, identifying patterns. My body goes limp as I enter the stream. Last is the cryptography, with random-number-generated encryption, hashing, that kind of thing.

  Ooh, they added in some steganography, encryption within encryption.

  The helmet relinquishes its hold on my head and I realize I’m finished. I leave with a smile. I know I did exceptionally well.

  Chow time. I look glumly at the food on offer as a pretty girl brazenly cuts the line in front of me. She sneaks extra crackers and two apples into her pockets and disappears. Stealing food from d-fac is a major infraction.

  —

  It’s been one hundred years since the half-mile-long chunk of celestial ice known as God’s Fury fell out of the sky and into the Arabian Sea. The tsunamis that followed were relentless in their devastation. We saw footage of them engulfing vast shanty towns all over fourth-world countries. A lot of them didn’t even have governments anymore. They’d lost control. Refugees were overrunning the functioning countries, setting up those shanty towns, and eventually causing the collapse of those countries, too. And then they were gone, swept away.