Battle On The Marathon

by John Thornton

  “Marie! Come on girl,” I called as I pulled next to her.

  The dog was limp in the water. Her legs were not moving. I grabbed her with one arm, and swam for shore. “Marie, wake up sweetie.”

  Climbing the bank, and carrying Marie I slipped in the mud and finally got out of the river. Matkaja was standing there and pulled me up. I quickly sat Marie down on the soft grass, and looked her over. In the distance, I heard the fancy boat roar away.

  Marie’s eyes were glassed over. Her pink and black tongue was hanging out, limp and floppy. I pressed on her chest, thinking that maybe she had just inhaled some water, and that was the only problem.

  “Kalju,” Matkaja said. “Kalju, the bastard broke her neck.”

  “No, it is just the water. She was startled and sucked down too much water.” I pumped the dog’s chest, even though when I looked at the angle of her head, I knew Matkaja was correct. “She cannot be dead. No!”

  Matkaja squeezed my shoulder. “He killed our dog.”

  I dropped my head to Marie’s chest and tried to hear a heartbeat. There was none. I will never forget the smell of Marie’s wet doggie fur. I felt that fuzzy wetness on my cheeks as I cried. My tears washing down to add to the river water she was soaked with.

  When I finally looked up, I saw the others surrounding me.

  Bartlet’s nose was bloody. Pilliroog had an eye that was nearly swollen shut already, and was turning colors. Timofei and Brett were bleeding from their mouths, Carol was rubbing her ribs, and Radha was holding her right arm with her left.

  Mister Fisher stepped over. His face was stricken and deeply lined.

  “Why did you let him do that?” I cried out. “Why?”

  “Lieutenant Adams is an officer in the Marathon Defense Force,” Mister Fisher answered. “His actions were deplorable…”

  “Shut up!” Timofei yelled at him. “If his goons had not pulled guns on us, we could have taken him down.”

  “Many of you tried, and never laid a hand on him,” Mister Fisher stated in a deep and slow voice. “He could have killed any of you if he chose to do so. That is the kind of person he is.”

  “But you let him do it!” I cried out. “He assaulted Bartlet, and killed Marie! Call the sheriff! Turn him in to the authorities.”

  “It would not do any good, and it would make matters worse for you, and for your families,” Mister Fisher replied. “His mother is Francine Adams.” Mister Fisher stated abruptly. “Captain of the Marathon.”

  It was at that point, I knew I was in a deadly battle on the Marathon. I just did not know for sure who the enemy really was. Right then, I thought Lieutenant Adams was the most evil monster that ever existed. I was wrong.

  3

  First Mission

  Well, Ryan, it has been a while since I recorded more of my thoughts and memories here. I have been helping the Major, but the process has been much more difficult than either of us expected. Integrating these systems is really as tough as a dog’s breakfast, and that has really slowed down our plans to make the big jump. The Major again reminded me how important this all is. One little mistake, and we are goners. So, I have to pace myself more. Perhaps by continuing this record, I will be able to debrief my mind, and clear my thoughts for what is ahead? Well, Ryan, that is my hope.

  I reviewed what I wrote to you about the Raven Academy, and it is woefully under reporting all that I did there, but alas, I think I will leave it as it is, for now. Remembering Marie is still painful.

  Our first mission did come out of that visit by then Lieutenant Adams. He had left the mission briefing with Mister Fisher. So, Ryan, I suppose I will continue my narrative at that point.

  Mister Fisher named Bartlet as our squad leader, and I agreed with that choice. She was a natural leader, but let me think about how to tell you of that first mission. I suppose a straight forward recounting is in order, but I will probably leave out a lot of details. Some things I did not learn until years later.

  Mister Fisher let us all cool off for several days after the killing of Marie. Radha’s broken arm, more of Lieutenant Adams’ ugly handiwork, was healing nicely. Doctor 12A, our medical automacube, had set it and given her bone stimulators to knit the fracture together quickly. Radha never complained about any of her injuries. The physical injuries of the other cadets had also been treated by the white automacube.

  On that third morning, Mister Fisher told us our mission. None of us, least of all me, were eager to hear about it.

  During Adams’ visit, gear had been left for us all. They were basic fatigue uniforms, a plain khaki color, but made from much studier materials than our typical clothing, and they were not wired to hurt us like the pain pants were.

  “People, you are to report to Foreigner,” Mister Fisher said. “Your mission involves transporting some portable communication equipment to Oceanography Station 16. This will be a…”

  “Is this for that man?” Bartlet interrupted.

  “This mission is for the Marathon and the people at Oceanography Station 16,” Mister Fisher answered.

  “Let an automacube take it,” Pilliroog snapped back. Bartlet playfully blew him a kiss. Both of their injuries were nearly gone.

  “They have attempted sending several parcels via gravity conduits. Those parcels were lost, somewhere in transit,” Mister Fisher stated. “Now, we could debate and discuss the merits of Lieutenant Adams, especially his profound lack of merit. Or, you can let me brief you on the mission and you can be on your way. This mission, even though it is a support mission, is important as that station has not been connected into the nonphysicality for seven days now. They have not responded to any signals, and the parcels have not reached them.”

  Kulm spoke out, “So, the militia really is about assisting Machine Maintenance. We are just glorified mechanics fixing broken equipment, and doing basic repairs.”

  “An engineering automacube paired with a transport automacube could do that task, easily.” Carol stated with a sneer. “Why should we waste our time?”

  Mister Fisher was patient as several other comments were made. I empathized with them, but also was wondering why people were being dispatched, and what Operation Barnacle actually was. In all my time at Raven Academy, I had yet to see a raven. However, I still thought, back then anyway, that names should mean something. So, I wondered what something was called Operation Barnacle actually involved. I knew barnacles were a type of marine crustacean with an external shell. They were known for attaching themselves very rigidly to a variety of surfaces. I asked myself, “Are barnacles responsible for the mechanical and communication failures? Foreigner is an aquatic habitat.” I also knew barnacles were a metaphor and sometimes an insult about a tenacious, obstreperous person or thing. Then it hit me.

  “There are pirates or criminals which have sealed off that station,” I spoke too loudly, but I was convinced that I was onto something.

  The other cadets looked at me, and a few nodded.

  “I have no information about that being the case,” Mister Fisher stated. “However, I am authorizing you to each take your G1MP sidearms with you. One hundred and twenty rounds of standard ammunition will also go with each of you. The mission parameters do not prohibit that, and I think your being armed with lethal force is warranted.” He looked to Radha, and she just gave a slight nod. “I would prefer you had body armor, but that requisition was denied. You will also be taking repair kits, and individual rations to last a week.”

  The gear was passed out, and the armory’s doors were unsealed and unlocked. Mister Fisher then handed each of us a portable communication set which consisted of a macroactinide capacitor enhancer. That device fit inside our backpacks. I was puzzled.

  “We need eleven of these?” I asked.

  “You may not need any of those,” Mister Fisher replied. “You may be able to just walk to your target and turn on the equipment. Or you may have to splice in one or more of these devices to enhance signals. Or there may be some other iss
ues. As part of Operation Barnacle, your mission was reviewed by the lattice of compeers. Structurally, from what is available via the nonphysicality, Oceanography Station 16 is intact. Yet, the personnel there have not responded to any communications. The lattice believes, after assessing the situation, that there is a minor mechanical problem somewhere in the corridors leading there. Deck plans, schematics, and other pertinent data are available on your wristwatches. They made the recommendation you each carry a replacement macroactinide capacitor enhancer with you.”

  I was impressed that the lattice of compeers was involved. That was the highest network of artificial intelligence systems, and one rarely ever heard of it intervening in everyday human affairs. I was about to ask a question, when someone else jumped in.

  “What is Operation Barnacle?” Bartlet asked. “If we are part of this, I want to know the full details. Has there been sabotage? Are there criminal elements who have destroyed equipment? Have people been taken hostage? What is the Marathon Defense Force’s part of the mission?”

  Mister Fisher looked at her, and gave a small smile. “Those are all excellent questions. I would give you the answers, if I had them. I believe you have the right to know, but unfortunately, I am not privy to anything other than what I have told you.”

  “So, come with us,” Carol said bluntly.

  Several of us nodded our agreement with that suggestion.

  “That I cannot do. I will drive you to the tube transport hub, and then I must return here. My superiors have accelerated the training processes, and a new class of sophomores is due to arrive shortly. The two classes behind you will be advancing upward. I must remain here at Raven Academy.”

  “What happens to us after we make these repairs?” Matkaja asked. “Where do we go?”

  “You will receive further orders via your wristwatches. I know it sounds nebulous and vague. I would not issue commands in this manner, but from what I understand, Operation Barnacle should set everything right.” Mister Fisher removed his hat and ran a hand through his hair. He took a deep breath, and then blew it out slowly. “Scuttlebutt says that perhaps in the near future, this whole thing might be cleared up. It is conceivable that you may be released and allowed to return home. I honestly, am not sure. I wish I knew more.”

  Yes, he actually said he thought we might be able to just return home after Operation Barnacle. That cruel Lieutenant Adams had seemed really confident about Operation Barnacle as well. Back then, I believed it was a possibility too.

  Well, we marched down into the garage and Mister Fisher loaded us into a truck. He drove and the rest of us rode in the open back, facing each other. I buckled into my part of that bench seat, and just thought how odd it seemed, and how different I was, from when he had brought me there alone. In some ways, it felt like I had been in training forever, but it also felt like only a few days or weeks.

  He drove up the ramp and out of the underground garage. Sitting in that truck, it hit me that I would be leaving Kansas. I had not really thought about it much before then. I would be going to a whole different biological habitat. It seemed strange and surreal. I watched the trees, and the grounds, and while several birds did fly over, none of them were ravens. We passed under the large plank sign, and we on our way.

  “So, Kulm was right,” Timofei said. “We are just glorified repairmen.”

  “I am not sure,” Carol replied. She patted her gimp in its holster. “No repair mechanic I know carries a sidearm.”

  The others bantered back and forth, and as usual Bartlet and Pilliroog sat next to each other. We did not head back to the town of Colby, nor did we go to the other town of Olathe. Instead, we got away from the forested area, and onto a main road. That took us away from the center of Kansas and toward the sidewall. That immense wall stretched straight up. I knew in my mind that it was not really straight up, as I had done the mathematics computing the habitat’s arches and angles. But from my perspective in the back of that truck, seeing that sidewall, it looked like it stretched up until it became the sky. The light from the sky tube felt good on my head and the air had a tang of various junipers and some of the rarer aroma of Aztec Pearl.

  Crossing several bridges, the road cut through another forested area and led right to an egress point in the sidewall. I had never been that close to the edge of the habitat. It felt intimidated, and elated at the same time.

  “Your wristwatches have been given the proper access codes to accept and assist you on your mission. You also have communication links to the Marathon Defense Forces, however, use those only, I repeat, only in an emergency situation. You are the militia, and while you are part of this Operation Barnacle, I advise you to keep a low profile,” Mister Fisher said as he stopped the truck. “You are now leaving Kansas, and I salute you for your fine work.”

  We piled out of the truck, carrying our supplies, which were strapped onto our belts, or in our backpacks. As we walked toward the egress point, Mister Fisher snapped to a rigid stand and did give us a formal salute.

  I felt embarrassed.

  Bartlet grabbed Mister Fisher and gave him a hug. Several others also touched him, and commented to him. I wish I had done something, but I just walked on by. I kept thinking about Marie, and I just held that anger inside. I directed it against Mister Fisher, and I was wrong. Right now, as I relate that, it all seems so petty and trivial. Mister Fisher deserved better.

  I looked away from Mister Fisher, and read the warning labels on the door. “BEWARE: ANIMALS ARE NOT ALLOWED OUTSIDE OF THE BIOME,” was written in bright lettering across the door. “AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY,” was also written there, and also, “ONLY YOU CAN PREVENT CROSS-HABITAT CONTAMINATION.” At the bottom of the warning sign the last line stated, but in much smaller lettering, “Air pressurization used to keep insects in.” As I read all that, I was thankful it was not a GAGS which I was approaching.

  I looked at my wristwatch as I walked up to that pressure door which was set into the permalloy of the side wall. Some colors flashed on my wristwatch, and those were reflected on the nine-section color control pad. The door opened, sliding back into the wall pocket. A gentle breeze of air was pushing at me from the doorway.

  Inside, I could see that there was a square chamber, roughly ten along each side. I stepped in. Other pressure doors were on each of the three sides of the chamber. On each of them was stenciled, “NO ANIMALS ARE ALLOWED IN THE SHELL. THIS DOOR SHOULD NOT BE OPENED WHILE THE BIOME DOOR IS OPEN. KEEP YOUR HABITAT SECURE.”

  My wristwatch indicated the direction I was to go, but I also looked back and saw the others were finishing with Mister Fisher.

  Finally, all eleven of us were inside that chamber. The biome door shut, and Bartlet then pointed. “The transport terminal hub is this way.” She then tapped in a sequence on the appropriate door, and we all followed her down a corridor.

  I was inside the shell for the first time. I guess, maybe the levels beneath the lodge at Raven Academy were officially part of the shell, but I still felt like crossing that threshold was significant. Perhaps, it was more that I was out of Kansas? As I was thinking that, Brett said, “We are not in Kansas anymore.”

  Several people groaned at his attempted humor, but the fact was true. We were all on an adventure away from home. Much later, someone told me that Brett had been quoting some ancient fairytale, but it was not familiar to me.

  The transport terminal was very much like the simulator we trained on. Except for our simulator had only two hatches, while this terminal had eight. Otherwise the equipment, the controls, the indicator lights, and the feeling was exactly the same. The round hatches, which sealed down the transport tube’s system were all locked and in place.

  Bartlet walked up to the nearest hatch.

  “Welcome!” a mechanical voice stated. “I am Phil-4 and will be overseeing your journey. Advance seating has been arranged for your group. Please enter the transport tube vehicle.”

  “Thank you,” I replied.

  Kulm n
udged me in the ribs. “You do not get extra points for being polite to an artificial intelligence system, even a minor one like Phil-4.”

  “How many AIs have you spoken to?” I asked him.

  “About the same number as you, something like fifty,” Kulm replied with a broad smile.

  “How many in real life?” I asked. “Not the simulated ones in training.”

  “Counting Phil-4 here?” Kulm asked and then answered, “One.”

  We all entered the tube vehicle. It was just like in the simulations. It was a windowless vehicle to traverse the enclosed tube system of the Marathon. It had two rows of seats, which faced each other, at the back, and two pilot seats at the front. The cockpit had a display screen and some manual controls which I did not expect anyone to use. Of course, Bartlet and Pilliroog took the two pilot seats, even though none of us would be piloting the vehicle. The rest of us sat down in the rows along the sides. I dropped my backpack, sat down, and strapped myself in.