by Isaac Hooke
In moments a drone was hovering alongside the truck, police siren blazing. It was a basket-ball sized metallic sphere crisscrossed with grooves and grates. There was a small flashing emergency light on top, a miniature version of the one found on the police robots. Multiple exhaust nozzles circled the X- and Y-axis. The rearmost nozzle was constantly firing, while various other nozzles let out occasional bursts so that the drone followed the contour of the cave and remained alongside the truck. Painted in big blue letters on a ring down the middle of the drone were the words: Customs Patrol System.
The drone matched our speed for a few seconds then tore past.
I glanced at Alejandro. He wasn't looking very happy.
A few minutes later the CPS drone returned with another. The miniature emergency lights on top of both of them were flashing blue.
The first drone blasted a brief siren yelp, followed by the announcement, "Moderate your speed," in New Spanish. A man's voice. Deep. Authoritative.
The pickup truck surged forward in response.
The drones pursued, emergency lights flashing, sirens wailing.
The truck sloped upward, and the tunnel abruptly fell away. We were back under the stars.
What followed next was rather anticlimactic.
The pickup stalled.
At least, that was the impression I had, because even though I couldn't hear the engine all this time, the pickup started to bleed off speed. It bumped over hollows and tumbleweeds, jostling us around in the back. The wailing CPS drones pursued the whole way.
"You will stop the vehicle immediately," one of the drones blared.
As the pickup slowed to about ten kilometers per hour, people started jumping out of the rear bed.
One of the drones spun away. "Halt! You are trespassing on UC-controlled territory!" I heard a slight plunk come from the general direction of the drone. A fleeing refugee dropped. Another plunk. Another runner fell.
The remaining refugees fled the pickup truck in a panic, and the second drone pursued.
Only Alejandro, Tahoe and I stayed where we were in the truck bed.
Abruptly the driver slammed on the brakes, parked the pickup, and he too jumped out, along with the occupant who rode shotgun.
"That's our cue," Alejandro said.
I blocked him with my arm.
"Rade, we have to go hombre!"
I shook my head. "I'm not in the mood to have 12 million volts passing through my body today."
There was another vehicle out there, something small and fast, and it zoomed along the desert floor, its way lit by high beams. I noticed tiny lights marking where the runners had fallen. The small vehicle pulled up to the first one, and I thought someone jumped out. The light marker vanished, and the vehicle continued on its way, heading toward the pickup truck. Behind it, more light markers vanished as the occupant who had jumped out collected the refugees.
Tahoe began to sing a quiet, traditional indigenous song.
"Rade." Alejandro was getting really antsy now. "Let's go hombre!"
I didn't move. I listened to Tahoe's song. It was calming somehow. Peaceful.
"Remain where you are," a drone blasted beside me.
I hadn't noticed its return to the pickup truck. The other drone was here too, on the other side of Tahoe. Somewhere along the way the drones had stopped flashing their emergency lights and wailing their sirens.
Tahoe had paused his song when the drone interrupted, but he continued now.
The small vehicle stopped beside the pickup truck. A dune buggy of some kind.
"Damn it, Rade," Alejandro said. "I told you to run!"
A dark figure strutted out, and walked in front of the buggy's high beams so that he was silhouetted. I couldn't tell if it was a man or a robot because of that bright light.
"Freeze!" the figure said in English. "Hands behind your heads and out of the truck!"
Tahoe ended his song and carefully raised his hands.
Alejandro and I followed suit.
When we got out, the figure made us lean against the dune buggy. On the side was written: United Countries Border Patrol.
The figure ordered us to put our hands behind our backs, and then plasticuffed us. Mine were done up a little tight, but what was I supposed to do? The only way to reset plasticuffs was to cut them off and put on a new pair. And I doubted this guy or robot or whatever it was would do that for me.
When done cuffing us, the figure walked out to our left, and in the ambient light I could finally see who we were dealing with. He had a tan stetson pulled low on his forehead, and wore green cargo pants and a white t-shirt. A rifle was slung over his shoulder. About ten more plasticuffs hung from his belt. He seemed human, but I supposed he could've been an Artificial—one of those robots that looked human but wasn't. Those eyes looked real enough, a touch of moisture in each, and when the man opened his mouth he had real-looking teeth.
"Welcome to the UC," the border patrol officer said in English. "Leave your shoes at the door. Don't pass go and head straight to mother-freakin' jail." The officer focused on me. "What are you looking at, huh Chico? Not happy about being de-port-tatoed? You picked the wrong night to Border Hop."
Great. Just what I needed. A power-tripping border patrol officer. Definitely human, then.
"Bet you thought you wouldn't get caught, huh?" His lips smacked loudly as he chewed gum and surveyed the three of us. "That you were going to make lots of money, huh? That you would hide in our cities, break our laws, and support your familia back home off our backs, did ya? Well I got news for you Hoppers. Ain't no jobs for you. Heck, I'm lucky I got mine. Robots got most of them. Without UC Ids, you illegals will never get the state subsistence you need to survive. You'll resort to robbery and thievery like most aliens. There's a reason, you know, that most crimes are committed by minorities and immigrants."
"I wanted to get caught," I said.
The man focused his glare on me. "You wanted to get caught. We gots ourselves a joker here!" He squinted one eye, and bent closer. "What happened to your face?"
"What do you mean?" I said.
"What do you think I mean?" he said with a snarl. "Why are you white?"
"Oh." I grinned widely. "Sailing mishap."
The officer jabbed me in the ribs with the butt of his rifle.
I doubled over.
"No lip from you, buddy." He turned toward the drones, which had shadowed us the whole time. "CPS One and Two, maintain guard."
He went over to investigate the pickup truck while the CPS drones hovered beside us.
"Geez," I said when I'd caught my breath. "It's like we're in the army already."
"So much for the UC being some wonderful utopia full of white ponies and happy leprechauns," Alejandro said.
Eventually another border patrol officer walked in from the desert. He was dressed in the same cargo pants and white T, with a tan stetson on his head. He was escorting the escaped refugees. They stood in single file, connected by a long nylon cord that ran between their plasticuffs.
"Is that all of them, Harold?" the newcomer said in a deep voice.
The first officer, Harold, straightened up right away. "It is, boss."
Harold hurried over to him and fiddled with a wristwatch aReal, projecting some sort of holographic display. He turned his wrist toward the second officer, and the holographic display rotated. "Definitely illegals. Most of them have their embedded Ids torn out. As if that would help." He jerked a thumb in my direction. "I think that one got cosmetic surgery done. Probably vocal implants too. His English is too good. But the dumb bastard didn't have the smarts to remove his own embedded Id."
"It wouldn't have helped," the second officer said. "Turn on the Miranda Rights so we can get them processed. And don't forget to pay the drivers their kickback before we leave."
"Yes boss."
I glanced at Alejandro and commented, quietly, "You hired experts, huh?"
Harold fiddled with the aReal wristwatch. "Damn it
. Speaker's not working." He turned off the holographic display and slid on the pair of aReal glasses he had resting in his pocket. "All right, where the hell is that again... Miranda, Miranda, where are you? Ah, here." He glanced at me and the other refugees. "Hola."
He waited, like he was expecting an answer or something, and when no one said anything he read off the rights.
"Tiene el derecho a guardar silencio..." You have the right to remain silent...
When it was done, Harold came up to me with some sort of staplegun. He maneuvered around behind me and held the tip to my bound wrist and I felt a sharp pain.
Harold pulled away. "You've been served." he said with a wink.
"But I already had an embedded Id," I said.
"Well, now you have a proper UC one. All the data from your existing Id has been transferred over, so we know all the crimes you committed in your home country. But the best part is, if you ever get your hands on a UC aReal to check out your public profile, you'll find a special treat: A fresh felony conviction stamped in big red letters beside your photo. That's right, you start off your first day in the UC with the criminal offense of illegal entry."
"What's going to happen to us?" Alejandro said when Harold tagged him.
"What do you think, Border Hopper? You'll be moved to a detention center. There, you'll be questioned, processed, and deported. Thank you for your freakin' cooperation."
The other officer came forward. I hadn't noticed this before in the dim light, but now that the officer was closer, I realized he had no face beneath that stetson.
I'd thought his voice sounded a little too deep...
"These three are of age," the officer said. Like the police robots south of the border, its head was a featureless slab of polycarbonate, serrated at the bottom, with a yellow bar down the middle and two glass disks stacked one atop the other where the forehead would be. The only difference was that this robot didn't have a laser sight—maybe the stetson covered it. "I'm tagging them for the EEI."
"Yes boss." Harold gave me a smug look, then chuckled, shook his head, and walked away to staplegun the others. He muttered something about "cannon fodder."
The robot's featureless face rotated to regard me, Alejandro, and Tahoe in turn. Then the officer said, "Rade Galaal, Tahoe Eaglehide, Alejandro Mondego. I'm proud to inform you that you are now temporary residents of the United Countries. You are granted this temporary residency for twelve years, during which time you will serve the UC in a military capacity. Your active duty commitment is ten years. After you have completed your Military Service Obligation, you may qualify for permanent residency if your record is in good standing. Do you have any questions or objections?"
"Twelve years?" Alejandro said immediately. "Caramba. That sounds like a long time."
"Would you prefer to be deported?" There was no emotion in that question. Just cold, machine indifference.
Alejandro glanced at me, then lowered his gaze. "No."
"Good. The three of you are in luck, because the weekly trip from the detection center to the Military Entrance Processing Station is scheduled for 0700 tomorrow morning, allowing you to begin your service term immediately. Welcome to the UC, and have a wonderful evening."
CHAPTER THREE
We spent the night in a detection center, then at 0700 the next morning, two robots that identified themselves as PPAs, or Pacification and Protection Autonomous robots, escorted the three of us into a waiting van. The PPAs looked exactly the same as the robot border patrol officer from the night before, minus the clothing.
The AI-operated van stopped at detention centers along the way, and other draft-age illegals were herded inside so that soon we had a full complement squeezed into the passenger area. No one really said anything. It felt like we were going to prison.
When the vehicle finally ground to a halt and the back door opened, I was more than happy to step outside, but not so pleased with what I saw: I stood within a compound surrounded by a chain-link fence and topped by razor-wire.
Prison, indeed.
Three other Immigrations and Customs Enforcement vans were parked nearby. Beyond them, five buses dumped about seventy people each into the courtyard. I noticed that roughly three-fourths of the people seemed to be immigrants. East Indians, South Americans, Africans, Russians, Japanese, and so forth.
The PPAs in the courtyard herded us toward the main building. These robots wore dark blue blazers and trousers with black shoes. The black letters 'MP' were sewn into gray patches on their right shoulders.
As I followed the robots I looked out beyond the fence of the compound. I saw a paved road, and what looked like residential housing complete with hedges and gated white picket fences. It was the kind of sprawling suburbia I'd seen on Net vids set in the UC.
"Welcome to the Military Entrance Processing Station of New San Antonio," a PPA said by the entrance. "Please store any backpacks or aReals in the marked compartments then proceed to the scanning stations."
Alejandro, Tahoe and I had only the clothes we wore, so we headed straight for the full body scanners. Ahead of us, the alarm went off for one person and two PPAs escorted him outside. I overheard a few people whispering nearby. Apparently he'd failed the breathalyzer portion of the scan.
"Please exhale," a friendly female voice intoned when I stood inside the glass compartment. I did. "Thank you. You may proceed." The glass slid aside and I walked through.
Beyond the scanners there were long rows of seats, with different kiosks spaced at intervals, and uniformed robots moving to and fro. The whole place had the feel of an airport terminal.
A support robot moved between us, pointing out the kiosks of the different branches. "Navy here. Marine Corps here. Air Force here. Army here."
"So, which branch, hombres?" Alejandro said.
I didn't really know which one to pick. As much as I hated to admit it, I hadn't really thought this far ahead. I'd adopted the whole 'I'll cross that bridge when I come to it' mindset, I guess because I never thought I'd actually make it here. Up until now, this was all just some distant, unachievable dream, but here I was, living that dream. I had this vague notion about joining a special forces division, and that's about it.
A girl halfway through one of the lines caught my eye. Long blonde hair, tanned skin, cute as hell.
"Navy." I said, and headed for her line.
I waited with Alejandro and Tahoe as the line slowly moved forward, hoping the girl would look back.
She didn't.
Some of the conversational threads I overheard in line:
"I didn't have a choice. My parents moved here when I was fifteen."
"They drafted me when I tried to board the plane home. How was I supposed to know I'd overstayed my visa?"
"Me?" This from a white dude. "I just wanted to get the hell out of dodge."
The girl I had my eye on reached the front of the line, exchanged a few words with the robot attendant, then moved off toward a side hall. Before vanishing from view, she finally looked back. She caught my eye and glanced down demurely.
Definitely hot.
The moments passed. Tahoe, Alejandro and I neared the front of the line.
"Guys, what do you think about the Marines?" I said, having second thoughts. Probably wasn't the best idea to base my branch choice on some girl I'd seen in line.
Tahoe shrugged. "Same difference to me. They still get to go into space."
"No no no," one of the people in front of me said. "If you want to go into space, you join the Navy, not the Marines. We're the ones who control the ships, bro."
Tahoe pursed his lips. "He does have a point."
I shrugged. "All right. Navy it is."
When I reached the front of the line the metal-faced attendant informed me that new reading material had been installed in my embedded Id.
"How am I supposed to read it without an aReal?" I said.
"You will be given access to an aReal," the robot said. "Enter Room #2 down the hall o
n your right. Fill the seats sequentially from the front."
"Don't I get a name tag or something?"
"Enter Room #2 down the hall on your right," the robot repeated, in the exact tone as before. "Fill the seats sequentially from the front." Damn robotic detachment.
I walked down the hall and eventually found a large auditorium with enough capacity to seat a thousand people. About a quarter of the spaces were occupied, filled from the front on down so that there were no empty seats.
I picked out Ms. Tanned Cutey right away. She was looking back at me—must have been watching the entrance the whole time—and when I met her eyes she smiled coyly and looked away. There were guys seated on either side of her. Chatting her up. Damn.
Well, I was used to facing hurdles, and I never let some man-made obstacle stop me before.
I'd made it this far, hadn't I?
I walked down the main aisle, and crossed the empty seats. When I reached the last empty seat I continued forward, excusing my way past the recruits toward the girl. I felt my heart rate increase.
She looked up at me questioningly as I came near. The guy just to her right was still talking, telling her a story about how he wrestled alligators or something on his ranch.
"Excuse me," I said loudly. "You're in my seat."
The guy looked up at me. He was a fairly muscular dude, not the type who would ordinarily back down when challenged. But he was on unfamiliar ground now, being given orders left and right by the people and robots around here, and I guess that put him in an obedient mindset because he got up right away.
"Sorry about that," the guy said.
I nodded politely.
As I edged past him, he added, "Didn't know you were together."
"We're not," the girl said right away.
I smiled at the guy. "Yeah, I just had to use the bathroom." I quickly took his seat before he could change his mind.
"Smooth move, big boy," she said.
"Friends call me Rade." I extended my hand, keeping eye contact.
She glanced at my hand, but didn't take it. Her lip curled slightly in amusement. "Sounds like some sort of insect repellent."
I lowered my hand. "Maybe it is. But look on the bright side, insects won't touch you when I'm around."
