“Despite my experimentation, I was in some ways as limited as the Tschaaa in my thinking. Then the events of the last forty-eight hours occurred. You, Captain Yamamoto, and company showed up and did the unthinkable; you used a nuclear weapon against the Tschaaa, risking a massive retaliation.
“I had determined years ago that humans would no longer risk annihilation by executing a massive attack on His Lordship. He left the Unoccupied States alone. The Director allowed services and products developed with Tschaaa help to be leaked to the entire general populace in North America. He surmised that by helping them forget the losses of six years ago, it would make all humans beholden to the Occupied States in the future. The only cost was the people of color, already separated from everyone else. Out of sight, out of mind was the plan. A plan that seemed to be working.”
The giant mechanical man lowered his head to look down at Torbin. “You and your fellow Free Humans showed that you wouldn’t take the easy way out. You could have simply given into the tribalism, the racism that has been part of human development for centuries, said farewell to the people of color. You could have leached off the technology, medical advancements, food and other goods that the Tschaaa and Director Lloyd developed and recovered. The humans left in the Occupied States could have had a relatively comfortable existence, with some humans even becoming members of a client species, as the lizards.”
Andrew halted again, standing still for a few moments, as if he was running a high speed program through his systems one last time as part of some final decision making process. “You and the others put self-interest out of your minds. Everything was risked for a group of strangers you would never meet, most of them adults. You attacked, risking everything. Including your children.”
Torbin’s mind immediately jumped to Aleks and his unborn children. He had sacrificed them to the possibility of being rocked back to the Stone Age, as General Reed had mentioned. He and the others had done this in the name of concepts that were the foundation of their former country—liberty, justice and freedom. For all.
Torbin shook himself back to alertness. “We tried to do the right thing, Andrew. The right thing for all mankind, not just our friends and families.” Torbin stood up, crushed the empty soft drink can in his hand, and tossed it toward the ditch at the edge of the highway.
He turned toward the Cyborg. “I can’t stop believing in the oath I took toward the Constitution and the old United States of America, no matter how ridiculous that may sound. They may not exist in reality, but they still exist in my mind and in my heart.”
Andrew and Torbin stood silently together before the cyborg spoke again. “You, Captain Yamamoto, Madam President, Director Lloyd, His Lordship, and all of the others are now part of a large, complicated scenario. It is almost as if you are all part of a game called Survivor: Earth. I am trying to determine who will be voted off the planet.”
“Why should you be so concerned, Andrew? You were assembled, modified by the Tschaaa, and have worked for them the last few years. They are your Masters. You can have almost anything you want.”
Andrew bent over and picked up a good sized rock. He threw it with blinding speed at the large metal barrier fence stretching as far as the eye could see. The rock punched a hole in the barrier fence.
“I am concerned because I must be. The Tschaaa made my Brothers and I much too complicated, too capable. With our programming, we have the capability to predict what will happen out for years into the future. And because we care for all the young on Earth—thanks both to Tschaaa programming and to our own humanity—we will do what is necessary to insure the survival of the young. Including your children. Everyone else is secondary.”
Torbin felt a chill run up his spine. He realized now that Andrew and his brethren really had developed their own independent agenda. They were interpreting what was important in the grEater scheme of things. Everything and everybody else were just potential obstacles, to be removed if required. Shit. His Lordship should have read Mary Shelley’s The Modern Prometheus. The Tschaaa Lord had no idea what he had created.
At that moment, Andrew stopped and turned his attention toward the freeway egress gate. “Vehicles approach, Captain Bender. I must prepare to leave. Mormons become very agitated around my kind.” He handed Torbin the large plastic bag that contained the President’s .44 Magnum and six bullets.
“I take it you will not try to use this weapon on me.”
“Andrew…,” Torbin began.
“Remember what I have told you, Torbin Bender. I am still trying to work out all of the possible scenarios. Until then, I do what I must to protect the young.” The cyborg started to stomp to the entrance ramp into the Falcon.
“Andrew?” Torbin called.
“Yes, Captain?”
“Thanks again. I owe you.”
Andrew stopped, and turned back to look at the Marine. “You will have children, Captain Bender. Help them grow.” The cyborg rapidly strode up the ramp into the Falcon. Bender grabbed the cooler and walked away from the Falcon. As the alien craft effortlessly rose and accelerated out of sight, Torbin felt the vibration of the energy emanating from the craft.
He loaded the .44 Magnum and slipped it into the holster attached to the tactical vest he wore. Director Lloyd had given him back all his uniform items and gear, including the thousand stitch belt Ichiro had given him. He checked to make sure his Ka-Bar was still in its sheath, the familiar feel of it having a calming effect on his mood. He had first bought this Ka-Bar when he was a young Marine Boot, eighteen years of age. It was one of his few personal possessions that survived the rocks, the Invasion, and the Retreat to Montana. No one liked to refer to the relocation of personnel and equipment to the Central States as a retreat, but that is what it was. Retreat or be eaten. Retreat or die. Retreat to fight another day. It had been a hectic time. Now, some six years later, the Retreat was over. He had helped initiate the first of hopefully many counterattacks. It felt good.
Torbin slid his Ka-Bar from its sheath and closely examined the sharp blade. “Glad you are still with me, old friend. I hope we will be side by side for many years to come.” The fact he was talking to his combat blade may have seemed a bit nuts to others, but he didn’t care. Ichiro had told him there was a spirit of steel in his katana. Torbin knew his Ka-Bar had a similar spirit. It may be an extension of his own spirit, his life force, but it was there. Torbin slid the Ka-Bar it back into its sheath as he heard the wheeled gate open. He straightened his stance, and turned to face the arriving vehicles.
A motorcyclist riding a former law enforcement Harley Davidson arrived first, the rider carrying what looked like an AK-47 strapped on his/her back. Following behind the motorcycle was first one, then two, long dark limousines, identical in nature. Bringing up the rear was an identical motorcycle and rider to the first. The vehicles each pulled to the side of the highway into angled parallel positions, as if they could see some concealed parking lot lines Torbin could not. All of the vehicles had stopped some fifteen yards back from where Torbin stood, at forty five degree angles from him. The cycle riders dismounted in unison, just as the limo drivers stepped out and opened the driver’s side rear passenger doors. All personnel wore matching dark jumpsuits, and Torbin could tell that they had been trained together, as a unit.
Out of the first limo came a six foot tall, well defined man in a tailored dark suit. He squinted a bit as his eyes adjusted to sunlight after the dark interior of the vehicle. He saw Torbin, and walked toward him, a smile on his face and his right hand extended for a handshake. “Captain Torbin Bender. It is an honor and a pleasure to make your acquaintance.” Like General Reed, he had the ability to project his voice without yelling. This was a man used to being in charge. Torbin noticed he had light brown short cut hair with a few hints of gray, and was probably in his late forties. Clearly of Northern European stock, with a firm chin, he kept himself in shape.
“My name is Michael Smith, Prophet and President of the State of De
seret. I welcome you in the name of all Latter Day Saints.” Torbin took his firm handshake, then when President Smith let go, snapped to attention and gave a parade ground salute.
“Mister President. Sir.”
The Prophet returned with an equally sharp salute, then chuckled.
“Your Madam President said you were definitely ‘hardcore’. I can see she was one hundred percent correct.”
“Sir, I’m a Marine through and through. I know of no other way.”
“Well, Captain, I am a former Marine also. The training I received has served me well. This was especially true when I was called by the True Lord to be the New Prophet in this time of great troubles.
“But enough of who I am. There is someone with me who has been very excited about seeing you again. You seem to make a good impression on just about everyone you come in contact with.”
At that moment Torbin saw the female figure approaching from the second limo. He immediately recognized her, even in sharp, new fatigues. Abigail Young, Avenging Angel, strode toward Torbin and The Prophet, her signature winged painted helmet under her left arm. Abigail smiled a little bit shyly as she put her hand out to shake. Torbin grinned like a schoolkid at the spring picnic. He clasped her hand in a firm grasp, which Abigail returned.
“Glad to see you made it back after dealing with all those Eaters, Abigail.”
“It was nothing compared to what we have heard you just accomplished. I am so very glad you have made it safely to Deseret.”At that moment Torbin noticed a set of “railroad tracks” on her fatigue collar and cap. The Captain’s bars each had small gold Christian crosses offsetting the silver. Torbin beamed at Abigail.
“Congratulations are in order I see. You have a new set of Captain’s bars on your collar and fatigue cap. You’ve been busy as well.”
Abigail blushed. The Prophet and President Smith rescued her from trying to respond. “Captain Young has demonstrated an ability and maturity well past her years. She earned a promotion and accolade, in part directly related to the mission she was on when you met her in Wyoming. The State of Deseret, as well as our new Captain, both thank you for helping our excellent warrior survive and develop into the fine young officer and lady standing here.”
Abigail blushed more, stuttering, “Please, Prophet Smith, I am but a servant of the Lord, blessed with abilities that serve Deseret.”
The Prophet smiled at the young lady as a proud father would smile at his daughter. Torbin noticed that Abigail had indeed blossomed into a lady in the relatively short passage of time since they had last met. She had filled out a bit, and seemed taller and muscular, in the slender steel type strength of a very fit female fighter. Her naturally blonde hair was neatly braided into a bun, but still shone from brushing. She had a mature, intelligent expression on her face, befitting an experienced soldier.
“Captain Torbin,” Prophet Smith continued. “I know you wish to get back to your home base as quickly as possible, but I have a small favor to ask. Tomorrow evening, we are a having a small celebration for Abigail’s eighteenth birthday. I am asking you to delay your departure by one day, not only to help us celebrate, but also so that Captain Young can accompany you back to Montana. You see, we would like her to be a liaison between Deseret and the Unoccupied States. Since she knows you, I believe you could help her with her introductions to your government and military officials.”
“Of course I will, Mr. President. I would be honored. But the uniform on my back is the only clothing I have. So, I hope you do not mind me showing up in these beat up fatigues.”
President Smith smiled at Torbin again. “I have already been working on that matter. Because of my own background, I’ve adopted Marine Corps style uniforms for my military forces. It should be a simple matter to provide you with a set of Dress Blues."
“Thank you. I am in your debt, Mr. President.”
“I’ve done this as much as for Abigail as I have for you, Captain Bender. For many of the young people, parties have been few and far between since the Invasion. Therefore, finding a good reason for a celebration also demands it’s done right.”
Torbin again saw the affectionate look he gave Abigail. He seemed to be treating her like his own blood, a doting parent on a child. An adopted parent figure would be of great help to anyone in a time of extreme uncertainty and war.
“I am at your service, President Smith.”
“Good. Now, if you would be so kind as to ride in the limo with Abigail. I know she wishes to be updated on your activities. You and I can speak later. I will have some documents for you to carry to your Madam President when you leave. I imagine she will share the contents with you after she has had a chance to review them.”
Torbin saluted President Smith, then followed Abigail to her vehicle. Identical to the one carrying the Prophet President, it was an extended limo with all of the pre-strike luxuries. Torbin sat facing the front, with Abigail opposite him, her back to the driver. A darkened screen was raised by the driver as Torbin entered. Apparently the President had told the driver to give the two Captains their privacy.
Torbin noticed a new-looking combat pack sitting in the seat next to Abigail. A short-barreled 12 gauge entry pump shotgun was stuck in a sheath attached to the pack. Abigail also had a Glock 17 9mm pistol holstered at her side.
“Looks like you’ve upgraded your equipment from the last I saw you, Captain.”
Abigail waved a hand at Torbin. “Please, call me Abigail. I’m still not used to being a Captain. Hopefully, to you, I will always be Abigail.” Torbin saw in her eyes a bit of longing to talk to another human as an individual, not as a rank or position. She was just turning eighteen, so she was a young person pushed into a position of responsibility and authority well beyond that of anyone else in her age group. She probably felt unable speaking freely to any of her surviving peers.
“Of course, Abigail. I’m just a little bit tickled that you are doing so well since I last saw you. I’d always felt a bit guilty that I didn’t make sure your group made it back to your territory safe and sound. You all made it back okay, right?”
Abigail’s face lit up. “Yes, of course. Thanks in part to you. We rested a couple of days, and ate the food you gave us. Ruth and I put together the equivalent of a small feast with the food you had provided us. Mathew was quite appreciative. In the days after, Mathew picked off a couple more Demons—your Eaters—with his rifle. We also dealt with some Ferals.”
Her eyes and face turned a bit serious. “You have made a very favorable impression on that young man, Torbin Bender. He lost everyone traveling to Deseret. He has no father, no uncle, no other close male relative. Everyone has been too busy surviving to pay much attention to him. I have tried to play the role of a big sister. But he needs a positive male figure as an example. He thinks, and I also believe, that you are such an example. I hope you won’t mind if he visits you at the male bachelor quarters tonight.”
Torbin paused. He never saw himself as a true role model. He had always been a bit of a loner, not engaging in any long term relationships with any one woman. He worked hard, played hard, and had taught some high school classes, but never really thought of himself as an example to follow in any sense of the word.
“There was no family in Deseret willing to adopt you younger folks when you arrived from the Idaho area?” As soon as Torbin asked the question he saw a dark shadow pass over Abigail’s face. He had touched on a sensitive subject from her past.
“Abigail…,” he began.
“It’s okay, Torbin,” Abigail interrupted before he could say anything else. “This is one matter about which I can’t hide my true feelings. After the Hanford explosion, some two dozen teenagers and I managed to make it to Deseret from the Idaho area. We were helped by a handful of adults, an uncle of mine being one of them, to make it to an area within a few miles of Deseret, then known as Utah. We had passed through some fallout areas as Idaho had been hit hard due to the size of the explosion and wind currents.
The good people of Deseret knew that.
“When we arrived, the authorities took all of our clothes and possessions, decontaminated us, then kept us isolated for a up to week. They checked us with radiation detectors before letting us out. However, we were told that blood and cellular tests showed we all had a high level of exposure, and so we were also informed that none of us would be allowed to reproduce in Deseret.”
“Here.” Torbin handed her a soft drink from the cooler Andrew had given him. It gave her a chance to pause, collect her thoughts, and attempt to control her emotions. He could tell this was a very difficult memory for her.
“Thank you, Torbin.” She sipped the soft drink. “None of us have lost the stigma of being ‘contaminated’ or ‘unclean’. Even couples with children were hesitant to have us around, as were those of reproduction age. Four of the youngest children were taken in by people of grandparent age. The rest of us were put in a dormitory, and treated as orphans. Which I suppose we were.”
“You mentioned your uncle, Abigail. Why didn’t he continue all the way with you?”
“Uncle Buck was a former Mormon and hated the Church; I was too young to be told why. He also hated people of color, the Government, public officials, anyone who he thought was interfering with what he believed in or who tried to tell him what to do. He took me hunting, fishing, and was very nice to me overall. He raised hunting and protection dogs for sale, and trained dogs for other people. I often stayed the whole summer with him, helping him train his dogs and raise a new litter.”
Abigail smiled. “Some of my best memories were of times with him. I hope he is still alive, though he told me that he thought he had been exposed to a lot of radiation, another reason why he did not want to enter Deseret. He believed they’d kill him for being irradiated.”
The Tsunami Page 2
