I’m a ghost, he thought numbly.
“Damn it, the Sarge,” Hawkins groaned.
Mavrides said nothing, studying them.
“My mom and my little sister live in Vermont,” McKelvie said. “They’re probably okay, don’t you think? I mean…once people really understand what’s happened it’s going to be a shitstorm, but places like that will be okay, right? It’s not like Chicago or something.”
“I’m from Chicago,” Prosky said. “Got an ex-wife there. My little boy, Amos…he’s nine.”
A cold silence settled in. They’d been so focused on themselves that they hadn’t taken a moment to really envision how the rest of the world might be reacting to the fragged engines, the burnt out circuitry. Panic would war with hope at first. People would want to think that everything would be all right, that someone would be along to fix it all. Local governments would organize their citizens and attempt to brave the worst of it, pull together. Danny didn’t know about the rest of the world, but in America the populaces of major cities would attempt to live up to the myths they had created about themselves.
Some would recognize the truth more quickly, do the math and figure out how long it would take for everything—hell, anything—to get fixed, and know that the chances of a major city holding itself together that long were practically nil. The looting would start, the shooting. The world had too many damn guns. People would want to circle the wagons, gather their loved ones and as much food as they could find, and then they would do whatever they had to in order to protect themselves.
TVs were dead. Phones. No more movies. No Internet.
Jesus, Danny thought. No Internet. All of the data that had been stored there, all of the books and journals—the knowledge—that had never made it onto paper…all of that was gone forever, as if the Library of Alexandria had spanned the world, and these fucking anarchists Hanif Khan worked for had just burned the whole thing down.
Some places might make it work—places where there were still farms, or where people were hardy and could adapt—but soon enough those places would come under attack by others who wanted what they had. It would get ugly almost everywhere, but the big cities would be the worst. Prosky’s son Amos had a life expectancy measured in months unless his mother was smart and saw it coming, got the hell out of Chicago.
The others all began to talk about their loved ones, the people they feared for. All except Danny, who had no one, and Mavrides, who remained sullenly silent. Danny’s father was dead, his older brother was a prick, and he hadn’t seen his mother since she’d taken off with her dealer when he was ten years old. He had friends, of course, but oddly he thought of Nora, so soft and warm and alive in bed with him that morning. He thought of her little-girl vanity and the fights they’d had and how good her sheets always smelled, full of her perfume and her sweat and the sex they’d had in the softness of that bed. In the time they had been together, he had never once felt as if they were truly bonded, as if they had a future. Sharks had to keep swimming, keep moving, or they would die.
Of all of them, Danny thought he was the best suited to survive in this chaos, because there was no one alive he loved enough to distract him from the hard work of surviving.
He looked at Kate and found her looking back. Suddenly memories of Nora blurred and were replaced by images of Kate in the flesh, her lovely skin and the intelligence and mischief in her eyes. He wanted to keep Kate alive, too, and not just because she was a member of his platoon.
The urge worried him. That sort of thing could get him killed.
Torres swore under her breath. “All that shit Lieutenant Trang was saying, about his wife pulling the plug on his body. He knew it right away.”
Mavrides let out a short bark of a laugh. “Trang was falling the fuck apart, and you were all just holding your dicks. Stay on mission. Run back to base. Pledge allegiance to the fucking flag, right?” He laughed again, a terrible sound, the giggle of a child pulling the wings off a fly. “Sayonara to that shit.”
Danny stared at him, at that damn Death Card on his forehead, and realized that Trang hadn’t been the only one who had figured it all out right away. Mavrides had essentially said as much when he’d shot that civilian in the leg but the rest of them had still been living the fairy tale, waiting for another satellite to come in range.
“So what do we do now?” Hawkins asked.
“I’ll tell you what we do,” Torres said. “Our duty. The USA gave me everything I have. I signed on to serve my country because I believe in it, and I’m going to keep doing that.”
“What country?” Hartschorn said. “Seriously. How much of the great old USA is going to still be standing in a year? Look, I had cancer as a kid. I never figured I’d live this long, but I did. I’m alive, back in that goddamn canister, and I intend to get back to Germany. If there’s still power at the Hump, they’ve gotta have a way to transfer us back into our bodies. After that, I’ll fight for the people I love, but not for my country—“
“Not for the government that did this to us,” Lahiri said, his voice quietly powerful. “The government that fucked us like this.”
Hawkins had been crouched beside Birnbaum. Danny had no idea what was going on in Naomi’s head and was amazed that she had accepted any kindness from a guy who had infuriated her with his piggish come-ons for months, but now they seemed to have a bond between them.
“What about you, Kate?” Hawkins asked, his voice a low mechanical growl. “You’re acting Sergeant now. What’s your take?”
“Her take?” Rawlins said. “Trang’s the lieutenant. I’m more interested in—“
“Shut the fuck up,” Hawkins snapped, and Rawlins knew better than to argue.
“Well?” Danny said, glancing at Kate.
Kate took a moment, then gave a single grim nod.
“My take is we shag our asses back to Germany,” she said. “When we hit the Hump, I’m gonna have a few questions for the brass.”
Torres rapped on Danny’s arm and he glanced over to see Lieutenant Winslow approaching. The remnants of Platoon A turned toward Winslow, the conversation halted.
Winslow was still flesh and blood. He was not one of them.
“Sergeant Wade,” Winslow said, “Captain Finch wants you and Private Kelso in the conference room in ten minutes.”
Kate nodded. “We’ll be right along.”
Winslow frowned, scanned the gathered Tin Men, then gave a nod before retreating. He had sensed the tension amongst them, that was obvious, but what could he say? They were not his to command.
Danny had begun to think they weren’t anyone’s to command. Not anymore.
Kate turned to the others. “Turn this over in your heads all you want,” she said. “But do not discuss it where you might be overheard. When we visit this topic again it’s going to be with Lieutenant Trang. Sit tight. Don’t do anything stupid.
“Hawkins,” she said. “In the lieutenant’s and my absence, you’re in charge. Keep it together. Keep them together.”
Mavrides scoffed.
Hawkins ignored him. “You got it, Sarge.”
Danny still didn’t trust Hawkins—he’d have put Torres in charge—but he knew Kate well enough to understand. Mavrides was a mad dog, and Hawkins was the only one she trusted to keep him on a leash.
Alexa Day needed caffeine. Which seemed counterintuitive, considering that her hands kept trembling—normally the kind of thing that indicated too much caffeine. But the craving for a Coca-Cola had come upon her and now it was all she could think about.
She glanced back into the corridor. Marines and civilian embassy personnel buzzing around, trying to figure out what they were supposed to do next. Nobody was keeping watch over her. The sentries were out on the wall, waiting for another attack and her father had gone to Captain Finch’s quarters to borrow a clean shirt. The bloodstains in the one he’d been wearing would never come out.
Alexa hurried around the conference table toward the back of the roo
m and pretended to herself that the tremor in her hands hadn’t just gotten worse. She thought of the fresh black stitches that ran like a zipper across her father’s left cheek and temple and the smaller set on his arm. Arthur Day had always been handsome. These scars wouldn’t erase his handsomeness, but from now on his features would be different. Grimmer.
Exhaling heavily, she pulled open the door at the rear of the conference room. There was a single small window in the room and she was grateful for it—otherwise the kitchen would have been pitch black. She wondered how many candles there were at the embassy and then decided she didn’t want to think about nightfall.
Baz Nissim had told her there would be soda and snacks in the kitchen and he hadn’t been wrong. She tugged a bag of pretzels from a cabinet and then opened the quickly warming fridge to find assorted flavored waters and sodas.
Alexa fetched a can of Coke from the dark, dead fridge, the can still retaining some of the cold from when the appliance had been working. Closing the refrigerator door, she popped the can and lifted it to her lips. The first sip became a deep gulp and she found herself drinking greedily, draining half the can in no time.
Her lips began to tremble the way her hands had done only moments before. Tears welled in her eyes and she set the can on the counter. Her father had tried to console her, told her that her mother would be all right, but Alexa had felt herself flushing with emotion and been unable to reply. At seventeen, she was old enough to know there was nothing she could do to protect her mother and nothing her mom could do to protect her.
Live, she thought.
The word had been echoing through her mind all morning. If Alexa had been able to talk to her, she knew that would have been her mother’s advice. Live. Survive. Make it home. She kept sending those same thoughts out into the universe, hoping that God or whatever power might be listening would carry the message to her mother. Live. Survive. Wait for me.
She stared at the Coke can, but she no longer had any desire to drink the soda. The taste of it did remind her of home, of her mother, and she needed to toughen up. To make it out of this godforsaken war zone, she would have to dry her tears and stiffen her spine and make her own decisions.
Pouring the Coke into the sink, she paused at the sound of someone entering the conference room. Heavy steps, the low hum of machinery—a sound that had mostly vanished from the base—and she knew the people who’d just come in were robots. Tin Men. Not people at all.
Alexa left the can on the counter and reached for the door, intending to announce herself, but then the robots started talking and she hesitated.
“Mavrides is losing it,” one of them said. A female.
“He’ll pull it together,” replied the other. A male.
Of course robots were neither male nor female, but the soldiers piloting them were. She wondered how close to their actual voices these electronic simulations were.
The voices had gone quiet. Standing just behind the kitchen door, Alexa cocked her head, listening to the silence for a moment before a rush of panic went through her. Had she made a sound? Had she given herself away? They would think she had been eavesdropping. She had been, but not in any sneaky way. It had just kind of happened—but Alexa knew they’d never believe it.
“What about you?” the female said, her voice gentle.
“Me?” the male replied.
“How’s your morale?”
Alexa quietly exhaled. They had no idea she was listening.
The female robot gave a low, cynical laugh. “My morale is shit, Kate. But I’m not going to let that get in the way of the mission—whatever we decide the mission ought to be. I’m all right.”
The robots fell quiet again. Alexa knew they could normally communicate through internal channels, so others could not overhear, and she wondered if that was what they were doing. The kitchen door was open an inch or so and she decided to take the risk of being overheard. She adjusted her position, pressed her eye to the gap, and shifted until she had a view of the two robots.
At first, what she saw confused her. One of them—the number thirteen painted on its forehead—held a hand against the face of the other, almost cupping its cheek.
“You’re not alone, Danny,” said the female, Kate. “None of us is.”
Alexa blinked, a smile spreading across her face. She’d kept thinking of them as robots, but of course that had been foolish of her. They were people. Soldiers. Men and women who were just as frightened as she was.
Danny turned away. “We’re all alone.”
Kate stared at him, expression unreadable. “Is that how you want it?”
“Want’s got nothing to do with it. That’s just how it is.”
Alexa couldn’t breathe. What was going on between these two?
The door to the conference room opened abruptly and Alexa stepped back an inch or so. The robots came to attention as Captain Finch and Lieutenant Winslow entered the room, followed by Alexa’s father. The ambassador wore a clean shirt and he looked more alert than he had fifteen minutes ago when Finch had taken him off in search of one. The skin around the stitches on his face had turned an angry red and she wondered how much the wound hurt.
A third robot entered the room and the first two snapped off a crisp salute.
A pair of soldiers began to enter, but Captain Finch held up a hand and instructed them to wait in the hall. Whatever this meeting was, it was for command staff only. Alexa felt her face flush and her pulse began to race. Eavesdropping on Danny and Kate had been bad enough, but that had been sort of an accident. Spying on this meeting was a terrible idea; her father would be furious if he discovered her. She tried to make herself move, but if she revealed her presence, Danny and Kate would know they had been overheard.
Don’t be stupid, she thought. Just go—
“Sergeant Wade,” Finch said. “I’d like your thoughts about our prisoner.”
“A moment, Captain,” said the third robot, who had the infinity symbol painted on his chest.
“Lieutenant Trang?” Finch replied. So infinity bot was a lieutenant.
Trang ignored Finch, staring at Danny and Kate. Robots had facial expressions, but Alexa had always thought of them as fairly limited because so much emotion came through human eyes. Even so, Trang’s irritation was evident.
“Sergeant Wade is here to make a report,” Trang said. “There’s no reason for Private Kelso to be here as well. Whatever decisions are going to be made at command level should remain private until we are prepared to disclose them.”
The moment of tension that followed made Alexa hold her breath. Hostility filled the room like some kind of poison gas.
Kate turned to Finch. “Captain, Private Kelso and I questioned the prisoner together. I thought his perspective might be valuable.”
“You have a lot of thoughts today,” Lieutenant Trang said.
Finch held up a hand. “Enough, Lieutenant. Day’s ugly enough without whatever issues you may have within your platoon.” He turned his attention back to Kate. “The prisoner, Sergeant. What’ve we got?”
Kate nodded, ignoring Trang now. “Hanif Khan. Afghani. Had definite foreknowledge of today’s events, but not who or how. The why is the same why as every anarchist group encountered over the past twenty years, just taken to the furthest extreme.”
“They think we’re the bad guys,” Finch said.
“Maybe we are,” the ambassador replied.
Alexa flinched, hating the exhaustion in her father’s voice and stung by his words.
“Ambassador?” Captain Finch said.
Alexa shifted to get a better look at her father. He had taken a seat at the conference table—something the others hadn’t bothered to do—and he looked gray and weary. The stitches gave him an air of wisdom, but it was an ugly sort of wisdom. A grim, hopeless sort. Alexa thought it was no wonder he hadn’t been very good at comforting her.
“I’m not saying the world deserved this,” the ambassador said. “But we were kind
of asking for it, don’t you think?”
“I certainly don’t think—“ Finch began angrily.
“What do you call someone strong who pushes around people who are weaker, Captain? A bully. No matter our rationale—some of which was sound, some selfish—we were bullies. Well, the weaker kid just changed the fucking rules, and the schoolyard’s never going to be the same.”
Alexa’s mouth opened. Her father never swore.
“That line of thinking isn’t exactly helpful, Mister Ambassador,” Lieutenant Winslow said.
The ambassador stood up from his chair. “You guys need to get your heads out of your asses. Decisions have to be made about the immediate concerns of the people inside these walls. My daughter is here, for Christ’s sake! She’s got to be my first priority.”
“With all due respect, Ambassador Day,” Trang said, “your first priority should be your post.”
Alexa watched her father scowl.
“This is what I’m talking about,” he said. “Pay attention. Folks are going to be turning on each other pretty damn soon. There are plenty of weapons and ammunition inside our walls. We might be weeks or even months away from some upstart warlord deciding to try to take them, but it’s going to happen.”
“In which case,” Winslow said, “what about nukes?”
“Shielded,” Danny replied. “At least, I’m pretty sure all of those facilities are shielded. They’d still have power. And the defenses at those places…nobody’s going to get in there.”
“In the U.S.,” Kate said. “I just hope the rest of the world’s arsenals are as well guarded.”
“What if somebody launches?” Danny asked.
In the adjacent room, Alexa hugged herself, icy fingers clutching her heart.
“Not going to happen,” Captain Finch said. “Without satellite guidance the missiles could not be relied upon to find their targets. And without communications relays, who would give the order? The President’s not going to be in any position to do it unless he sends the order by Pony Express.”
Kate straightened up.
Alexa tried to read the strange expression on her face—was that fear or confusion?—but hadn’t been around enough robots to make sense of it.
Tin Men Page 14
