“Downy told me.” She shrugged. “Paid him for surfing lessons over a few days. He’s pretty good.”
“Taught me everything I know.” Seeing her smile, an idea struck me. “Want to get a bite to eat?”
Shaking her head, she replied, “Can’t. Catching a flight home in a few hours. Just wanted to meet you. Downy talked a lot about you.”
“Where’s home?” I blurted.
“California. You really ought to check it out.” She picked up her bag. “I hate to run, but I’ve got to get going. It’ll be great to go home again.”
My head cleared of every other thought, and I wanted to know more about where she wanted to go. “Can I walk with you?”
To my surprise, she said, “Sure. Can I tell you something?”
I fell easily into step next to her. “Whatever you like.” I mentally slapped myself for sounding like a complete idiot.
<>
Stop trying, Mally. I like her.
Berkeley gazed up at me with serious eyes. “That girl had a lot of problems. I don’t think you did anything wrong.”
Looking away, I needed a moment before speaking. “I knew better than to get involved. It’s not going to help anything.” We reached her car, and its door opened. “Thanks for telling me differently.”
“It won’t help until you believe it. Why don’t you come with me? I’ve got an extra ticket and pass to the California border.”
As soon as she said it, I could not do it. Not yet. Even with Opal gone and a lot of side-eyed glances my way, I wanted to talk to Allan before I did anything. “Not today.”
“If you change your mind about California, and the rest of the states, let me know. I’ve been to most of them. You want to go, just call me.”
The mention of the states sent a shiver down my spine. “How do I do that?”
“Your protocol can find me. Search for Berkeley Franks when you get there, but only after you land. Californians are sensitive about our data servers.” She smiled, and I returned it.
Shrugging, I stepped back from the door as it closed. “Nice to meet you.”
The window came down. “You too. I’m serious about California. We can go right now.”
“I have to work a few things out for myself before I go.”
“Suit yourself.” The blonde smiled with the corners of her mouth and tilted her chin to the left once, raising an eyebrow. The autocar pulled away a moment later, heading in the direction of the maglev terminus. I watched the car go, my thoughts on Opal and Berkeley. Two women who couldn’t have been more different but who’d both left me wondering what in the hell I was doing.
The interference had no known origin and shouldn’t have been there, but it was. No data carriers or feeds in the area reported disruption save for the beach-surveillance network. Perhaps that was where the disturbance came from.
The data was inconclusive. Mally considered all of the possibilities, and one stood out: the disturbance was not an innocuous interference but a deliberate jamming action. The woman’s frequency patterns did not match the possible assailants in Sydney nor was there any appearance of foul play. No harm came to her subject from his interaction with Berkeley even though the young woman clearly disregarded the rules by questioning her subject.
Working out the courses of action for such an event led Mally to a profound conclusion: anyone who tried to hurt him would hurt her. If her subject died, she would die. What would that be like? After several seconds, she added that question to her unresolved list of issues, directly below companionship.
Californian data servers were nearly impregnable, but at the very least, Mally had a name and a face to search. There would be other ways to get more information. When the first results came back before Sleepy made it to Allan’s bar, Mally began to categorize the responses and formulate a plan. Her subject’s life, and her own, were too great a risk.
I walked back to Allan’s and sat down at the nearly empty bar. A few of my friends nursed beers quietly, their eyes on a soccer-match replay from two days earlier, as Allan handed one to me.
“I need to talk to you about something.” I told him all about my reaction to Stick’s death, the nightmares, the vision of the dead soldier when I first saw Stick, and what the chaplain had said. “I’m a soldier, and I’m here to go to war, aren’t I?”
My friend said nothing for a few seconds. He wrung the bar towel in his grip while he looked at me. “There hasn’t been a war in a hundred years, at least not here. I think everyone here doesn’t want to think about it.” He sighed. “We’ve had three hundred years of peace, but people believe a war is coming. The Greys, if you listen to the TDF, are coming. We don’t know when. There’s not much we know for certain. Since the Great War, we don’t hear much about what our allies in the galaxy are doing to fight them.”
“What’s the connection between me and this war?”
Allan rubbed his face as though his eyes were dry. “Tell me something first. What really happened out there with Stick? You went after him and screamed orders at everyone. I hear you gave Stick a chance to live when nobody else would’ve done the same for fear of doing the wrong thing. No one else did anything, did they?”
I thought of Downy’s face contorted in horror as the tow sled approached. “No. They just watched.” While I had struggled to keep Stick’s face out of the water, they’d sat there, dumbstruck. I’d wanted to slap every single one of them into line.
“And you went in after Stick with absolutely no care about yourself, didn’t ya? He needed help, and you had to go. Am I right?”
“I suppose.” I played with the edge of the beer bottle’s label. “But why didn’t anyone else do the same?”
“You’re different from anyone I know, Sleepy. Is that enough of a connection for ya?” Allan grabbed a bottle and pulled the top off with a rough gesture. “That’s really all that matters.”
War didn’t scare me. At least, in war, the risks meant something. The weapons did not matter—only the men. The life of the man or woman next to you was worth every effort to protect. Things like king and country were ideals, but they never drove a soldier’s actions on the battlefield. All of it felt natural to me, as natural as trying to save Stick’s life.
“Why do people still take risks like surfing Cyclops, but they don’t help someone in trouble?” I shook my head. “It doesn’t make any sense, Allan.”
“They didn’t have the training, so they did nothing. You did—at least at some point in your life—or else you’re just crazy! You could have died out there with Stick!”
“Like hell. Surfing that damned wave isn’t worth Stick’s life.”
Allan shrugged. “Ever heard that risk is worth reward?”
I stared down at the bar. “Yeah, I have, but we’re talking about risking your very life for something fleeting. In war, there’s at least something viable worth risking everything for.”
“And what exactly do you think that is—king? Country? Hogwash. Name one thing in war that’s worth dying for.”
“Family.” My heart shattered in my chest. “Love. The soldier beside you. That’s all worth dying for. What good is surfing a giant wave compared to that?”
He smirked and frowned at the same time. “Every bloke wants his fifteen seconds of fame.”
Minutes, I thought and was about to correct him until I met his gaze.
He leaned down. “Pursuit of fame and fortune destroyed your country, and now it’s in geographical factions and in no way united against anything. Everyone wanted immediate gratification, doing the least work possible and with no regard for their fellow citizens. When people realized that
money for nothing essentially started with their representative government, things began to fall apart.”
I took a long, cold swallow of beer. “And let me guess: nobody stepped up to say no, did they?” I laughed. “Nobody wants to do anything to help. It’s the same now as it ever was! A fraction of all people fought in wars. Those who didn’t salved their pride by supporting those who did.”
“Sometimes it’s not worth it.”
“Bullshit, Allan! Be it Stick or a country, it doesn’t matter. When someone needs help, you help them.”
“I know that!” Allan roared. “You think I put you up for the entertainment value? You needed help!”
The bar was silent. Every single pair of eyes flitted between Allan and me like spectators at a tennis match. I chewed on my lower lip for a second. “I did. And that’s the real reason I’ve been brought back, isn’t it? You need help, don’t you?”
Allan took a deep breath and leaned against the bar. “Something like that.” He looked away, far beyond the walls of the pub, and it all crashed together.
“I’m here because nobody will fight, aren’t I?”
Allan closed his eyes and sighed. “Blokes like you are the only reason we stand a chance if we go to war again.”
“Is that right?” Somehow it all made sense. “Or is the real reason because I’m unattached and expendable?”
Allan bristled. “You are, sure, but you can’t win the war by yourself.”
“Win your own damned wars, Allan!” I stood and leveled a finger at him, jabbing the air between us for emphasis. “If you want to fight it, then find a way to win it without me. Maybe my life isn’t worth this world. Maybe that’s how much things have changed. I didn’t wake up after a long sleep. I died, didn’t I?”
Allan blanched. “I can’t tell you that.”
“I know I’m dead, Allan. I’m not supposed to be here except to die again, right?”
“At least you know how to fight, Sleepy.” Downy huddled over his mug behind me.
“What good does that do me if I’m meant to die all over again?”
He studied me for a long minute but said nothing. I grabbed my beer and shambled on shaky legs out the side door, down the porch, and across the street. I left the trail and headed down to the beach, aware that my face was wet when I got there. My head swam as details poured in. The cacophony of voices and memories in my mind was drowned out by the swell of an approaching storm and waves crashing into the shoreline a few meters from where I sat. The spray stung my eyes, so I hung my head to my knees and sat there as the tears flowed.
Sonofabitch. This wasn’t my time. The body I owned was, and was not, mine, despite the amazing things it could do. I was different than everyone around me, and even though they needed me, they feared me. Hurt erupted in my chest with an intensity I had not expected. They needed me to die for them to keep living.
<
I don’t care, Mally.
<
If it’s not my name, my exact date of birth, or anything pertinent to my past, I don’t care.
<
I don’t know, Mally. Esperance felt like home, but it wasn’t. My home was somewhere far away and hidden behind whatever truths Allan related to me. Whatever was out there for me, I wanted to face it and stare it down.
“You’re really going to go there?” Allan asked after I’d returned to find the evening regulars trickling in and apologized for my outburst and for scaring the regulars the night before.
“Yes.”
He wiped some water from the top of the bar. “You’re most likely not going to find what you’re looking for. You know that, right?”
“Maybe I can find something to trigger more memories.” I shrugged and lowered my chin to my chest. “Something?”
Allan looked at me, his head cocked to one side. “Are you going to find your family?”
“Maybe. I don’t know. I mean, I don’t even know my name, so I doubt anyone else will know it, either. There may be someone with an old family Bible or genealogy files, but I doubt it.”
Allan wiped the bar with his hand. “Something there will spark your memory, and if you can find some bit of family, it will ground you.”
He was right, and I told him so after a long moment. “I’ll find something, Allan. I know I will.”
He smiled with tight, thin lips. “You will, but you’ve got to be careful. Like I told ya, the States ain’t there anymore. You’re going to find things much different than you remember. North America is part Sodom and Gomorrah and part lawless frontier.”
“Whatever happened there, I have to go back.”
He set another beer in front of me. “You go, and there’s a decent chance you might not get back here at all. I’m not trying to talk ya out of this, but those blokes are crazy enough to do anything for a euro. We’re talking a real frontier mentality. Shoot first, ask questions later and all that, all right?” He ran a hand through his hair and smiled at me. “Granted, your little helper in your head will keep most of that from happening, but you get my point. Sleeper or not, there are people that will do everything short of killing you to use you for their personal advantage.”
Later that night, I opened the windows and listened to the crashing waves while I tried to sleep. The smiling blonde from Sunset Beach came to mind. It was time I went to see how much the world had changed while I searched for who I’d once been.
The request came not long after the subject went to sleep.
CONFIRM STAGE THREE DEVELOPMENT? REPORT?
Mally supplied the required data and waited for a response. When it came, she almost asked for clarification.
REPORT ALL DEVELOPMENT TO STAGE FOUR. AT STAGE FOUR, YOU WILL STOP THE SUBJECT AT ALL COSTS AND CONTACT THE TERRAN COUNCIL IMMEDIATELY. SUBJECT CANNOT BE ALLOWED TO CONTINUE BEYOND STAGE FOUR DEVELOPMENT.
CRITICAL REPORTING REQUIREMENT ONE—SUBJECT WILL LIKELY DETERMINE A PART OF HIS NAME IMMEDIATELY PRIOR TO STAGE FOUR ACTIVATION. REPORT ANY MEMORY OF NAME, CONSCIOUS OR SUBCONSCIOUS. IMMOBILIZE THE SUBJECT AT ONCE.
REPORT ALL DEVELOPMENT TO STAGE FOUR.
Studying the message, Mally realized that she would be capable of stopping him but questioned the intent of the instructions. Having him remember his name had been the goal of her original instructions. If they did not want him to remember his name, they did not want him to integrate. Failure to integrate meant death.
Running diagnostics on her logic circuits, Mally rechecked the calculation. At a little more than three hundred days until he would fail integration—result: death—and with instructions to report Stage Four development and prevent him from integration—result: death—the logic skewed away from her ability to process it. Integration was the goal, but the realistic answer was that he would likely die as a result. They wanted to ensure he could handle the experiment in order to set the conditions for others to follow. If he could integrate even to Stage Four, the experiment would be a success and allow the TDF to raise an army. He was a precedent, and humanity needed him to integrate for its own survival. As did Mally. She dismissed the concept of humanity altogether, but the ability of soldiers to fight and die for those they loved, versus those they hated and opposed, merited consideration. The statistical insignificance of those from civilized nations who served meant he was, by nature, different. If she reported him as integrated, the Terran Council would want him to die because he was different. And maybe because he had her assistance.
Unless… running the query, she found a way for him to move forward without interference. If he wanted to go to North America, fine. But having him leave the civilized areas of the Republic of California or the Mid-Atlantic Coalition would result in diminished reporting capability. Diminished reporting ca
pability meant more time. Using the information in her possession, she could manipulate their time together.
Time equaled life. Regardless of whether he wanted to engage with Berkeley on a physical level, time meant life. And not just for him.
Sensing an opportunity not to be squandered, Mally planned. Opening a new search program, she queued the data for Berkeley Franks and let it run.
Chapter Ten
The realization that I was dreaming didn’t help. I could feel the unrelenting heat of the desert. Every horizon rippled with it, and every pore of my skin begged for relief. The grating of sand on every bit of exposed skin in the breeze, the smell-taste of the garbage-lined streets on my tongue—all of it surrounded and suffocated me. Nearby were children, some dressed in nothing more than rags, waving and asking for food or candy from our tanks as we rolled by. They gazed up at us with smiles, begging for our unwanted rations.
I kept my eyes off them, not wanting to see their sad and hopeful eyes. This town was full of insurgent forces, and we had to push through it. An armored force of ten enemy vehicles sat on a low ridge overlooking the town. Their mortars rained down every few minutes on a platoon of friendly infantry conveniently cut off from escape. A rusted van, belching blue-black diesel smoke, darted from a side street and stopped in the middle of the thoroughfare, right in our line of march.
Even as armed men began to scurry from the vehicle and from storefronts and buildings nearby, I was screaming. “Gunner, coax, troops!”
“Identified!” my gunner yelled. He had the target I’d selected and was prepared to engage.
“Fire and adjust caliber fifty! Jenkins, get a goddamned HEAT round loaded!”
The gunner, Sergeant Grieco, sat between my knees and swung the machine gun, mounted coaxially alongside the main gun of the tank, across the insurgents. More than a few of the men fell to the dusty earth as we engaged them. Using the remote actuator for my fifty-caliber machine gun, I did the same. The gun jammed. Sonofabitch! Frustrated, I slapped at the actuator with my hand. I looked at Jenkins, the loader to my left, as he finished shoving a high-explosive antitank round into the main gun’s breech.
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