I Am Automaton

by Edward P. Cardillo

  He turned to face the bar and wallow in his self-pity when he saw her. She was an attractive blonde. Pretty, athletic, and she had an air of self-confidence. She was looking across the bar. Perhaps she was waiting for someone. Nevertheless, at the moment, she was alone.

  Carl pulled himself together, took one last swig of his beer, and he summoned the courage to dismount his bar stool. He crossed the bar, apparently acting before his mind could catch up. He was frantically searching for the perfect introduction, but he was in front of her before he could come up with anything.

  He stood there awkwardly in front of her, and it wasn’t long before her gaze shifted from across the bar to him. He didn’t know what to say. He held out his hand. “Hi…I’m Carl.”

  Not facile at reading the opposite sex, Carl was not sure how to interpret her reaction. It was somewhere between confusion and displeasure, but the look quickly faded, and she smiled politely. “Hi, Carl.”

  “Do you mind if I join you?”

  She began to fidget. “Well, actually I am supposed to meet someone…”

  “Yeah, I’m supposed to meet my brother,” he pointed to Pete making time with the brunette, “but he’s obviously busy at the moment.”

  “Oh, I see…” she looked over at Peter and then at Carl. She appeared to have an inexplicable sudden change of heart. “What’re you drinking, Carl?”

  “At this point, whiskey.”

  “Rough day?”

  “You have no idea.”

  The girl summoned the bartender. “Two whisky shots, black label.”

  Carl was impressed. This girl knew how to order drinks.

  “So, Carl, what was so rough about your day?”

  “Well…I decided that I was going to enlist…in the army.” Dammit, he forgot…he wasn’t supposed to tell the truth.

  “Oh, the army. Impressive.”

  Wow. He wasn’t expecting that. She looked actually impressed.

  “Yeah, well, my parents weren’t too happy about it.”

  “No, I suppose they wouldn’t be.”

  “Even my brother, who’s actually a sergeant in the army.”

  “Really? Well, that seems hypocritical of him, doesn’t it?”

  “Yes. Yes it does.”

  He couldn’t believe it. He was actually having a real conversation with a beautiful woman, and she was so easy to talk to. The night was looking up.

  “So why the army, Carl? You don’t seem like the army type.”

  Now he was embarrassed. Apparently sensing his insult, the girl clarified her remark. “I mean, you seem like someone who’d do well in the private sector.”

  “Yeah, that’s what my brother seems to think. But the economy is so bad, I can’t afford any more tuition, and there are no jobs.”

  “So the army seems like your best option at the moment.”

  “Well, I want to do something with myself. I don’t just want to sit around and do nothing. I am my own man. I want to see the world.”

  “Well, Carl, you know the army isn’t a vacation.”

  “I know that, but maybe I want to do some good, and perhaps I’ll learn some skills on the job.”

  “What were you studying in school, Carl?”

  “Engineering. I figured that there’s plenty of on-the-job training, and the army can pay the rest of my tuition.”

  “Well, there are other skills you can learn too, besides engineering.”

  “Oh?”

  “Like leadership, independence, discipline.”

  Carl thought he was falling in love. Here he was talking to a beautiful woman who understood him and what he wanted to do. Was this actually going somewhere? She seemed older, but he wasn’t sure how much.

  Then he realized that he knew nothing about her. Here he was droning on about himself and his existential quandary. He suddenly felt self-conscious and rather clumsily tried to change the topic to her.

  “So, I’ve been going on and on about myself, I don’t even know your name.”

  She was looking over his shoulder. “Oh, I think I see the person I was supposed to meet.”

  Oh great. She was blowing him off. He screwed up, blathering on about enlisting, unemployment, and his parents.

  “Let’s go say hi.” Unexpectedly, she grabbed him by the arm and nearly yanked him off his bar stool. She pulled him through the crowd, through the smoke, and across the tiny dance floor until she was standing in front of Peter.

  Peter looked away from his brunette as he saw some blonde pulling his brother across the bar. He almost did a double take when he saw who it was.

  “Hi, Peter.”

  Carl was confused. “What? You know my brother? Pete, you know her?”

  Peter, embarrassed by his company and completely unprepared for this encounter, straightened up. “Captain London.”

  Peter didn’t know why, but he was disconcerted. He didn’t want Captain London seeing him with this bar fly. Part of him found her attractive since their first meeting, even though romance wasn’t an option. She was his therapist after all.

  Carl couldn’t believe it. He was finally able to maintain a conversation, with a total knockout no less, and she was here to meet his brother. What was it with this guy? What did Pete have that he didn’t?

  “I was just talking with your brother, Carl, over at the bar.”

  Peter didn’t quite know what to say. The brunette, no longer the center of Peter’s attention, looked flustered.

  “What are you doing here, Captain?”

  She sized up the brunette contemptuously. “Major Lewis sent me to personally tell you that your leave has been cut short.”

  Great. Again?

  “He has approved you for…that program we were talking about.”

  It took a moment for the meaning of her message to register with Peter. At the moment, it was really the last thing on his mind.

  Carl was lost. “Program? What’s she talking about, Pete?”

  She was staring him dead in the eye, no doubt gauging his reaction.

  “Nothing, Carl. Yes, thank you, Captain. I’ll report tomorrow morning.”

  “At 08:00, Lieutenant.”

  What? Did he hear her correctly?

  “Lieutenant,” he repeated tentatively.

  “Yes, it appears you have been promoted.”

  Carl stood there stunned. The brunette, her ego bruised, was losing interest fast. Carl was happy for his brother. “Pete, this is great! Lieutenant. Congratulations!”

  “08:00 hours, Captain.”

  Captain London turned to Carl and shook his hand. Her skin was soft to the touch, but her grip was firm. “It was nice meeting you, Carl. Peter, you never told me your brother was cute.”

  Then she turned and left the bar.

  Now Carl stood there just as flabbergasted as his brother was. The brunette had already left the scene and was now talking to some other jock. Both brothers basked in the glow of accomplishment, and each would have argued that his was more significant.

  They left the bar shortly thereafter and began their half-drunken walk home. Carl was dissertating about how smooth he was in his introduction and conversation with the illustrious Captain London. Peter was unable to discuss his promotion and what it meant, so all he could do was listen to Carl. Unfortunately, the effects of the alcohol were waning, rendering Carl’s soliloquy nearly unbearable.

  Carl noticed his brother squirming. “Hey, listen, I understand if this makes you uncomfortable, she being a senior officer and all.”

  Peter didn’t respond. Carl studied his big brother’s face, and then his face lit up as if struck by a great epiphany. “It’s not that, is it?”

  Peter just kept looking forward as he walked.

  “It’s not that at all,” Carl continued in delight. “You like her.”

  “Carl, she’s my goddamned therapist.”

  “She’s a shrink? Why are you seeing a shrink?”

  Peter looked annoyed. “Carl, haven’t you heard of con
fidentiality?”

  Carl was practically squealing with delight. “You like her. And she said I was cute, and that just burns your ass.”

  “Yes, Carl,” Peter responded sarcastically, “it really burns my ass, even though she’s my shrink and there’s no prospect whatsoever.”

  For Carl this was Christmas come a little early. “Oh, it burns your ass alright. A girl actually chose me over you.”

  “She didn’t choose anything, Carl. She just said you were cute.”

  Then it was as if Carl was told that there was no Santa Clause. “Crap…crap, you’re right.”

  Peter felt bad at Carl’s disappointment, but he was happy it shut him up.

  “Hey, Pete, do you think I’ll see her again?”

  Peter just looked at his brother with exasperation. Weary from a night of drinking, he put his arm around his brother and they walked the rest of the way home in silence.

  Chapter 4

  Peter tossed and turned that night in his old bed. He was dreaming furiously. Visions of Apone, Marx, Spottiswoode, and the others danced in his head. They stared at him, through him, boring into his soul and exposing his guilt to the light of day. He could not hide from their collective gaze and consequently his own shame.

  He awoke in a cold sweat with bitterness on his tongue. He sat up and swung his legs over the side of the bed, putting his feet on the floor. His shirt was drenched. He rubbed his eyes thoroughly, as if it might rub out the bad memories.

  He looked at the clock—three twenty-two in the morning, only a couple of hours before his alarm. He wiped the tears streaming down his face with his forearm, sniffled, and reached for his duffle bag under his bed. He reached in and pulled out his pistol. He felt it in his hand. It was like an extension of his body. But that was his training.

  He placed the cool barrel on his forehead as he fought back sobs. He struggled to keep quiet; he didn’t want to wake his parents or Carl. He rocked back and forth, contemplating the unspeakable as his body convulsed with suppressed sadness. He wanted to scream, but he fought the urge.

  He slowly slid the barrel of the gun down his forehead until it reached his mouth. He then slowly opened his mouth wider and slid the barrel in. He was now shaking violently as he sat there in his childhood bedroom with a gun in his mouth poised to pull the trigger.

  This was the bedroom where he played with his action figures, read his comic books by flashlight, and fantasized about several girls in his class. Life was so much simpler then. It was filled with such possibility.

  However, as potential cannot sustain itself indefinitely with the passage of time, all individuals are forced to make choices. And with each choice made, potential erodes, possibilities are left behind, and one’s life path narrows. Then one must face the life he has chosen for himself and all that goes with it. Nevertheless, at three twenty-two in the morning sitting in his childhood bed, Peter could not stomach the absurdity of his situation and the horrors he had unknowingly chosen for himself.

  He yearned to sleep forever, to join his fallen comrades, but they had died an honorable death. What he was about to do was…cowardice.

  He slid the pistol out of his mouth and put it gingerly on his end table. He realized that suicide would bring further shame and dishonor on himself.

  No, he would report back to Fort Bliss and jump head first into this “ID” Program, whatever the hell it was. He would hunt down every last Navajas until he took his very last breath.

  Amused by what he almost did in his parents’ house, he chuckled hysterically to himself as he sobbed in the dark. He placed his pistol back into his duffle bag, lowered his head back onto his pillow, and took advantage of what time he had left before the alarm would sound off.

  His parents slept soundly in the next room, completely unaware of how close they were to tragedy. Then again, ignorance is bliss.

  ***

  El Paso Intelligence Center

  Biggs Army Airfield, Fort Bliss

  Peter was in uniform outside Major Lewis’ door at exactly 08:00 when the door gave its tone and he heard the Major shout, “Enter.”

  Peter walked into the room, strolled up to the Major’s desk and saluted. “Lieutenant Peter Birdsall reporting.”

  “Be seated, Lieutenant.”

  Peter sat.

  “Well, as you have likely guessed from your promotion, you have been approved for the ID Program.”

  “Yes, sir. Captain London had informed me in person.”

  “Yes…” Major Lewis hesitated for a moment, as if he wanted to lend gravity to what he was about to say. “What I am about to tell you is highly classified, so classified that most of the army itself does not have clearance to this information. The existence of this program is not common knowledge, and with good reason.”

  “I understand, sir.”

  “But the significance of this program is profound. If successfully developed, it will change the landscape of the war in the Middle East.”

  Now Peter was confused. The Middle East? He thought they were going to be operating in Mexico.

  Major Lewis sensed Peter’s confusion. “One of the greatest obstacles to hunting down terrorists has not been their decentralized nature, or the support of a network of disenfranchised countries around the globe, or anything of that sort.”

  Peter waited for the correct answer.

  “It is the terrain. No matter how many drones we send in, once they retreat to the caves, it’s game over. That’s why we’re still in Afghanistan. It’s a haven for terrorists, but the cave system makes the terrain virtually inaccessible.”

  “I understand, sir. The army does not wish to waste lives sending soldiers into the caves.”

  “And bombing only affects the surface. But Research and Development has acquired a technology that would allow us to infiltrate the cave system in Afghanistan without needlessly expending lives.”

  Peter was fascinated, and he wondered what the technology was, but foremost, he wondered what the Navajas had to do with Afghanistan. “Sir, if you don’t mind me asking, what does this have to do with the Navajas?”

  Major Lewis produced his Cybernetic Digital Organizer and called up a file. He then slid it across his desk to Peter. “We have intelligence that the Navajas have moved their operations to Xcaret, Mexico. They apparently find the cenote cave systems to be optimal for hiding their operations from the authorities. We need to achieve maximum penetration of this system of underground caves. You will pilot this new program in Xcaret. If it passes the field test, then we will likely get the green light for Afghanistan.”

  “I see. So what is this new technology?”

  Major Lewis sat back in his chair and sized Peter up, as if he was gauging Peter’s preparedness for the answer. “The technology is best shown, and then explained.”

  Why was the Major being so cryptic?

  “Okay, sir.”

  The Major paused for another moment and then stood up. “Follow me.”

  Peter followed him out of the office and out of the building. They crossed the airfield to a large hangar. They entered through a small door.

  Peter recognized the hangar from his training exercises on the base. Inside was a large replica of a building. It was used to train squads to infiltrate buildings and clear rooms. There were a few of these on the base, but this one was particularly vicious because it was set up like a maze, hence its nickname, the Labyrinth.

  Major Lewis strode up to a man standing in front of the faux building. The man saluted.

  “Lieutenant Birdsall, this is Sergeant Lockwood. He’s in charge of many of the training exercises on base.”

  “Yes, I am familiar with Sergeant Lockwood.” As a matter of fact, Peter had participated in some of Sergeant Lockwood’s training exercises.

  Major Lewis nodded to Sergeant Lockwood, who then addressed Peter. “Lieutenant, I ask that you step into the building.”

  Peter was taken off guard. “I’m sorry. You want me to step inside?”
/>
  “Yes, sir.”

  Peter was not sure what game they were playing, but he did as instructed. He stepped into the first room of the structure and turned to face Sergeant Lockwood. “So what am I supposed to do now, Sergeant?”

  “Make it to the other side.” Then the sergeant closed the door. Peter heard him engage the digi-lock from the other side.

  What was the point of this? Was he just supposed to meander through the maze? He was pretty sure he remembered the way. If not, it wouldn’t take much to figure it out in short order.

  “Begin,” he heard Sergeant Lockwood yell from the other side of the door.

  Peter began to walk through the rooms. It was dark, so he used his Mini-com Multi-tasker as a light source. He strolled from room to room, feeling foolish. Was something supposed to happen? Was this new technology somewhere in the maze?

  That’s when he heard it.

  Footsteps. But the gait was strange. It was a shuffling, if he was not mistaken. It was coming from one of the adjoining rooms. He crept quietly into the next room, put his back to the wall, and listened. Someone else was definitely in the maze with him, and the mystery guest was zeroing in on his position.

  The footsteps sounded like they were somewhere in front of him, so Peter ducked into a side room. He then attempted to circumvent the room that was in front of him, all the while taking great care to be silent. He didn’t want to give away his position.

  The strange thing was that as he would cross a room and then stop, then cross another room and stop, the footsteps seemed constant as if his pursuer never stopped.

  The effect was unnerving enough that in his attempt at circumvention, he cornered himself into a dead end. However, as he turned to exit the room, he heard the shuffling closing in on him. He cursed his sloppiness.

  Peter was able to see a dark silhouette moving towards his room, but the silhouette appeared odd. It looked as if the person was hunched over, and it shambled around like a prisoner shackled at the ankles.

  Peter readied himself for who was coming through the door. Would he be shot at? He prepared to make a dash around the figure and through the doorway once it entered.