"It's with my gear, sir. Also, I figured out that it used seven digits instead of three."
"Really?" Dixon exclaimed. "That would be more useful and make more sense."
An aide knocked on the door and then entered with a report for Dr. Dixon.
"Looks like there are some irregularities in your bloodwork, major."
"That was fast."
"Technological progress didn't slow down while you were gone."
"What irregularities, doctor?" Col. Jackson asked.
"The major has some strange antibodies."
Harrison shrugged. "You did give me that weird nano thing before I left. I suspect I was exposed to some strange stuff out there."
"True."
"Also, there was this one place with a weird plague. The local version of the JMC was distributing a vaccine. I used that. It seemed better to be safe than sorry."
"Just include it in your report, major."
"Of course, and colonel, I'd like to take some time off before we plan any more ops for me, if you don't mind."
"Not at all, major. Take as much time as you like. Once all the paperwork is out of the way, I expect you'll want to retire. You've certainly earned it."
"Sir?"
"Things have changed around here. There has been a major change in policy with the new administration. This entire operation is closing down. The JMC will be maintained as a research facility under the command of Dr. Dixon, but we are suspending all military operations."
"We won't be going back out to look for technology or allies?"
"No, major. The Pentagon feels that using the device is just too dangerous. We haven't had any trouble from next door since you destroyed their base, and the experiments with the wrist device showed that the cyborgs will never be able to come here."
"I thought we were going to use it for strikes around the globe."
"It raises too many questions about how we could get our teams in and out. We don't want China to get ahold of this tech, or anyone else. Also, there is a concern that the devices might attract the attention of enemies we can't easily defeat, like the cyborgs. Go on, now. A room has been made ready for you."
Chapter Sixty-four
Harrison's cabin was in poor shape after two years without repairs. At least it didn't look vandalized, just run down. He'd hoped that the realtor would have taken better care of it, but they hadn't. They hadn't rented it out, either. He was glad for that. He didn't have to kick anyone out when he got home.
The summer air was hot and humid, but he didn't mind. It was home. The lightning bugs were at it in the woods. Somewhere a hawk screeched, and a woodpecker hammered after larvae. Some dogs were barking a few kilometers away. He was going to miss this place.
He entered and lit an oil lamp, since he hadn't had the power restored and didn't feel like turning on the generator in the back for the short time he was going to be here. He dropped the chest he'd taken from the shed in the back onto the table. The small chest held everything material that he valued in the world. It saddened him that all he had of his life were a few pictures and a couple of books he cherished.
The paperwork and reports had taken him only a few days to complete. The reports had been only partly fabrications. He told of the places he'd visited; that had been real. He just left a lot out. The military here didn't need to know about the JRC, or the Plaza, or any of a hundred other things that would have freaked them out. The world was moving on from the problems it had faced when he'd gotten lost out there. Things were fine. He'd make sure they stayed that way.
The first chance he'd had, he called his friend Delling, who hadn't been surprised to hear from Harrison. He'd refused to believe that Harrison was KIA, insisting that he'd show up one day. It had been good to talk with Delling again, even if he couldn't tell him about what had happened. He hoped that one day he'd be able to, but he knew that day would have to wait.
The cabin door opened behind him, but he didn't need to look. He know who it was.
"You ready to leave?" Gillian asked as she entered the cabin.
"Yeah. Let's get going."
About the Author
Paul B. Spence is a practicing archaeologist who hopes to one day get it right. He currently lives in New Mexico, where all the cool kids hang out, with too many cats.
Like most authors, he had an eclectic career path. He’s worked as a retail gofer, a food service monkey, brute laborer, a rennie, a writer for the RPG industry, and many other rewarding jobs that didn't pay enough to feed him or his cats.
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