Youth Patrol

by Andrew Lueders

  The Senator smiles. “Now go, go be the best goddamn Youth Patroller you can be.”

  PART 2

  YOUTH PATROL

  CHAPTER 6

  I hurry over to the Equipment Transport Shuttle. I have mixed feelings about leaving the music group. I feel horrible about leaving Val and not saying good-bye, but at the same time I’ve always wanted to be a Youth Patroller. I just wish it were under better circumstances. It feels like I’m being punished.

  I enter the shuttle and inside it there are racks and racks of different kinds of weapons, from handguns to cannons, carefully arranged from largest to smallest. A news report plays over a speaker. It’s about the U.S army capturing yet another religious fanatical leader who has ties to Puck, the Governor of Utah. Someone must be in here watching the news. I turn to my right and hanging there is a Youth Patrol Uniform. Is that mine? I take a step closer, I want to reach out and touch it, but I’m not sure if I’m allowed.

  “You going to stare at it, or put it on!” someone growls.

  I spin around to see who’s talking. And tucked away in the corner is a stocky man with huge arms. He’s dressed in the non-military Youth Patrol Uniform.

  “Uh, sorry,” I laugh nervously. “I was wondering if this, um… If this is mine?”

  He doesn’t look at me; his eyes are glued to the news report on the hologram monitor. He lifts his hand up and points backwards with his thumb. “There’s a sonic shower in the back. I suggest you use it before you try it on.”

  I grab the uniform and walk in the direction of his thumb. As I pass him, I look at the news report. There’s an out of focus picture of Governor Puck on the screen.

  “Why is he always so goddamned blurry?” the man blurts out.

  “Huh?” I say.

  “Puck?” he continues. “Why is it always blurry? You ever wonder about that?”

  “No. Not really.”

  “Fuckin’ RF’s,” he mumbles to himself. “We don’t even know what he looks like.”

  I find the sonic shower and begin to get undressed.

  “Do you think we’ll ever capture him?” the man calls out.

  “Are you talking to me?” I answer

  “Yeah, who else would I be talking too?”

  “I don’t know? What’s your question?”

  “Do you think we’ll catch the Governor?”

  “Who?” I turn on the sonic shower.

  “You know, Puck, The Governor of Utah, the so called leader of the Resistance. Shit, don’t you watch the news?”

  “Yeah I watch it.”

  “Well, do you think we’ll capture him?”

  “Sure, what makes you think we won’t.”

  “I don’t know, seems like it’s taking way too long to get him.”

  “I don’t know what to tell you. It’s war.” I turn off the shower and start to assemble my uniform.

  “You know what I think?” he rambles.

  “Um no,” I say cynically. I should really watch my attitude.

  “I think we’re scared of Puck,” he announces.

  “Scared?” I say flippantly. “Impossible. Why would we be scared of him?”

  “Because of his army. I’ve heard thousands of One-Wayers are sneaking into Utah every day, and I’m not talking about Mormons either. No way, we killed all those gay hating intolerant assholes in the first Utah war. I’m talking about the other religious fanatics. You know, Catholics, Fundamentalist, Born Agains, you know, those kinds of gay hating intolerant assholes. Those are the people that are sneaking in. Those guys will fuck you up.”

  “I wouldn’t worry about it. The U.S. Military has Utah surrounded. We’ve squeezed them in; the borders are shrinking. The Resistance isn’t going anywhere.”

  “If that’s so,” the man goes on. “Then why did we sign a cease-fire treaty? If we’re so big and powerful, why don’t we just wipe them out?”

  “I don’t know, maybe we’re giving them a chance to surrender. You know, showing them compassion.”

  “People say we don’t finish the job because they’ve got nuclear warheads pointed at Santa Verde. What do you think of that?”

  “They don’t have the bomb,” I chuckle.

  “I don’t know. Puck’s been there a long time. He’s smuggled in one of those 3D replicator things. It can replicate food, weapons; they’ve got an army that some say is a million strong.”

  “A million strong?” I scoff. “I don’t think so, and I don’t think you can replicate food with a 3D replicator either.”

  “It’s just what I’ve heard.”

  “From who?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Look mister,” I say emphatically. “If we weren’t winning the war, don’t you think the President, or Senator Willenger would have told us?”

  He bursts out laughing. “Did someone tweak your L-Chip a little too hard today?”

  “What?”

  “Nothing,” he continues to laugh. “They would have told us. That’s a good one. By the way, are you done yet?”

  “Uh yeah,” I say as I tighten up my gloves. “I can’t believe how this suit fits. It’s so light. This is so much better than what we had during my training.” I look at the tiny hydraulic cables that trace up and down my body. They wrap around all my joints and muscles, making me feel stronger. I can’t wait to test it out.

  “Hey, look at you,” the man says, glancing up from his monitor as I walk out. “You could almost pass for a YP.”

  He hands me the M 1000 V2 semi automatic rifle with a laser scope and a magazine of heat seeking bullets.

  “Is this mine?” I ask.

  “It’s yours. Treat it good.”

  I embrace it like its some endangered species.

  “Hey,” he says, getting my attention. “Forgetting this?”

  I look up, and in his hands, he holds the black and green helmet of Youth Patrol. He walks over and puts it on my head. He flips a switch, and the dark visor slides over my face.

  “Can you see the optical control panel?” he says. “It should look like a hologram monitor right in front of you.”

  “I can see it.”

  “Good.

  “You should see a whole array of sensors: the GPS tracker, radar, weapons monitor.”

  “Yeah I see them.”

  “If you look at one of them, it turns on, look at it again and it turns off. That’s how the visor works. Pretty soon it will become second nature. Also, see that circle in the corner of the monitor?” I nod. “That’s the com link. If you look at it, the transceiver turns on; look at it again and it turns off just like everything else. But if you’re visor’s up and you can’t see your com link, then flip that switch on the edge of your helmet. That should turn on your transceiver. So from now on, this is how you communicate. Don’t even try sending a mind-text. All YP’s are on L-Chip lockdown. No messages come in, no messages go out. Say good-bye to the outside world. We can’t risk you guys accidentally texting what you’ve done or where you’ve been. It’s not allowed. You’ll still get the daily devotional from the Senator, and receive the health benefits from your L-Chip but that’s it. Youth Patrol missions are classified.

  “But can I send texts through my visor?” I ask.

  “Only to other visors, not to L-Chips. Visors and L-Chips are not compatible. Remember, there’s no communication with the outside world period; you got that.”

  I nod.

  “Your transceiver works on radio waves,” he continues. “The L-Chip is a completely different technology. They want Youth Patrol separate from everyone else.”

  “Okay, I get it. I can’t speak to anyone.” Just then, I realize what this really means. I won’t be able to talk to Val ever. I won’t see her, or talk to her. Shit. This sucks.

  Sensing my sadness, the guy grabs a hologram mirror and turns it on. “Cheer up dude. You’re a YP.”

  It’s a strange feeling seeing myself as a Youth Patroller. It finally happened. I force myself to ignore
my sadness. “Fuck it,” I say. “I’m a YP. I’m a Youth Patroller. This is what I’ve always wanted.”

  “Now you’re talking,” The guy slaps me on my back.

  I leave the Equipment Transport, and step out in the open. I’m ready to join up with Jeremin’s squad, but I look across the field in the direction of the Youth Music Singers Shuttle.

  “Sparks!” a voice barks through the transceiver in my helmet. It’s Jeremin. “Get your ass over to the depot, choirboy! We don’t got all day!”

  I look one more time at the shuttles and then turn away. “On my way, sir.”

  CHAPTER 7

  I race across the field toward the Youth Patrollers. I run past other troops participating in their morning drills. They look impressive in their green and black uniforms, marching in unison. They look disciplined, confident; even content. I so want that. But I then see Cheetah Squad. They’re not marching, or doing drills, or doing much of anything. They all have their visors up, looking quite angry. It appears like they’re waiting for something. Waiting for what? Waiting for me? Shit.

  “About time, choirboy!” Jeremin says.

  Then, some pissed off scruffy guy comes walking up to me. “Flip up your visor, so we can see who the new guy is,” he yells.

  I do what he says; everyone is shocked.

  “Holy shit!” the scruffy guy squints. “What the hell is going on, Commander? Is this for real?”

  “Uh, yeah Dirk, this is for real,” Jeremin says with a smirk on his face. “He’s very real.”

  The scruffy guy’s anger intensifies. His pale blue eyes turn red as he stares me down. He pushes out his chest, pulls back his shoulders and widens his arms. Does he want to fight me? What the hell?

  “You’re the new recruit?” he gripes. “How could you be the new recruit? You’re a fuckin’ dancer!”

  Before I can answer him, someone else grabs me by my shoulder and whips me around. It’s a girl YP, she’s cute, she looks Mexican, I think. Her jaw is pronounced and her neck muscles are defined. And… well, she’s pissed too “Did the Senator send you?” she says, jabbing two fingers into my chest. “Are they checking up on us? Is that it? They don’t trust us anymore? C’mon say something, choirboy!”

  “What? No,” I answer adamantly. “No one’s checking on you.”

  Jeremin steps in, “All right everyone, that’s enough. Fall in line, people.”

  Trying to remember my training back at Santa Verde, I line up in what I think is proper formation. There are five columns with five Youth Patrollers in each row, but with me here, I break up the perfect symmetry of twenty-five soldiers. I end up standing in the back, making my row, a row of six. It infuriates everyone.

  Jeremin stands in front looking very relaxed and casual, or is he annoyed? Who the hell knows?

  “As you can see we have a new recruit,” he says nonchalantly. “And not just any new recruit, the famous Evan Sparks.”

  “Sir, there’s got to be a mistake,” the Mexican girl blurts out. “He doesn’t have what it takes!”

  “Did I give you permission to talk, Luna?” Jeremin fires back.

  “No sir.”

  “I thought so. So shut the hell up. If you’re wondering why Evan Sparks is here. Well, let me tell you. It’s none of your goddamn business! This was all Willenger’s doing, and it’s not our place to question the Senator’s judgment or leadership, you got that everyone?”

  “Yes sir!” the troop answers.

  “And just so you know,” Jeremin continues. “I checked on choirboy’s training records, and you know what? He actually did quite well, better than most of you, assholes. If he weren’t prancing around in the singing group, he might have made it to squadron leader. So like it or not, Sparks is one of us. He is Cheetah Squad; he is Youth Patrol!”

  “Thank you sir,” I say proudly, not believing what I’m hearing. Here is the greatest YP the world has ever known, and he’s given me the greatest compliment. “I’m honored you feel that way,” I add.

  “Shut the fuck up! I didn’t give you permission to talk either!”

  And just like that, I feel like crap again.

  Then Jeremin turns his attention to someone else. “Also joining us on our mission is none other than Perry Stone, our new medic. I’m sure most of you know who he is or at least know his reputation. He can manipulate the L-Chip like no one else can. We were on the same squad a few years back. He was the best. He was so good the Senator plucked him to be his own personal medic, his own personal party tweaker. He hangs out with the elite, the beautiful people, but now look at you, you’re relegated to babysitting duties, making sure choirboy doesn’t skin his knee. That’s gotta piss you off?”

  “I don’t question orders either, Jeremin.”

  “Fair enough,” the commander laughs. “But even though you may look at this as a demotion, I’m actually glad you’re back on Patrol, Perry. I always thought it was a waste of good talent that you were stuck waiting on Willenger hand and foot. You should’ve been out here with us the whole time where you’re needed.” Perry nods, there’s an understanding between them. Then Jeremin turns and walks back to the front of the formation. “All right people!” he yells. “Our mission today is the same goddamn mission we did yesterday. So let’s not get complacent, okay. Make sure you don’t do anything stupid, and always, and I do mean always, obey my fuckin’ orders. You got that everyone?”

  “Yes sir!” we all respond.

  “All right, let’s move people!”

  Everyone breaks rank and heads over to the Youth Patrol military vehicles. I start to follow but Jeremin stops me. “Do you have any idea what you’re in for?” he asks accusingly.

  “What? Yeah, I… I think so.”

  “You think so? Shit man, you don’t even know.”

  “What are you talking about?” I ask.

  “You had it made, Evan, and you blew it. You messed around with Valerie Star. You don’t mess around with the Senator’s favorite unless you get permission. Everyone knows that.”

  “I didn’t know.”

  Jeremin looks at me like I’m crazy. “You don’t get it man. Willenger wants you out of the way so he can have Val all to himself.”

  “That’s not true. He’s just looking out for me, that’s all.”

  “Is that what he told you. The Senator is a horny fuck like the rest of us bastards. He wants to fuck, Val, and you were getting in his way.”

  “Commander,” I almost say laughing. “You can’t say that about the Senator.”

  “I can’t? Who’s going to arrest me? You?”

  “Well, no, but if you keep talking like that, someone might overhear you and tell someone. They could get a warrant to monitor your L-Chip?”

  “Who would monitor it, the Youth Nation Researchers? Fuck them, they’re not going to monitor me. I’m Jeremin Jolt, and besides, Youth Patrol is on L-Chip lockdown. Nothing is getting recorded on The Database, remember that.”

  “Nothing? I just thought we couldn’t communicate.”

  “No, everything we do is off the record. If people really knew what we did, there would be riots in the streets.”

  “Why? What do you guys do?”

  “That’s what I’m trying to tell you, you have no idea.”

  “I… I think I have an idea.”

  “That’s what they all say.”

  “I can handle it sir, trust me, I want to be a Patroller.”

  He looks at me like I’m a lost soul. “You don’t know what it takes to be a Youth Patroller. You’re too nice, Sparks. You think the Policy is all good and perfect and that YP’s only do noble and wonderful deeds. But let me tell you something, you’re going to see things you never knew existed. You’re gonna do shit you thought you’d never do. A lot of newbies think they can handle being a Youth Patroller; they get their L-Chip tweaked, thinking that’s all they need to get by, but in the end, they either jump out a window, or wrap their mouth around a gun barrel. One out of every five YP’s co
mmits suicide in their first year. I hope you’re not one of them, Sparks.”

  “I’m not going to let you down, sir. I believe in the cause. I’m going to make it as a Youth Patroller.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yes, yes I’m sure.”

  “How do you know?” he asks forcefully.

  “Because I hate religious fanatics!” I yell.

  “Hating isn’t good enough.”

  “Then what is good enough?”

  “You’ve got to love hurting them. You’ve got to love watching religious fanatics suffer. That’s the only way you’re going to survive. Killing RF’s has got to be your new passion.”

  I look at him completely dumbfounded. I don’t say anything else, but allow his words to sink in. ‘You’ve got to love hurting them.’

  He turns his back on me and walks away, but then stops and looks over his shoulder, “Are you coming or what?”

  I decide to follow him. What choice do I have?

  CHAPTER 8

  We join up with other YP squads over by the depot. Convoys of seven or eight military vehicles start to pull away from the camp and head down the road. Jeremin grabs my shoulder and points me in the direction of an enormous tank. “See that thing over there? We call it The Beast. That’s our ride!”

  Without hesitation, I climb up the tank and crawl down inside the hatch. I find a spot way in the back in between some of the other YP’s. I buckle myself in. There are fifteen of us all squeezed in down here, we can barely move. This is totally different than riding in the Youth Music Singers’ shuttle.

  I notice Perry sitting a few seats down from me. I try to get eye contact with him, but he doesn’t budge. He just looks straight ahead. After a moment or two, the vehicle starts to move. I guess this is it, my new life.

  I check the monitors near my seat and see that we’re part of a convoy. One gunner transport, a shuttle van and four smaller vehicles called ‘Wasps’ lead the way.