by David Gullen
‘What risk? The southern border’s secure, Hirsch is so pissed with me he’ll do anything, it’s gotten personal. China’s the only possible wild card, but they’re so far up shit creek they lost the canoe. Half the country’s a desert, Beijing’s a sand pit and everyone’s on double shifts trying to pay their parents’ pensions. Offer them junior partnership in a joint Sino-American global reconstruction project and they’ll bite your hand off at the shoulder.’
‘I meant from felling the trees. I’ve been thinking – it’s like when a ballet dancer pulls in her arms. Do you think it will make the world spin faster?’
‘I never thought about that.’ Guinevere twirled the champagne cork on her desk. ‘It’s a risk we’ll have to take.’
‘Won’t citizens mind missing out on their European holidays?’
‘Oscar, enjoy your champagne and quit worrying. It’s only the liberals and socialists who take foreign vacations. If they want to irradiate their wombs and have mutant babies, let them. Everyone else can buy a Meeja console and visit a Europe where everyone speaks English.’
Gordano thought about his current wife, Jazmin, and realised the President was right. The world beyond the borders was simply a marketplace, somewhere to do business, to buy and sell. The insight made him happy, the very food in his hand was proof in itself: wheat, beef, cheese, gherkins, even the paper napkin were all American products. As a nation they were self-sufficient, they had everything anyone could want. Good citizens had no need to travel. He bit a chunk of burger and chewed with satisfaction. ‘Meeja-II – that’s why you’re putting your home cinema in storage.’
‘God, yes. We’ve got a great place but we just need the space. With Meeja all you need is the console and the headset. It’s absolutely brilliant, you can do whatever you want.’ Guinevere snorted champagne and laughed. ‘Anything. You tried that one I sent you?’
Gordano’s eyes lingered on her hips. ‘No, not yet.’
- 47 -
Brobdingnag Lingerie Logo Launch
A capacity audience enjoyed free fireworks, inspirational poetry, music and fashion at Citi Fields stadium as market-leader Brobdingnag Lingerie launched its new logo in spectacular fashion.
Long lines formed as people queued to buy branded perfume, trainers, bumper stickers, jogging pants, body jewellery, bed linen, intimate toys, grooming products and other merchandise bearing the latest version of the famous X to the power of X logo.
‘To be honest, the cash cow is the logo,” admitted Marketing VP Tosh Zebulon in a candid interview.
‘Brobdingnag create aspirational luxuries for your epidermis. We don’t mind if you can’t afford our lingerie. Buy the logo – be part of the family.’
Novik parked in a road-builder’s quarry, a deep scoop cut into the bedrock of the rising ground beside the road. Willow herb and bracken colonised heaps of loose chippings, birch seedlings pushed roots into the cracks and ledges of the high rock walls.
He wrapped Josie in a blanket and carried her up a narrow track to a high bluff facing north. There, he settled Josie with her back against a pine tree, close to the cliff edge. Dawn light spread across rolling northern hills and mist-filled valleys. Beneath them the road ran into blue distance.
Marytha gently cleaned Josie’s face, but Novik refused to let her touch Josie’s hair. He brushed out the long blonde locks himself, slowly and carefully, then wove them into one long plait. He had a problem finishing and began to curse his fingers.
Marytha knelt beside him, hesitantly reaching. ‘Here, like this.’
Novik sat beside Josie, his legs out in front of him, his arms limp at his side. He saw nothing but the past, all that was and might have been.
Benny knelt beside him. ‘I like that you put her hair up. She always did that when she meant business.’
Novik looked right through Benny, his normally mobile and cheerful face like stone.
‘We do still mean business.’ Benny said.
‘Benny, over here.’ Marytha jerked her head. Benny came over and she led him a short distance away. ‘This isn’t the time.’
Benny looked south, he looked north, then up at the sky. ‘Now is absolutely the time.’
Novik stood right on the cliff edge. Concerned, Benny and Marytha hurried over too. Hands stuffed in his pockets, Novik looked out over the tree-covered wilderness. ‘I think she’ll like it here.’
Marytha put her arm around his waist. ‘It’s a good choice.’
They went back to Josie. Novik looked down at her, swaddled in the old blanket. No matter how hard he tried, no matter how long he looked, he could not find his Josie in her own face. He didn’t want to believe what he knew to be true. Josie was gone.
‘Babe, I’m sorry we can’t make you a proper grave. I guess you know that. I think this is a good place, I hope you like it. The sun will keep you warm and you can see the forest. That road down there is the one we’re taking.’ His voice cracked. ‘Josie, I – Watch over us, babe.’
Marytha took a deep breath. ‘Goodbye, Josie. I didn’t know you long, but I’m so very glad I did.’
Suddenly grief was overwhelming, an express train. Novik let out a great broken sob, his legs failed him. Marytha and Benny held him up.
Slowly, Novik got his feet back under himself.
A few young firs grew among the rocks. He tore off one of the green, spreading branches and laid it across Josie’s legs. He returned for another. Pine resin aroma filled the air. Benny and Marytha helped him.
Deep in the pines something scuffed. Novik peered through the trees. All around, the forest was motionless. Far away came the commotion of something large working its way through underbrush – a bear, or perhaps a Robo-canine.
Novik picked up a fallen branch, an unwieldy club, and faced towards the noise. Whatever it might be, he would not leave Josie until he was ready. Perhaps it was a soldier. That would be good, but not in front of Josie. In his mind, Novik hunted the soldier through the wood and cornered him, brought down his club, made him pay.
Wind stirred in the trees and the noises receded. Far down in the valley mist idled among the tree tops as an amber sun pushed through high haze. Josie looked north, Novik knew they should go there but he didn’t want to leave. He was scared of the future.
Life without Josie.
He didn’t know how he would get through a day without her arms around him, without her clear-eyed advice. He uttered a wordless sound of contempt, ashamed at his own self-pity. Josie was dead, killed, and all he could think about was himself. It was pathetic. She’d want him to go on, she’d expect it. He knew then that somehow her faith in him, her love, survived inside him. She would only truly be gone if he let her down. And that was up to him.
When it was all over, he’d find the person who had killed Josie. Not some machine, a somebody. The somebody who needed to pay. He just needed to work it through.
Benny and Marytha waited for him. He wanted to smile, just something thin and weak, enough to let them know he was doing all right, better than he looked or felt. He couldn’t do it so he led the way down to the quarry.
The border and the army patrols were only a few miles behind them but Novik still had some thinking to do. He picked up random stones, kept a few, and discarded most. When he had a handful he climbed onto one of the rubble heaps and threw them at the far wall of the quarry. Time after time, from thirty yards, he hit the same spot.
Benny was there. ‘I’m impressed.’
‘Muscle memory. Six months in the protest camps.’
Benny looked back at Marytha. ‘We need to get–’
Novik gave an involuntary grunt as his arm snapped out. The stone hit the rock face so hard it shattered. ‘I’m trying to work it out, Benny. Who really killed Josie?’
Benny thought carefully. ‘Novik, I don’t know. Those robo-canines are autonomous, they follow a rule-set until recalled. They’re not intelligent like AI, but nobody operates them.’
The last of Novik’s sto
nes ricocheted from the wall. Benny handed him another. Novik tossed it in his palm and sent it hurtling towards the wall. ‘Josie was murdered by computerised military machines? Not good enough, Benny. The army is a limb of the government and the government is elected by the people. By the people, Benny. For the people. Come election time the people voted. I voted. I didn’t get the government I want, but I got one anyway. The government – servant of the people -- spending our tax dollars because we voted them in.’
Novik was hurting, Benny didn’t want to make it any worse and he didn’t want to lie. ‘That type of government rules over populations, not people. They’re blunt instruments, part of the system, part of what you’re trying to change.’
‘A circular excuse. Systems don’t kill, it’s the people obeying them, making them work, writing those rule-sets.’ Novik clawed up a handful of stone chips and flung them in a scattered arc. ‘I want to get my hands round those people’s throats. I don’t know who they are, I don’t know how to find out. Benny, I– I’m starting to think it might be everyone and we just don’t realise.’
It was tearing him apart.
Benny gripped his shoulder. ‘Up there,’ he whispered. ‘Novik, look up.’
‘Oh, for fucks sake, man, don’t,’ Novik said.
Then he saw it too.
A figure looked down at them from Josie’s bluff. Another appeared, and a third. They were dressed in skins and furs and carried spears and bows. Something was wrong with their faces. Perhaps it was only perspective.
‘Hey,’ Novik shouted. ‘Hey.’
Marytha ran over. ‘First Nation? There’s reservation land around here.’
One by one the figures dropped to all fours and loped away. They weren’t dressed in skins at all.
Novik was halfway up the track before Marytha and Benny could move.
Josie still rested against the tree. Already, she seemed settled there, timeless.
Whoever – whatever – had been there had not disturbed her. They had left gifts.
A bundle of wild flowers tied with grass lay in her lap. A bow and a single white-fletched arrow rested against the tree.
Benny and Marytha arrived, breathless. Novik gestured at the funerary gifts. ‘What does this mean?’
‘That we’re on the same side?’ Marytha said. ‘That they understand?’
Novik’s face grew hard. ‘Then they saw what happened.’ He picked up the arrow, his voice cracked. ‘Why didn’t they do something?’
‘Bows and arrows against guns?’ Benny said.
‘They weren’t human. Why should they care?’
‘I don’t know, but they did.’
Marytha whispered to Benny, ‘We should go.’
Grief came again. It saturated Novik’s flesh and stole his breath. His throat burned. Never again would he hear Josie’s voice, or smell her hair as he lay beside her in the night, or just sit together in the morning and drink coffee.
After a while Novik rubbed his face and dried his eyes. ‘I’m all right.’
Marytha saw that he wasn’t. She kissed him on the cheek.
‘I’m all right,’ Novik said.
‘We need to go. Now.’
So what can the modern army do to protect itself against unwelcome attention? We’re all interested in guaranteeing our privacy, nobody more so than the commander of an army on active campaign in hostile territory. We can draw the curtains: an army operates under a sky filled with the satellites of nations and corporations with vested interests in exploiting its activities. These then, are the choices:
1. Block. Launch denial-of-service attacks on all the hostile players. Strategically simple, tactically a virtual (ha!) impossibility. DoS is so old it’s boring. Anti-DoS proliferators spawn mirror sites faster than you can knock them out.
2. Jam. Swamp local airspace bandwidth with crud and punch a hole in the Cloud. Effective but localised. So effective you’ve sodomised your own data ports and have to communicate with bean cans and string.
3. Subvert. Intercept and aggregate all the feeds, add and subtract what you want, then let it through. Do this across the entire world. Without anyone noticing. Yeah, right.
4. Accept. It’s so very Zen, and war can be scary. But remember, it’s an art for some and a religion to others. Stop worrying about things you can’t change or control. Besides, everyone knows it’s rude to stare, so polite people will mind their own business. As for the others, well, damn their eyes for looking and just get on with annexing that peaceful, prosperous state north of the border. Sorry, I mean launch that urgent mission to avert a global ecological catastrophe.
– Editor’s blog, BFBM magazine
- 48 -
Andriewiscz deployed his northern expeditionary force across Eastern Washington and central Montana, each battle group spanning a hundred miles of the 49th parallel
Wilson and Halifax headed along the Mount Baker Highway in an attempt to evade the main units. The settlements along the route were deserted, sidewalks empty, the shops shuttered and houses boarded up. Low on gas, they broke into a service station and turned on the pumps at the counter.
While Halifax filled the tank Wilson took four cans from the station shop, filled them from another pump and stashed them in the trunk. Back on the road Wilson studied his tracking device. The money trail had faded, the opportunities for retail transactions in what was now a militarised zone were limited to non-existent. The scanner’s analysis program provided three extrapolations:
– Gould had spent all the money;
– He had reached his destination;
– The trail had been a sophisticated ruse.
‘If we’ve arrived, where exactly are we?’ Wilson pressed keys on the tablet and frowned. ‘My GPS has stopped working.’ He checked his cell. ‘Network’s down. They must be blocking.’
Wilson instructed the phone to load older, cached data. There was only one significant landmark across the border: Million Pines, Palfinger Crane’s vast private estate.
Halifax looked over his shoulder, ‘You seriously think Gould has gone there?’
Wilson panned out the display to show the boreal wilderness. ‘There’s nowhere else.’
‘Man, that place is going to be secure. You’d need–’ Halifax looked at Wilson. ‘Oh,’
‘An army. Yes, you would.’
‘What the hell have we gotten ourselves into?’
Wilson had already told Halifax all he knew about Gould, Masters, and her organisation. Although Masters was an agent for an executive-sponsored field unit after one of Gould’s men she hadn’t been aware Gould himself had left the Southern Littoral. It wouldn’t be the first time the left hand hadn’t known what the right was doing, that was just another run-of-the-mill snafu born out of need-to-know paranoia. For Gould to be stateside was big enough. To be in Canada now, surrounded by an invading army yet free to operate, could only mean one thing.
‘Gould must be working for the government,’ Wilson said.
Halifax shivered. ‘That’s one scary-arse mother of a thought.’
Wilson hadn’t had a drink in days. There had always been muscle under the paunch, now his eyes were clear, his face less pouchy. ‘You want to turn back? This is too much for you, is that what you’re saying?’
‘What do you suggest?’ Halifax scowled.
‘Cross the border to Crane’s estate and see what’s going on.’
‘Walk through the woods, like backpackers?’
‘That’s right.’
Halifax was a city boy, born and bred; he wasn’t big on the great outdoors. There were no signs, no shops on the corners. No corners. He thought about what waited for him back home and shrugged uneasily. ‘Gould has your Master’s weapon.’
Wilson had described the devastation the fully-functional FaF gun had caused at the mall.
‘Marcel trained with prototype FaF rifles in boot camp,’ Halifax said. ‘One guy took out half the squad by mistake.’
Wilson showed Halifax
his own gun.
‘That one’s PG feature-locked,’ Halifax said. ‘There’s this guy I know owns a bar, he might have been able to unlock it.’
‘I’ll hang on to it.’
Halifax fell silent. Recollecting Marcel summoned unwelcome memories of Gould’s attack. Disjointed muzzle-flash snapshots of silhouettes in frantic movement. Gunshots and screams, his own body muzzily slumped in the corner, an anaesthetic dart in his chest. Afterwards, in the dark, there were different kind of screaming, and laughter. Strange creaks and pops came from Halifax’s mouth as his teeth ground together.
‘Halifax,’ Wilson said sharply.
Halifax snapped into focus. ‘What?’
‘Gould let you live because it would hurt more.’
Halifax looked through the window at the wooded landscape and tried to think about the future. Apart from Gould all it seemed to promise were mud, rain and dangerous wildlife.
‘We’ll make our way through the lines,’ Wilson said.
Halifax said nothing. Wilson started the motor and turned north up a dirt trail.
When they heard heavy calibre gunshots they abandoned the car and moved forwards on foot.
Half a dozen army engineers with two flatbed lorries and a tool van had set up a mobile repair shop at one end of a long scrubby field between two wooded hills. One of the engineers, pot-bellied and flabby, was test-firing a long-barrelled rifle mounted on a robo-canine. Another of the four-legged machines roved back and forth a quarter of a mile away at the far end of the field.
Halifax and Wilson watched the men from the tree line.
‘I count six,’ Halifax said quietly. ‘One in the open, three on the benches and two in the tool van.’
‘Agreed.’
‘How many shots in your gun?’ Halifax said.
‘Five.’
They looked at each other. Wilson shrugged and walked out into the open. After a moment Halifax followed.
‘Hi there,’ Wilson said loudly as he reached the engineer testing the gun. ‘How’s it going?’ He read the man’s nametag, ‘Sergeant Michelob?’