by David Gullen
‘Corporal. How’s it going? They send us this junk before it’s out of beta and expect us to debug in the field.’ Michelob looked them up and down. ‘Who are you?’
‘Just a couple of local boys trying to get home. Our car broke down a mile back.’
‘Oh, okay.’ Michelob indicated two steel urns on a trestle behind the trucks. ‘We got coffee and donuts.’
‘Thanks.’ Wilson grinned. ‘Knew I shouldn’t have bought that foreign tin can.’
‘It wouldn’t have got you this far if it was running our hack firmware.’
The engineers at the test benches were watching. Halifax raised his hand, one of the engineers waved back and they returned to their monitors and diagnostic consoles. ‘What’s wrong with this one?’ Halifax said.
‘Damned thing keeps losing its acquisition profile. Every time I reload it corrupts.’ Michelob indicated the robo-canine wandering randomly back and forth at the far end of the field with a target suspended from a long arm. ‘That’s configured with the thermal profile of a human body and what should happen is this.’ Michelob flipped a button on his handset and manipulated two small joysticks with his thumbs. The nearby robo-canine shuffled into position, the rifle swivelled and fired. An instant later the target disintegrated in flash of orange and black smoke followed a half-second later by a distant bang.
‘Instead,’ Michelob continued, ‘I’ve got something that preferentially targets squirrels. Fifteen million dollars per unit and all we got is a danger to small rodents. We should put one in Times Square and clean out the pigeons.’
Halifax and Wilson exchanged worried looks. ‘How many have you deployed?’ Wilson said.
Michelob looked superior. ‘That’s classified. More than ten, less than ten thousand.’
‘How about that coffee?’
‘Okay. Say, you don’t have a signal on your cell, so you?’
‘Sorry.’
Michelob stuck out his bottom lip. ‘I sure wish I could download some patches.’
The coffee and donuts were fresh and good. Halifax was intrigued by the smoothly articulating joints and muscle rods of the robo-canine. Mug in hand he wandered round the front of the trucks.
Immediately the sniper dog out in the field rotated towards Halifax, sighted the gun and fired. The bullet shattered the mug, hot coffee sprayed Halifax.
‘Jesus.’ Halifax flung himself under the truck.
‘It’s all right,’ Michelob waddled over. ‘It thought your coffee mug was a squirrel.’
‘You okay?’ Wilson said.
‘Arseholes,’ Halifax growled as he crawled out.
‘Pleased to hear it.’ Wilson pulled his FaF gun and shot Michelob in the leg.
‘Ouch.’ Momentarily Michelob looked offended, then slumped to the ground.
The three bench engineers appeared. ‘What happened? Is anyone hurt?’
Wilson kept the gun behind his back. ‘That robot thing shot my friend’s coffee mug. I think Michelob fainted.’
‘Wake up, you pussy.’ One of them kicked Micholob’s boot. Wilson walked behind them and shot each one in the buttock.
Wilson looked down at the four unconscious men. ‘Two soldiers, one bullet.’
‘How about we send over some coffee?’ Halifax growled.
As Wilson and Halifax approached the tool van, the unit officer opened the door and came down the steps. Unlike his men he was unhealthily thin, with over-bright bright eyes and waxy skin. ‘You shouldn’t be here,’ he said. He looked over the benches. ‘Where is everyone?’
Wilson produced his gun. ‘There’s been an incident. Your men are temporarily disabled.’
The lieutenant’s eyes widened. ‘That’s a FaF gun. How did you get that?’ He took a step back. ‘Oh.’
‘That’s right. My name is Johnson, and this,’ Wilson indicated Halifax, ‘is Mr Johnson–’
‘So it’s true,’ the lieutenant gasped.
‘We’re autonomous counter-insurgency field agents in deep cover. Canadian fifth-column elements are trying to break through our lines, we need your help.’
Halifax banged on the side of the tool van. ‘Come on out, soldier.’
An owlish woman with narrow shoulders and broad hips emerged from the truck, fastening her jacket. Her bootlaces were undone.
‘I heard,’ she said. ‘I’ve never seen a FaF gun before, is it feature-enabled?’
Wilson gave a disdainful laugh. ‘What do you think?’
‘Cool. Can we see?’
‘I’m not allowed to discharge the weapon outside the line of duty. Every round has to be accounted for.’
‘How about I order you?’ the lieutenant grinned. ‘This is a combat zone so you’re under military jurisdiction. I can order you to shoot Jennings with a non-lethal round.’
‘Julius?’ Jennings backed away nervously.
‘This will be fun. Run around a bit, Jennings. That’s an order.’
‘Jesus,’ Halifax said, disgusted.
Wilson shot the lieutenant in the thigh.
‘You idiot,’ the lieutenant screeched. He sat down hard and flopped onto his side. ‘This is no fun,’ he mumbled, and passed out.
Halifax gave Jennings a sloppy salute. ‘Congratulations on your promotion, ma’am.’
– BREAKING NEWS – BREAKING NEWS – BREAKING NEWS –
School Bus Assault Defeated
Munising, MI, 07:15. Jubilant kids from Munising High celebrated their victory this morning over Grande Arme d’Arcadia terrorists early today.
The school bus was on its normal morning run when it encountered a fallen tree on a quiet lane. An assault by GAA gunmen dressed as smart young business people followed. School children returned fire with handguns and rifles and the terrorists were driven off with casualties.
‘Those Canadians sure didn’t expect that,’ one of the children said. ‘We kicked their cheese-eating butts. And their French was really bad, tu comprende?’
Seriously injured GAA personnel blew themselves up to avoid capture. ‘They burned really bright,’ said an eye-witness. ‘The flames were like white flowers.’
- 49 -
Marytha drove until Novik found inactivity intolerable and insisted on taking over.
‘We can – If you like – we can take the seat out,’ Marytha said as they changed places. ‘If you like.’
‘No.’ The thought of a bigger empty space beside him was horrifying.
Novik laid his jacket over the blood-soaked seat and pulled away. Wind whistled through the bullet holes in the door, a mournful Aeolian wail. They stuffed the holes with money from the trunk, and carried on.
Late in the day Novik brought the bullet-scarred Lexus to a halt outside the entrance to Million Pines. The two-lane highway outside the estate ran east and west in a series of gentle rises and dips. Two white stone pillars capped with spherical finials marked the entrance to Million Pines. Beyond the pillars a tarmac track ran into the forest, turned to packed gravel and wound away between stands of massive Douglas fir and Cedar, and ferny crags.
The ground lay in deep shadow beneath the trees’ sun-lit tops, the forest on each side of the road an identical mix of fir, pine, hemlock and feathery-leaved larch. Despite the similarities, it seemed that the woodlands of Million Pines were imbued with an additional aura of watchfulness.
‘So we just drive in?’ Marytha said. ‘Crane’s security will be discreet but there’s going to be plenty of it. He doesn’t want to be bothered by the real world.’
‘Then it’s time he was.’ Novik depressed the accelerator, swung the wheel, and the battered Lexus rolled between the pillars into the silent woods of the Crane estate.
As they approached the end of the tarmac section of the trail a strident fanfare sounded from the car’s speakers. Ahead of them the air shimmered and the ten-foot-tall head of a man in late middle years swam into focus. The head regarded them incuriously. ‘Good day,’ it said through the car’s speakers. ‘You have entered private
property. A prompt return to the public highway will avoid an undignified encounter with authority.’
‘We need help,’ Novik said wearily. ‘We’ve had some trouble.’
‘A moment.’ The head’s expression became bland.
‘It’s just a hologram, go forwards,’ Benny said.
Novik released the hand brake. Although the engine revved the drive would not engage.
The speakers emitted a brief, high-pitched whine. Novik, Benny and Marytha felt their skin prickle with warmth. The vehicle jerked forwards a few inches, then reversed.
The head assumed a more alert expression. ‘You may proceed. Do not leave the trail.’
Once again the controls responded. The head folded in on itself and swung apart like a pair of gates. Novik drove between what were now two identical heads. In the rear mirror he saw them swing closed, merge into one and watch the car depart.
The track took them over high bluffs and across open glades of towering, grey-barked trees. A large lake appeared in the distance and was lost to view again. Novik wound down his window, the cool air held the aromas of damp earth and resin. When the lake reappeared they saw the mossy roofs of the seven-gabled lodge at the heart of Million Pines.
A simple counterbalanced barrier lay across the track. A man stood behind it, his face was that of the gateway hologram. Novik stopped the car and got out.
The man walked around the barrier. ‘Good day to you all. My name is Raymond St.John. Is anyone hurt?’
Novik slowly shook his head. ‘Back there, my girl, Josie, she was killed when we crossed the border.’
‘I am so very sorry to hear that.’ St.John looked towards the trunk of the car, ‘Is she–?’
‘No. She’s–’ Novik found he didn’t care to explain. ‘We took care of all that.’
St.John touched his ear and listened for a moment. ‘Mr Crane extends his hospitality and welcomes you to Million Pines though he is unable to meet with you right now. Meanwhile, I am at your service, Mr–?’
‘Novik.’
‘Of course.’ St.John regarded Benny and Marytha. ‘And you must be Mr Spoke, and Ms Drummond. Do you have any baggage?’
Benny and Marytha retrieved the holdalls from the trunk and everyone followed St.John into the Lodge.
St.John escorted them to three guest apartments, and invited them to refresh themselves.
Novik kicked off his boots and stripped, his clothes falling where he left them. Head bowed, he stood under the shower. First he ran the water scalding hot, then freezing cold. He felt the pain on his skin but he didn’t feel anything else. He tried again, and it occurred to him he was being morbidly self-indulgent. He had lost a lot but he was still alive. It was Josie who had lost everything.
He adjusted the water temperature to a sensible setting, washed his hair, shaved, and cleaned his teeth.
When he emerged from the bathroom, he found his clothes were clean and his boots polished. He dressed and explored the apartment.
The rooms were spacious, furnished with tasteful simplicity. Oak panelling covered the walls to waist height, the upper walls finished with a pastel rose wash. Red and cream rugs decorated with animals in a naïf mode covered the chestnut stained wooden floor. A settee and low table fronted an open hearth, a pair of green leather armchairs faced a bay window with views onto the woods. A door was set in each of the side-walls. A private study lay behind one, a large and comfortable bed behind the other.
Novik poured fresh coffee from the jug and sat in one of the armchairs. The window was open, the woodlands peaceful, the silence emphasised by occasional birdsong and, once, the distant hammer of a woodpecker. Novik sipped his coffee. It was the best coffee he had ever tasted. His hand started to shake and he put the cup down. The contrasts of the past days became unbearable and he wept uncontrollably. He sat for a while longer then went to the bedroom, curled up on the crisp linen of the bed, and slept.
Extract from custodial interview
Officer #1: Mr Jazdy? Prawo?
Interviewee:
Officer #1: Would you speak up please, sir.
Interviewee: I zed ’e took us straight there, mon.
Officer #1: When you say “He”, do you mean–?
Interviewee: Der car, ja, zad’s right.
Officer #1: So, you were hitching with your friends and accepted a lift. The driver took you where you wanted to go. Then he let you out.
Interviewee: No, mon. Der was no driver, jus der car. It talk, okay?
Officer#1: Okay. Sure. All right. So, what did this talking car say?
Interviewee: It zed it was lonlee an’ did we wan’ hang, maybe cruise
’roun some. I zed no thanks, is cool. We exit pretty
pronto.
Officer #2 What’s the exact nature of your complaint, sir?
Interviewee: It waz rilly cripee, mon. Ver unzeddling.
Officer#2: Are these your drugs, Mr er…
- 50 -
Flat on their stomachs, Gould and LeBlanc studied the group of armed men up ahead. LeBlanc passed the scope to Gould. ‘Two platoons of your United States soldiers.’
LeBlanc deployed his people in a loose arc through the woods, then he and Gould moved forwards to reconnoitre.
‘Crane cannot know about this,’ LeBlanc whispered excitedly. ‘If he did, it would not be here.’ He clapped Gould on the shoulder. ‘This is a challenge, yes? We cannot leave a unit of this size to the rear. We do not need some ambitious young officer deciding to use his initiative.’
It wasn’t what Gould wanted to hear but he saw the logic. He was used to small encounters, one or two people disappearing, the occasional public show to prove who was still in charge. This felt like starting a small war.
‘You’re the boss here, LeBlanc.’
‘Yes, of course. Now I will show you how we do things nice and quiet in Canada.’
LeBlanc spoke to one of his men; they both checked their watches and the man set off.
After a short interval LeBlanc checked the time again, pushed back his cap and slung his rifle over his shoulder. ‘Come when I call. Bring Ayesha with you and be very American.’
LeBlanc ambled towards the army camp. After a few steps he started to whistle.
Gould and Ayesha watched from cover as LeBlanc approach the soldiers.
‘Bonjour, mes amis,’ LeBlanc called out in an exaggerated accent. ‘You are aware that you are digging holes into the estate of Monsieur Palfinger Crane?’
The nearest soldier, young, shaven-headed and chewing gum, snapped his rifle to his shoulder. ‘How the hell did you get here?’ He yelled over his shoulder, ‘Hey, Sarge, we got company.’
LeBlanc kept on walking. ‘I do not get here, I live here. I am Monsieur Crane’s gamekeeper.’
The muzzle of the soldier’s gun dropped then came back up again. ‘Wait there until Sergeant Drogba comes.’
‘Very well.’ LeBlanc carefully unslung his rifle and laid it on the ground. ‘There is no need for any nasty stuff.’
Two soldiers flanked LeBlanc. A third jogged over to the dugout. He pulled open the canvas flap, releasing a cloud of blue smoke along with the pulsing bass-heavy electro beat and close harmonies of the Bariatric Babes.
Sergeant Drogba emerged from the dugout smoking the stub end of a fat tab accompanied by two more soldiers. Compared to LeBlanc’s compact physique, Drogba was a tower of muscles, tattoos and boots. Exhaling smoke he let the butt fall and marched towards LeBlanc in a ground-eating stride.
‘You work for Crane, Francois?’ Drogba scowled at LeBlanc.
LeBlanc puffed out his chest. ‘I am his gamekeeper, an important position. And my name is not Francois.’
The soldiers holding their guns on LeBlanc grinned. Drogba was unimpressed. ‘I think you’re pretty sneaky, Francois.’ Drogba made creepy-crawly motions with his fingers. ‘A sneaky little rat.’
LeBlanc’s eyes went round with affront. ‘Monsieur, I track game, I know the land. I do not sn
eak as you say, like the rodent.’
‘How did you get past the robo- The canines?’
‘Les chiens?’ LeBlanc looked puzzled. ‘I saw no dogs.’
Drogba unwrapped gum and pushed it into his mouth. ‘That’s why you’re still alive.’
‘You should not let them loose without asking. What sort of hounds?’
Drogba folded his arms, flattening his impressive biceps. ‘You’re asking a lot of questions, Francois.’
LeBlanc shrugged. ‘What you do is okay, mes amis. Monsieur Crane is a big friend of America. He will not mind, but I must call him.’
Drogba grinned, the gum clamped between his teeth. ‘No chance, pal. You’re in a black hole.’
LeBlanc looked at his phone in astonishment then burst out laughing. ‘But it is you who are sneaky!’ He wagged his finger at Drogba. ‘You are very naughty people.’
The soldiers laughed at LeBlanc’s antics. One of them put up his gun.
LeBlanc bent towards his rifle. ‘It is okay?’
‘Hold it, Francois,’ Drogba said.
‘I must go now, to tell Monsieur Crane you are here.’
‘No way, José. You’re now a guest of the Big Red One, courtesy of 3rd Brigade of the 201.’ Drogba gave an order. ‘Bennett, go wake up the Lieutenant.’
‘Okay, I am a guest,’ LeBlanc said. ‘We get to know one other, then I rejoin Monsieur Crane’s guests.’
Drogba spoke with slow menace. ‘What guests?’
‘The ones I am escorting around the estate.’ LeBlanc waved his hand vaguely in the direction he had come from. ‘Hello out there.’
Drogba stared at LeBlanc then pulled his sidearm. ‘Strover,’ he yelled at the nearest soldier. ‘Turn that music off.’
Out in the woods, Gould and Ayesha watched the situation develop.