by Mich Moore
did the DAT parents for that matter. She and Marsha were simply there to train them up in the military way. Yes, they held the titles of father and mother, but Helen realized that they were nothing more than glorified actors. The Army could take Peter away from them at any point in the program. Or the lieutenant colonel could be reassigned to another unit if it was deemed necessary. She always cautioned Marsha about becoming too attached to the situation. And she counseled herself about the same thing. Because when all was said and done, Eugene Russell Palladino was not her husband, and Peter James DAT was not her son. They, like her, were the privileged property of the American government.
And now REFLA was upon them.
From the beginning, the officers assigned to Operation REFLA, short for Respect for the Law, knew that they and the AIs would be involved in the gritty business of combating urban warfare on American soil. As combat engineers, it was up to them to track down and destroy any illegal ordnance and their shipping lanes that the Advance South or the various organized crime gangs might use to move weapons and supplies through East Saint Louis and ultimately into the rogue state of New Jersey. The Garden State, a staunch Washington ally at the beginning of the war, had since thrown in its lot with the Advance South and was making money hand over fist by displaying the welcome mat to anyone who could pay their one-million-dollar border crossing fee. Criminals and international terrorists were flocking to northeastern America like pilgrims to the Promised Land. And many of them had landed on the back doorsteps of Ohio, Pennsylvania, Michigan and now Illinois.
The local registered militias around Chicago had been relatively successful with their peacekeeping activities in that they were preventing this toxic immigration from spilling over into other surrounding counties. But East Saint Louis, Illinois, had long ago abandoned any pretense of being a functional city. It had no mayor, no police force and no fire department. And instead of asking for help from Washington, the people still living there had chosen instead to let the town become an open-air asylum. Adding to the urgency of the situation was the fact that South American food and prostitution cartels based out of Mexico were rumored to be in town and working to become dominant players alongside the resurgent Italian and Russian mafias. The worst of them, an organization out of Texas that called itself El Cabo, was especially worrisome. They had no fear of American firepower, and CIA intelligence had enough evidence to conclude that they were being financed consistently enough to have matured into a full-fledged paramilitary force.
It made their jobs extremely dangerous.
In two days, Gene and the other DAT dads would participate in the first coordinated attack against this organized crime league. Helen and the other DAT moms would serve as backup in case something went awry.
She poured herself a glass of wine, sat down at the kitchen table, and tuned into the story on the radio. It was a modern take on Pinocchio of all things. Well, that was fine with her. She loved a good fairy tale.
The next day found Helen busying herself with folding the bales of washed laundry that she had dumped on the bed that morning. Gene had agreed to keep Pete entertained in the backyard while she worked. Two of the Redstone engineers were going to monitor REFLA from Mission Control at Scott Air Force Base. The men had arrived from Alabama that morning and were scheduled to visit with each family before nightfall. Fortunately, Palladino knew these two particular individuals and had some regard for them, thereby sparing her his customary paranoid blather. She checked her 'to do' list again. There were far too many items on it, but at least she hoped to have the house tidied up by the time they arrived. She returned to the laundry.
After fifteen minutes or so, Helen stopped what she was doing to perform some stretches. She felt tension all over her body. She inhaled and exhaled several times as she cycled through various yoga poses. It would be the first time since arriving in Granite City that the AIs would ride along with Gene's unit on a live tour, and already the strain of thinking about what might lie ahead of them was sapping her energy. Worry and fear. Worry and fear. They were her true family now.
Palladino and Pete noisily entered the house from the garage. Helen leaned outwards into the hallway and hollered, "Don't forget to take your shoes off!" When she received no response, she started looking for them. She found the colonel relaxing with his laptop in his recliner and Pete standing on his hind feet at the kitchen sink, rinsing dishes.
Helen put her hands on her hips. "I believe I asked you to rinse the dishes."
Palladino did not look up. "Pete can do it, can't you Pete?"
Helen glanced at Pete's comm board.
"Yes."
"You work him too hard," she complained.
He slapped his chest. "Work never hurt this body."
Helen sniffed. "No, just your head."
"Hey, you screw up Pete your way; I'll screw him up mine. Deal?"
Helen ignored him until the doorbell rang. Most of the DATs enjoyed it when anyone visited, although it was not entirely clear whether it was the visitor or the ringing doorbell that pleased them the most. Pete was no exception. He bounded to the front door and swung it wide open. The colonel was right behind him.
Two tall men stood on the front stoop awash in the bright noon sun. But not for long. Pete plowed into both of them, knocking them down onto the stone pavers.
Palladino yanked on Pete's neck. "PETE! STOP THAT! HELEN, GET OUT HERE!!!"
One of the men got one of his arms up. "It's okay! It's all right! He's just happy to see us!"
Palladino finally got his arm around Pete's neck and yanked him back inside just as Helen appeared.
"Sorry about that," she said, flustered and embarrassed. "You're early. I'm afraid the house is still a mess."
The taller of the two men pushed her concerns aside. "Believe me, Major Avery, when I say that we do not care. May we come in?"
Within minutes Helen had every human seated in the living room, drinks in hand. Pete sat on the floor between his parents and Neal Broussard and Eric Powell. Every eight seconds the same six words would flash: "Hi, Uncle Neal! Hi, Uncle Eric!"
Helen had made coffee for the engineers and handed the colonel a glass of juice. He never drank alcohol right before a mission.
"So," Palladino began, "how do the little guys check out so far?"
Redstone had informed the unit last week that a team of technicians would be out to run full diagnostics on all of the DATs before the mission.
"So far, so good," Powell answered. "All of the systems are a go. Oh, and they ran a second weapons test like you asked."
"And no problems there?" Palladino asked.
"None that we could detect."
Palladino took a swig from his juice. "They're still popping around."
The two engineers kept their expressions neutral. "A lot?" Broussard asked.
"Enough." Pete climbed into Helen's lap, nearly sinking her and the seat cushion to the floor.
"You ask him about it?" Powell asked.
"Of course. He says they do it because it's fun. Like a kid running or climbing trees."
Broussard sighed. "Well, that makes as much sense as anything else." The engineer stole a look at the two officers, at their red-rimmed eyes and ashen faces. "Everything else going okay?"
Palladino immediately became defensive. "Everybody's fine, so quit asking," he replied gruffly. Helen shot him a cutting look that he ignored.
"So, Peter, how you been, little guy?" Powell asked.
"Fine."
"I hear you got your own bedroom."
"Yes."
"Well, can you show your bedroom to us?"
"Yes."
Pete led the engineers down the long hallway to his room. Palladino and Helen followed closely behind.
Powell and Broussard gazed about the DAT's bedroom in genuine awe. Major Avery had done a superb job of blending the needs of a young AI with the desires of a little boy. There were 3-D posters of cars and trucks stapled up on cartoon wallpaper. Photos of Mozart,
the Founding Fathers, the Sesame Street characters, Einstein, and Michelangelo were everywhere. Several loops of train track were suspended from the ceiling, and a real train ran along it on a timer. A rugged personal computer sat on the custom-made desk that CRI had designed and built specifically for DAT weight and ergonomics. And on the steel-framed bed were heaps of brightly colored stuffed animals.
Powell was grinning from ear to ear. "Little guy, your bedroom is outtasightl!"
"Thank you."
Broussard was equally impressed. "Did you do all of this decorating by yourself?"
"Dad and the Mama helped me decorate," the DAT replied with unmistakable pride.
Helen was beaming. "He really loves his stuffed animals. He wanted us to buy him this giant octopus thing, and it was really darling, but it cost a fortune and so I said, 'Pete, honey, I'm sorry but we can't afford that right now. Maybe Santa Claus will bring you that toy for Christmas.' And he said, 'Mommy, can we call Santa Claus and ask him to bring it for the Fourth of July?' And the colonel and I just cracked up."
Palladino was smiling at the memory. "Yeah, Petey is a schemer."
Powell walked over to the bed. "Peter, can you show me which toy is your favorite?"
Peter did not hesitate. He pulled out a large fuzzy black spider that had a green felt hat stitched to its head. The DAT held the spider up for Powell and Broussard to see.
"Wow, a spider! What is his name?"
"Sammy."
"And is Sammy a scary spider or a nice spider?"
"He is a scary spider, but