by Anne Tenino
Matt stood up. “You are one scary motherfucker, James Ayala.” His voice was low and angry. He pointed his finger in James’s face. “You wait here. I’ll get you when I’m ready to deal with you.” Matt slammed out of the kiosk.
Dammit, dammit, dammit, dammit. James closed his eyes and leaned against the wall. He felt sick.
And hard.
He was such a fucking prick.
Chapter 6
THEY didn’t speak unless absolutely necessary until they hit the outskirts of Boise. Finally James broke.
“I’m an asshole.”
Matt snorted derisively, but kept walking. They were on a trail that shadowed a minor highway. The path was weedy, dusty, and not very green. They weren’t hiding, exactly. Just not drawing attention.
Matt had programmed the recoder to turn on the dummy chip and turn off James’s chip simultaneously. They left his pink triangle shirt and the dummy with Lauryl. She would leave them on James’s doorstep before 1730. They’d decide in the morning whether to reset James’s chip to level-two parolee or just leave it off. If left off, they would have to avoid militia patrols, government and private.
Now, they looked like any other hunters going out for the weekend. It was a typical fall, meaning very little rain. It made for nice, warm days generally. The nights were cold, a biting breeze always blowing up and sinking into your bones. The rainy season would begin soon.
Governments like the RIA were still debating whether global warming was caused by humans. No one debated whether it was happening anymore. From the Rockies to the Mississippi, rainfall had almost stopped. What had once been old America’s breadbasket was now a rapidly expanding desert. With a rapidly expanding destitute population.
Idaho got lucky. Idaho, eastern Oregon, and eastern Washington received nearly double the rainfall of one hundred years before. Idaho’s population was poor as hell for different reasons. Like shitty foreign trade policies.
“You are an asshole.” Matt had waited so long to answer James’s thought he still wasn’t speaking to him. “Why the hell didn’t you tell me you could do that?”
James gave an uncomfortable shrug. After a hard stare, Matt faced front and kept walking, waiting for James’s explanation.
“I only figured it out yesterday; wasn’t even totally sure until this morning.”
“Nice skill,” Matt grumbled. “Keep it th’fuck away from my head!”
“’K.” What was he going to say? He could get out of here without Matt, now that he’d taken care of the little chip problem, but he didn’t want to. Even if Matt was being a sulky brat.
James was so fucked. He had a thing for Matt. Had always wanted him, and seven years apart hadn’t changed that.
“Listen, I don’t know if I should trust you, but for some reason I do. Which is completely fucked,” Matt added in a mutter to himself. “But if you pull that shit again, you’re on your own. Can you even control it?” Matt stopped again to look James in the eye.
“I think so. Yeah. Long as my little head’s not in control.” He tried a smile.
Matt rolled his eyes. “Th’fuck.” More muttering followed as he continued on. “Y’know, I shouldn’t even be doing this. I shoulda told Grampa to give this job to someone else. Conflict of interest. I’m a QESA agent in fucking Idaho, with possibly the most dangerous extraction ever—”
That had to be an exaggeration, didn’t it?
“—and it’s some complete asshole who was a bigoted prick who called me a fag in high school and then had the balls to come out of the closet in a Red POW camp! Jesus Christ, this is fucking stupid.”
“I was out of the closet before then.” James could hear the sulky note in his voice, now. He could be a brat too. It was only fair.
“Ha!” Matt laughed derisively. “Right! And what brought that on? It wasn’t the complete absence of pussy in prison camp?”
“Fuck you.” Totally sulky now.
Matt kept grumbling to himself, quieter now. James let him pull ahead more. This was going to be a really fucking long hike.
MATT was pissed enough to push his leg almost too far. Or maybe it was too far; he’d find out in the morning. When he’d agreed to the new hollow-calf leg prosthesis, he figured it had to be an improvement on his first prosthesis. That one had been too damn heavy. And it ached where it knit into his femur. When the weather changed, when he hiked too much, sometimes for no reason he could figure.
It hadn’t occurred to him that the geniuses who made the hollow leg might not have worked out all the little ergonomic quirks. So now he had a new, lighter leg, true, but it still ached where it knit into his thigh. And still ached when he walked too much. But it sure made taking illegal tech into the Red a hell of a lot easier. And the artificial nerves in the derma-coat were almost like having real skin again.
Matt’s thigh was ready to call it quits by the time they made it to the outskirts of Emmett. They were heading northwest on secondary routes, over a low pass and down into Jackass Gulch (how apropos) then into Emmett valley. It wasn’t an obvious route, and didn’t have the heavier traffic of the Snake River plain.
James flopped down. “I spent a while in POW camp before being sent to re-education. They aren’t much interested in prisoners working out. I’m almost outta shape for this.” He gave Matt an easy grin. When Matt just scowled at him, he sighed and turned away. “So, why didn’t we stop at the shelter?”
Camping shelters in Idaho were plentiful, since so many people were forced to use non-motorized transportation. But the quality was uneven since they were all privately owned. Not to mention landowners could charge as much or as little as they wanted for travelers to stay there.
Matt didn’t want to stay in them because he liked to avoid other travelers. There was a chance someone could be a spy, or tracking them. He also had perimeter alarms he could set up at a campsite. It was expensive tech here, but not illegal. Would raise a few eyebrows, but if anyone found it it’d be because they stumbled into the perimeter. Matt could deflect their curiosity over the alarms with outrage over his privacy being intruded on. Personal rights were sacred here.
James had to know all that. Matt squinted at him. “Are you asking to make me talk to you, or because you’re that rusty?”
James gave his by-now typical snort. “Trying to get you to talk to me.”
“Shut up and make dinner. I’m setting up the perimeter.”
James sighed and got water out of some tributary of the Payette River, next to their camping site. He ran the water through the UV filter and started digging through the MREs. Matt watched him raise an eyebrow over the quantity and variety. So he liked food. Shoot him.
“I want stroganoff,” he snapped. “The purply-brown capsules.” Then he went to set up the alarms.
When he got back, James had rehydrated dinner. Matt raised his own eyebrow at the salmon soufflé James had chosen. They ate in silence.
When Matt checked in, Grampa Sid answered. In some ways Matt was Sid’s spitting image. Matt had always felt close to him, even though he (like everyone else) followed in Lance’s footsteps professionally. “Wow, Gramps, what’d Lance have to do to get you to work vid com?”
Sid laughed and leered. “You really wanna know, kid?”
“Gah! No! Forget I said that; just making conversation.”
Sid sobered up. “The shit’s hitting the fan around here. Everyone and their dog is working a screen.” Just then, Anais walked behind Sid and gave Matt a wave. Her mouth was tight, though. The woman was a SOUF legend, and if she was there, things had to be bad. She didn’t come out of retirement for anything less than full-scale emergencies. “Get your headset,” Sid told him, recalling his attention.
Matt glanced at James, who gave him an expressionless nod and turned away. With the headset Matt could hear QESA but James couldn’t, and he could subvocalize responses. “’K. Go.”
“You know this Ayala by sight?”
Gramma Anais was out of her den for
something to do with James? “Yep. No mistakes.”
“Any chance it’s someone else? Or AI?”
Shit. “My gut says no. He knew stuff about high school no one else should know.” Knowing about Steve was unlikely for an imposter. Right? “Can AI emote?” James had definitely shown emotion. Something Matt hadn’t been sure he was capable of, previously. Huh. Imposter?
Nah. Matt shook his head in denial.
“Not that anyone knows. It’s doubtful the Red would come up with emoting robots first. No imposter, huh? You’re gonna have to send me a retinal scan, son.”
“Shit,” Matt sighed. “’K. Tell me why?”
“Lance requested the original paperwork on the contract request from SpecOps HQ, and found out it didn’t originate in either ArmySF SubCom or SOUFCOM. They both had unconfirmed intel saying he’s dead. KIA in a POW escape attempt two months ago, pending verification.”
“They expect genetic verification?”
“Yeah. Basically, some guy who successfully escaped said his fellow escapee, First Lieutenant James Ayala, died in the attempt. Guy has no proof, of course. It’s beginning to look suspicious. And then there’s the whole question of who contracted for the extraction.”
Matt hesitated. “Gramps, it’s him. I’m betting my life on it by camping out with the bastard.”
Sid laughed a little. “You sound a little conflicted, Matt. Is he a bastard, or are you going to bet your life on him?”
“Don’t try any of your psych shit on me, you old fart. Hang on and I’ll transmit the scan.”
“Wait, one more thing. Noah Cabrone is in Confederated Red States custody. The Boulder Blue resistance cell had a double agent, and the whole cell collapsed today. There’s no Blue backup in Red Satellite Tracking anymore.”
Fuck.
“We have three other extractions in serious jeopardy. You’re only code yellow. Send the scan and check in at 0730.”
“’K. On it.”
“Love you,” Sid said. Then he then signed off. Matt rolled his eyes. Mushy old goat. Even if it did make his chest feel kinda warm.
After unhooking his earpiece, Matt got James’s attention. “Buddy, gonna need you to do something for me.”
“So, now I’m your buddy? You must need it bad.”
Matt froze momentarily at the way that sounded. He shook it off. “Still sulking? Thought you’d be over that by now,” Matt said lightly. James flushed a little and sat up straighter.
“Yeah, sorry,” he muttered. Matt marveled at this James. The idea the guy was an imposter ran through his head again, but he rejected it, again. He may not be the even-tempered, nearly emotionless guy most people saw in high school, but Matt had seen a different side of him, even then. Not a particularly happy side, but still. This was the same James.
Matt got out the scanner, stretching his leg out in front of him. He’d just left the thing open, with all the tech he needed. James looked resigned. “Whadya need?”
“Retina.”
James silently leaned forward and looked into the scanner. At least it only took a split second. After Matt transmitted the scan and was putting his tech pantry back together, James asked, “So, can you tell me what that was all about?”
James had his blank mask on, Matt saw when he looked. He finished sealing his dermal layer and thought a second.
So, James pissed him off, possibly even violated his mind this morning. But Matt didn’t feel violated. Just pissed. He didn’t think about why for the moment, just tried to decide how he wanted to deal with this.
Looking back up into James’s eyes, Matt knew he was going to tell him. The scan was already sent. What could James do? Besides, Matt had the DEW, was trained to use it, and was in better condition than James, anyway.
Well, maybe that last part was a stretch. And James had a shotgun.
“SOUFCOM and ArmySF SubCom say you’re dead. The retina is another level of verification that you aren’t.”
James went from blank to stunned in .6 seconds. Matt watched a little frown line form between his brows. He swallowed. “Another level?”
Matt shrugged and looked down to reseal his pant seam. “I said I was convinced it was you. No AI, no imposter.”
“I’m not dead,” James pointed out.
Matt gave a short laugh. “Nope, look pretty alive to me. But you’re sure fucking different. Coulda gone for the imposter theory, I guess.”
“Why didn’t you?”
Matt looked back at him, surprised. “’Cause you aren’t. Are you?”
“No, but you said it. I’m sure th’fuck different. I could be making you think you know, unequivocally, that I’m the real James Jeremiah Ayala from Weimer, Oregon, that you went to high school with. Why do you even believe the implanted tech story?”
“Jeremiah? That’s a charming middle name, James.” Matt grinned broadly. James glowered.
So Matt threw up his hands and tried to explain. “Listen, I’m still pissed off at you for this morning, but I know you didn’t mean to do it. Exactly. I also know you aren’t messing with my head, now. You’re you. But if you keep talking, I might start doubting myself. So keep it up if you want me to restrain you and leave you here.”
JAMES couldn’t help it. He laughed. Matt had opened his mind again—closed all day, James realized—and Matt believed what he was saying.
So James laughed from relief, and a little fear. And because Matt believing him against all evidence to the contrary made him feel better than he had in months.
And he laughed just a bit at the idea that Matt could restrain him. “I didn’t mean to make you feel that way this morning.”
“You said you didn’t make me feel anything, right? You just knew what I, uh, wanted and nudged me a little. Right?”
James nodded, looking down at the ground. For some reason, this whole day had made him feel like he was ten years old all over again.
Matt shrugged, almost too nonchalantly. “So I wanted to suck you. You wanted me to suck you. We’re guys. Sex means shit emotionally. And for some ridiculous reason, I believe you when you say you won’t fuck with my head again.”
“Fuck,” James said with a sigh. “Yeah.” He’d never felt more off balance in his life. It had to be whatever the fuck this implant was doing to his brain.
Didn’t it?
A perimeter alarm suddenly blared into the night. It had to be theirs. It sounded like the standard-issue Klaxon Industries wail.
Matt leapt up and pulled a laser DEW pistol from the holster in the small of his back. James was on his feet too. He was sure he was nearly as deadly one-on-one as with the projectile shotgun he’d left strapped to his pack. It wasn’t ego that told him; it was experience.
What his ego was currently telling him was that he was a dumbshit for leaving the twelve-gauge three meters away.
Matt was facing northeast, James southwest. He could feel Matt drawing breath when someone started yelling.
“Well Jesus Christ on a bicycle! What in all hell is that racket? What you boys got set up out here? Goddamn, ’s gettin’ so a man can’t ’sociate with another man without setting off some kinda goddamn alarms. Now turn it off! We ain’t gonna hurt ya none.” James could hear and feel someone come out of the brush facing Matt.
“Who’s we?” Matt demanded. “Everybody where I can see ’em or I’ll just start shooting.” His voice was perfectly calm, clipped.
“Jus’ me and my boy. Now stop pointin’ that goddamn thing at me and turn this damn alarm off.”
James could hear the smile in Matt’s voice. “Once I see your son, I’ll stop pointing this goddamn thing at you.”
The man grumbled under his breath, then called out, “Norris, come on out or this asshole’s liable to shoot me!” More rustling bushes came behind James. Matt had them covered.
“No one else?” Matt asked. He turned the alarm off remotely.
“Nope.” Norris answered this time.
“Who’s in the tree back here?” Ja
mes asked. He could feel the guy more than see him. There was a long silence.
“Oh, that’s my other son, Nate. Forgot about him.” Forgetting your son. Could happen to anyone.
James rolled his eyes. “C’mon down, Nate, or I’ll tell my cousin here to start slicing off limbs.” It was hard to do with that kind of pistol, but James was figuring these guys weren’t familiar with the weaponry. “Want me to check it out?” He subvocalized to Matt while waiting for Nate.
“Perimeter alarms at about four meters.” When Nate joined the fam, James grabbed the shotgun and walked the perimeter, listening to the negotiations between Matt and the intruders.
“Now what in the hell are you doin’ campin’ out here with some kind alarm on your site? People’ll think yer downright unfriendly. Or ya got something to hide. I could be the landowner, fer all you know, and I coulda shot first and asked questions later.”
“You the landowner?” Matt’s tone was dry.
There was a little hemming and hawing, some throat clearing. “Well, no, but I coulda been.”
“How do you know I’m the not the landowner? Or my cousin?”
Puzzled silence. “Well, why ’n hell would you be out here campin’?” His tone was incredulous.
James could almost hear Matt’s shrug. “Like camping.”
“Ya must,” one of the sons chimed in. “Ya got some damned expensive equipment to be the kinda guys that need to be campin’.” These guys clearly did need to camp, for economic reasons.
“’S a hobby. How come you guys didn’t stay at that shelter outside Emmett tonight?”
“Headin’ southeast, didn’t make it afore dark.”
“How come you didn’t stop at the shelter at Tom’s Cabin?” James asked as he stepped back into the little clearing.
“Full.” The old man gave a strangled little cough.
James knew as well as Matt these guys were full of it, even without the brain voodoo. They were armed—typical in Idaho—and were wearing standard military-issue camo all-weathers. Not that unusual, just suspicious. They couldn’t be RIA militia, but they could be with any number of municipal militias. Or a poorly funded private militia.