Persecution

by Joshua Landeros

  “They surrendered,” Clint clarified.

  “No shit,” Sostenes said. He paused to look behind the POWs, spotting all the dead in the street alongside the now empty Humvees.

  “I counted fifteen of our people here, which means you Crimson Angels were the main fighting force behind this. How many of you participated in this?” Sostenes asked.

  “Twenty-five,” Julissa answered.

  “And how many did you lose?”

  “Ten total. Seven of our own.”

  “Seven? My condolences, senorita.”

  All the while he talked, he never took his eyes off O’Shea. The UNR sergeant never broke eye contact with him. Herrera walked backward away from the prisoners and then stopped. He raised his left hand and snapped his fingers.

  The Holy Guardians obeyed without question, blowing away every of the UNR soldiers. O’Shea took several bullets to the gut and chest before he fell, but all the same, he collapsed with the rest.

  “What the fuck are you doing?!” yelled Clint, rushing up to Sostenes. Julissa couldn’t stop staring at their bodies. It wasn’t the first time she’d seen unarmed soldiers go down in such an unsightly manner, but the sickening sight of it hit her the same way.

  “What did you plan to do? Bring them with us? Leave them here to be resupplied and chase after us?” Sostenes asked casually. He removed the helmet and tossed it on top of the pile of bodies.

  “Now, let’s move out, shall we?”

  Chapter 14 – The Forgotten

  October 9, 2050 – J. Edgar Hoover Building, Washington D.C.

  Once again Venloran found himself in Narajan’s office, Kearney by his side. This time the mood was a lot different. This time there was no tea and no snacks to partake in. The desk was still orderly, but there were countless stacks of papers. Currently, Venloran was looking at pictures of UNR Humvees with dead soldiers all around them. On the hood of the car, there was that symbol again: the crimson wings and that white star.

  “How many losses?” Kearney asked the head director.

  “Twenty-six soldiers, two among them pilots,” Narajan answered.

  “And how many of them did we get?” Venloran said.

  “We couldn’t find any bodies, so we can’t be sure, sir.”

  The Chancellor tossed the photo back to the others.

  “Between the bombing and the vandalizing, I’m wondering how much more it will take for your people to come up with something, Head Director,” Venloran criticized. “How can you possibly have nothing?!”

  “My apologies, Chancellor, but they haven’t given us much to go on.”

  “This escalation is out of control. We now have UNR citizens aiding guerillas on the frontline. What next?”

  “Technically speaking, sir, it’s not confirmed this was the work of actual citizens,” Narajan rationalized.

  “It doesn’t matter as long as people believe it. As of now, there is no reason for them not to.”

  “And there are other incidents like this?” Kearney said. He asked out of necessity, but still, the head director gulped nervously.

  “The symbol has also shown up in twenty other cities across Mexico. Most of the incidents involved simple theft of supplies.”

  Venloran’s hand curled into a fist, and Narajan began to sweat. He was starting to regret not preparing any tea deeply.

  Like a passing gust of wind, this rage seemed to fizzle out. Chancellor Venloran took on his usual tone.

  “Fortunately, I think I know where we can start. Have your men look at Julissa Marconi again. I want this to include a visit to her home in Elsa.”

  “Sir, I thought we’d agreed to give leniency to Mrs. Marconi in light of all that happened.”

  “Which I am now overruling. Leave no stone unturned, Narajan.”

  “Right away, sir. If something does come up, shall I declare her a fugitive to the public?”

  Venloran and Kearney shared a look, then the Chancellor gave his answer.

  “No. The last thing we need to do is give these terrorists legitimacy by acknowledging to the public their family and neighbors might be members. We keep this quiet until we absolutely can’t.”

  ***

  October 11, 2050 - Venloran’s Office, UNR Headquarters

  Venloran was in his office alone, something he rarely, if ever, did. For this meeting, though, this was exactly what he wanted. In came two UNR soldiers, and with them was Dr. Neeson. The man was in his robe, and he was brought before the Chancellor’s desk.

  “Leave us now,” he commanded.

  The two soldiers were puzzled, but they didn’t question it.

  “Yes, sir. We’ll be right outside.”

  “I’m aware, now go.”

  They left as told, leaving the two men. Neeson looked horrified, one thing on his mind.

  “Why don’t you sit, Robert? We’re gonna talk.”

  The scientist did so slowly as if expecting some trap. He was aware Venloran carried a Beretta M9 with him always, but he’d never seen him use it. Is that why he brought me here? To execute me himself?

  “About what, Carl?”

  Venloran didn’t answer. He held up a photo for Neeson to inspect. He instantly recognized it: Halsey’s Crimson Angels. The photo depicted the emblem painted onto a Humvee.

  “I’m pretty sure you recognize this. It was on the news a while back, and I’ve vetoed down every story about it since. And yet it keeps crawling back. How ironic considering I know nothing about it.”

  “And you think I’m connected to it?”

  Robert’s palms began to sweat. Even with the captain locked away, I’m still dealing with his bullshit.

  “Can you blame me, Robert?”

  “Carl, you know damn well that correlation does not mean causation. I argued my case to you on cyborg treatment long before any of that started.”

  “Ah, that age-old argument. I even believe in it, but sometimes the coincidences are just too much to ignore.”

  “What coincidences?”

  “A few days ago, we paid a visit to the woman you let into my office, only to find she and her daughter weren’t home. We waited and waited, but no one ever came back. No one’s seen them for some time.”

  “And I’ve been on lockdown ever since then. You can’t possibly think I’m involved.”

  “You’re a schemer. Perhaps you had contingencies set in place.”

  “Now you’re merely seeing connections where you want to see them. This is ludicrous!”

  All of Dr. Neeson’s courage withered away as Venloran pulled that gun of his. He didn’t point it at the man seated across from him. He looked it over carefully and then laid it on his desk. His former friend was so petrified Venloran wasn’t sure he’d be able to speak even if he asked him to.

  “I’ve been so kind, so very kind. Because you were a friend, you’re on house arrest instead of at a work camp or worse here at HQ, the place of no return. If you were to spit in the face of that kindness, I’d be damn angry. I hear your son is at the Des Moines Corrective Center. Kids can be rebellious; I get that. Do you know with one phone call I could have him beaten to death? You wouldn’t even get to see the body. Your daughter is at the top of most of her classes, but with a snap of my finger I could have her shot.”

  Robert opened his mouth to say something, but no words came to him. Venloran once more picked up the gun, holding it up as if to say ‘Cheers!’

  “At that point, I’d imagine even you would want one of these.”

  “I-I don’t have what you want, Carl, I swear!”

  Venloran saw the man was on the verge of tears and put the gun away.

  “I’m tempted to believe you, but regardless there will be changes.”

  “Anything.”

  “When your son’s sentence is finished, assuming he gets that far, for his sake you should consider moving. Europe, Asia, I don’t care which.”

  “You want me to leave my country?”

  “It’s no longer your
country, Robert. Also, you will now be a full-fledged advocate for this country. Something to keep you busy during your retirement. If you ever upset me again, you will see your children gutted right in front of you. I’m sure we understand each other, now get out of my sight.”

  Venloran pressed a button on his desk, and the two soldiers returned to drag Neeson off. The Chancellor looked back at the emblem. It was no longer the marking of a farcical revolt. He hated to admit to himself, but it was becoming a genuine threat.

  ***

  October 12, 2050 – Loess Hills State Forest, Iowa

  Far away from any trail, a large group of prisoners was sweating in the cold. They were in a large meadow of knee-high grass. This meadow now had enormous trench going across it, from above looking quite like a deep cut.

  Jacob and Halsey were side-by-side in the large trench they’d been digging. Sweat and dirt had combined into a layer of filth on every prisoner’s face. They worked without song or chatter. All around the site were UNR soldiers who watched in silence.

  Jacob could sense a shift in the demeanor of the guards lately. Today it had culminated into a field trip out to the wilderness, and every prisoner was thinking it. This could very well be their final day on Earth.

  The young Neeson stabbed his shovel into the dirt, his arms weak and his palms were covered in blisters. He spotted earthworms in the soil, slithering around for cover.

  Halsey elbowed him in the side roughly, but Jacob only stared back at him vacantly. If either of the two of them was seen slacking, there’d be consequences. Halsey deliberated on hitting him again, only to be stopped by a loud yell:

  “All right, get on out everybody! Come on!”

  All the prisoners crawled their way up, difficult considering they had to scale the sides of their creation. A few, like Jacob, needed help finally getting out. The boy had gained a lot of strength here, but today his arms might as well have been jelly.

  “Hurry up, goddamn it!” the warden yelled. “And line up!”

  Eventually, each prisoner made it out, lining up in a row. Their backs were to the forest and their trench, facing the soldiers across from them, and each one of them dropped their shovels.

  At the end of the line, a UNR soldier was showing a piece of paper to each prisoner one by one. Halsey only saw this out of the corner of his eye. It was suicide to take one’s eyes off the warden when he was speaking.

  “After five hours’ worth of digging, I’m not impressed, but it’ll have to do. Now I won’t jerk ya around. We came all the way out here because some of you won’t be getting back on that bus. As I promised when I took all of you under my wing, this won’t be for the sport of it.”

  It was Halsey’s turn to look at the paper and when he did he almost pissed himself. It was a photo of the Crimson Angel emblem, and it had been smeared on the shower area wall. The brown color told him enough.

  “That repugnant piece of artwork is why you are all here. I’m not going to bother explaining to you what it means or even bothers digging around to see which of you know something about it. All you need to know is that this symbol means death for you and nothing more. All day today we’ll be selecting volunteers for demonstrations. This group here just so happens to be the first. So pray or paint a pretty little picture in your head of your loved ones, whatever it is you need to do. I can’t wait to see who's left standing. On my command!”

  The warden raised his hand, and in turn the soldiers raised their guns. Halsey’s legs quaked while Jacob’s remained steady.

  “And fire!”

  Even though all the soldiers had their guns raised, barely half of them pulled the trigger. All Halsey heard next was the sound of bodies tumbling backward into the ditch. He kept his eyes forward. Now that he had been spared, a cool sensation overcame him.

  “Now turn around, give these scums a proper send-off, and then you’ll be allowed to head back. If even one of you fucks it up, I will have you dipshits turn around and we’ll pick off more of ya!”

  Halsey and the others turned around to face the trench, spotting Jacob still standing. It brought sheer joy to his heart. Down below, amongst the dirt and worms, that joy was tainted. Lying there with the rest of the unlucky was his friend from years ago, Eric. His eyes were still open, never to be shut. Those eyes gazed at Halsey as the prisoners began.

  “Oh, why must our hearts ache?

  Relentless be our foe…”

  ***

  October 15, 2050 – Lázaro Cárdenas, Southern Mexico

  Along the Balsas River was the Port of Lázaro Cárdenas, one of the largest ports in the world. The city was on the southern edge of Mexico, the river draining into the Pacific Ocean. Julissa and Gael were atop the deck of a gigantic container ship, listening to the horn of other ships and the calls of seagulls. She was known as The Meera, a post-Panamax ship over nine hundred feet long, two hundred feet tall, and able to carry over five thousand container units.

  The terminal the ship was anchored next to was home to many thousands of containers ranging in color from white, red, blue to yellow. Cranes towered over it all, huge necks arching over the raw goods. The workers and cars all appeared ant-like from way up on the ship.

  “What do you suppose is in all those?” Julissa asked.

  “Knowing this terminal, probably fertilizer,” he told her.

  Both were gendering beyond the port, past all the machinery. Out there was the splendor of the Pacific Ocean expanding to no end.

  “You seem pretty damn knowledgeable,” she said.

  “I used to be a truck driver after the Hollow Land Wars. I would drive rigs from all over Mexico up into the States. It was a cool gig owning my own truck.”

  “Why’d you give it up?”

  Above them, a crane was in the process of lifting a container from the ship.

  “I ended up fucking the whole thing up in by delivering shit I shouldn’t have for extra cash. I got busted and got my visa revoked. I did a stint with the Mexican Armed Forces, but I never quite fit in. I’d been bouncing back and forth over the border trying to scrape up cash in San Diego when I met Joe. He left an impression on me.”

  “He’s a little reckless, but I suppose he’s all right.”

  “Yeah, no denying that,” Gael chuckled. “Hey, we don’t know each other all that well, but I wanted to ask you something…well, something I probably shouldn’t. If you don’t like it I’ll drop it, promise.”

  “Sure, fire away.”

  “I read about the Rafha Trials. It was a horrible thing those soldiers did back then, and I admire how you stood for what you believed in and said what had to be said. The truth had to be known. Ever since Cuencamé, I’ve been questioning what you think about all this. Do you still feel like you’re making a stand for justice?”

  Julissa thought back to those bodies, which in turn sent her back to 2036. Standing before a tribunal answering questions about her comrades. Questions that could land them in prison or executed.

  “I don’t know whether anything I’ve done in my life is true justice. I just know I must keep fighting. When I stopped, I nearly destroyed myself.”

  Gael’s smile helped alleviate her tension.

  “Joe said something just like that to get me wrapped up in all this. You two aren’t so different.”

  Julissa took the compliment as someone joined them.

  “Come on, guys, we’re about to start,” Ruby told them.

  Deep within the confines of the ship, in a large mess hall, the soldiers of the Crimson Angels and Holy Guardians met up. Standing or seated at the tables, all gave their focus to Sostenes Herrera. In his hand was a hot mug of cocoa. He took his time with it.

  “And to think I was under the impression we were needed ASP,” Julissa said as he sat with Gael and Ruby near the back. She noticed Clint, Zaneta, and Eli was seated near the front of the ensemble.

  “Oh, you are, Mrs. Marconi. I didn’t drag your way to this city just for the lovely view,” Sostenes anno
unced. Apparently, he had quite the ear.

  “I’m waiting then,” Julissa snapped back.

  The man didn’t reply and drank more of his drink. Before Julissa could lash at him some more, the sound of metallic clanks came from the back of the room. They were rhythmic, kind of like…footsteps, she realized.

  Everybody turned their heads to see a tall and thin robot had entered the mess hall. The silver color, the glowing blue eyes, the waving, it all gave Julissa a sense of déjà vu that made her nauseous.

  “Your eyes do not deceive you, Mrs. Marconi. That is an A7-series Human Interrelations Unit, just like the kind that we’re presented at the Texas Fair way back all those years ago. What was your name again?”

  “Kenny, sir,” the calm voice said.

  “How did you get ahold of,” Clint paused, “Him?”

  “Ever since I was a kid I had a knack for living off garbage. I mean that. I’ve never been ashamed of it, and nowadays I’m even thankful for all those years on the streets. It taught me to see value where most do not. Once Venloran took power, he outright banned robots like Kenny here from being a part of the labor force. Wasn’t long after that a lot of countries followed his example, so Mexico bought up hundreds of thousands of units so they could be recycled but the program never really went anywhere. Poor devils rotted in landfills for years until I came up with a use for them.”

  “You want them to fight?” questioned Ruby.

  “They will. They have the capability if we reconfigure them. As far as numbers we are still at a disadvantage against the UNR, but these guys can help us solve that problem,” Herrera said.

  “We’d be delighted to help,” Kenny added.

  “God, I love him!” Sostenes exclaimed.

  “In the AEF they’ve weaponized robots for years, but these units are flimsy. You think they’ll be of use?” critiqued Eli.

  “I do. Guatemala has already had promising results from the converted units sold to them by Venloran in ’44.”

  “Not to mention they say quantity has a quality all its own,” Gael commented.

  “With the units we already have, plus us, we can convert them quickly,” Zaneta said. She sounded strangely excited. “This can work!”