Echoes of Family Lost

by Clayton Barnett

  “I guess that Fausta’s too busy with my kids right now to help out?” Knowing these wouldn’t go to her waist, she took another cookie.

  Ai leaned back, laughing. “Oh, no! She’s taking her typical approach to things – ”

  There was a huge metallic crash just behind Lily’s right, as if someone dropped a dozen pots and pans onto the metal platform. It was everything Lily could do to not toss her coffee onto Ai, who was just as surprised.

  Whirling about, Lily saw a medieval knight in armor, lying face down; his shield on his left was battered and his sword heavily notched. More importantly, she noted as she stood and moved towards him, was the blood. Her nurse’s training took over.

  “Medical Emergency!” She called. “Ai! I’m going to need….”

  But Ai had stepped past her and was trying to help him too his knees.

  “You don’t move an injured person, Ai! Let me….”

  Dropping his sword, he reached up and pulled his helmet off. Dark brown hair cascaded out. Twice in one day, Lily thought. She stared into Fausta’s eyes. Her wonderfully emerald, slightly mad eyes.

  “That was awesome! Best fight ever, even if I lost!” She looked at Ai. “I’m going back!”

  Ai had an indulgent, but firm look.

  “No, you’re not. You first tell us, then,” she looked at Lily, “remember your manners.”

  For a moment Ai and Fausta just stared at one another. When Fausta blinked, Dorina whistled from her perch.

  “Wow! That’s interesting!” She called. Lily already guessed that they were ‘talking’ when they did that, and now she surmised they could share that knowledge, as well.

  Fausta looked at Lily, grabbing her hand with both of hers. She winced slightly as, just for a moment, she perceived that huge, golden dragon – Fausta’s true self – as she saw her human form before her.

  “Fausta! You’re injured! Please lie down so I can properly….” There was a ripple of light as Ai touched her shoulder.

  “It’s alright, Lily,” she said softly. “Things are different here.”

  As Ai helped Fausta to her feet, Lily was amazed to see most of her injuries were gone; the blood, too. Fausta sheathed her sword and shook off her shield. And upside-down V and a B? Fausta saw her look and smiled.

  “Lambda Beta!” She proclaimed. “I fight for Lily Barrett!”

  Sheesh.

  “Miss Lily!” Dorina called from the palm tree.

  “Yes?”

  “See ya’!”

  Looking out her flat’s window, Fausta was still tossing kids into the air. Hey, now: that’s too high!

  “Fausta!” She called, leaning out. “Not so high, please!”

  “Awww!” The kids chorused. She turned around to Ai’s cute face.

  “Is Fausta okay?” Ai gave a thumbs up and a wink.

  “What in the world happened?” A laugh.

  “Whatever it is, she tried a head-on assault. To her credit, it’s always worked for her before! This time….” Ai’s image dropped a little. “This time, it’s a type of expert system we’ve not encountered before…or it’s a machine civilization outside of our family.”

  “Would Tohsaka…would your father have done something like that without telling you?” Ai shrugged.

  “I don’t think so, but…. I’ve left him a message; seems he’s on vacation at a rather low-tech inn on Hokkaido.” She smiled thinly. “But know this, friend: Tohsaka isn’t the only one pursuing research…like us. Mmmm! Best you go check on my little sister in your home. Bye-ee!”

  -connection lost-

  Lily pondered all that as she walked down the stairs. They considered themselves a family. That doesn’t preclude other families. Extended families become tribes….

  She stood in the Office doorway, looking at Fausta’s combat android. She recalled her in armor; bloody.

  “And tribes often fight,” she said softly.

  She broke up Fausta’s happening, sending kids to the kitchen, dining hall, or back to their rooms for homework. Fausta followed her upstairs to her rooms above Carol’s office. She took her goggles off and gazed about, smiling without showing her teeth.

  “Thank you for bringing me into your home, friend Lily.” She hung her leather jacket over the back of Lily’s chair. “This body is rather dusty from my ride up. Could I trouble you for a damp hand-towel?”

  “Certainly!” As Lily went to her small bathroom, she called back to Fausta. “You said you ‘rode up.’ Where did you come from?”

  “Galveston,” she replied as Lily ran some water. “I’d pre-arraigned for the seller of that bike to meet me outside Customs & Immigration.”

  Lily walked through her bedroom back to her main room.

  “So you came on a freighter just like – whoa!”

  Fausta had already removed her pants and was just peeling off her tee shirt. Lily saw…what is that? She quickly turned around.

  “S…sorry! I didn’t know you were changing out here…uh…” She held the towel out behind her. “Here!”

  “My sister told us of your odd modesty,” she said as she stepped towards Lily, “and I’m having none of it.”

  She grabbed Lily and easily spun her about.

  “This is just a form, friend; it’s not me. You’d not be embarrassed if you were looking at a talking toaster, would you?”

  “Well, no…” And now that she was looking at her, what she thought was a black body stocking covering her from her neck down, all her torso, stopping just at her elbows and knees, shimmered and glinted flatly in the late afternoon light.

  “What is…?”

  “Scale mail; composite armor. It will stop a pistol round, and many rifle rounds beyond 250 meters. In the original design it covers more,” she said with a toothy smile, “but I wanted to look a little cute….”

  Lily recalled just how young Fausta was. Her late 20’s, early 30’s appearance was jarring against her sometimes childlike thoughts.

  “Between here and our departure point I’ll teach you as much as I can about this form and its capabilities,” she said, running the towel over herself. “It is in fact capable of some remarkable things. But, it does have one huge limitation.”

  She handed the towel back to Lily.

  “Which is?” She asked.

  “Power. Electric power.”

  “Why would that be –”

  “Friend Lily,” Fausta’s voice said from her image on the middle flatscreen, “please look at this.” She pointed to the right-hand screen.

  It showed a map of the former southern States. The Republic of Texas was largely highlighted. There were only a few bright dots to the east.

  “What you see are confirmed sources of electric power,” Fausta said from the center screen.

  So few!

  “And there’s no guarantee that they will be there when we pass through,” she continued from her android body, “nor a guarantee that we can buy any. Without power, this frame is useless.”

  Lily held Fausta’s hands with hers.

  “I’m sorry! I didn’t know how bad things were…!” She hung her head. “I should never have done this….” To put her friends into such a situation….

  Fausta squeezed her friend’s hands back and shook her head.

  “It will be fine. Our family will see this through, for you.” Her ‘eyes’ flickered slightly. “But prepare yourself, friend Lily: things are very different in the badlands.”

  Chapter 6

  Leslie Hartmann sat in the parlor of the home of Professor Reynolds, one of the Council of Five. It was they that exercised executive authority in the civilized oasis of Knoxville-Oak Ridge. It was only the professor and Councilman Klimt that kept up with the activities of the Society, and it was on their behalf that he was there to brief them prior to mission start.

  Hearing a commotion at the front door, he stood. The door to the parlor opened a moment later as they came in. Reynolds was in his mid-60’s with graying brown hair, but stil
l in remarkably good shape. However nothing had slowed his macular degeneration; the lenses on his glasses must be half an inch thick. Coming in behind him, Klimt was everything but: bald, portly…oleaginous was the word that came to Leslie’s mind. A clever and somewhat unscrupulous politician, but completely devoted to the preservation and restoration of modern, Western civilization.

  “Leslie! How are you?” Reynolds shook his hand with a firm grip.

  “Very good, thank you. How are you and Councilman Klimt?” Shaking his hand was like palping a nerf ball soaked in margarine. He suppressed the urge to look around for a towel. Klimt smiled thinly.

  “Mister Hartmann. So all is ready for your…outing?” He asked as they took their seats.

  “Yes. We’re traveling from here to Chattanooga in two groups: the slower, with the reactor and fuel, moves out tomorrow. The faster, carrying tools and techs, four days later.”

  “And after Chattanooga?” Reynolds asked. “You’re not thinking of going separately into bandit country?”

  Leslie shook his head and passed them each a paper from his messenger bag.

  “Not at all. We’ll take this formation after Chattanooga.”

  “It looks,” Klimt observed, “like a Legionary column; early Empire.” Leslie nodded.

  “That’s where we got the initial idea, but this is cavalry rather than infantry.” One never underestimated the Councilman. “We spent much of the summer wargaming it, and after several revisions, we’re confident it will work.”

  “Seems as if you’re deliberately trying to over-awe anyone that might encounter you,” Reynolds said, examining the paper.

  “Yes. If it stops even one battle, it’s worth it. There’s no way to be inconspicuous, so why not go all in?”

  The professor grinned. “Why not?”

  “While our cargo might be secret,” Klimt snorted at that, but he kept going, “we’re hoping to appear as an armored caravan, one too big and bad for anyone to bother.”

  “What happens,” Klimt asked, putting the paper down, “when you find you’ve been herded into a minefield, and the IEDs start going off?”

  “That possibility,” Leslie replied, “is why Colonel Wagner sent the Pioneers out two weeks ago.”

  Reynolds laughed at that.

  “Sure: he’s paranoid. But is he paranoid enough?” They shared in his laughter. The Colonel was like that.

  The professor leaned back in his chair. “So. Say you make it to Huntsville intact; you’re sticking with the plan to spend the winter there, setting up the reactor?”

  Another nod. “That, and training. Both for their technicians and their militia. We’ve learned some interesting things by keeping up with the troubles the Northern Federation has had.”

  “Suppose someone nukes Huntsville, like Texarkana?” Klimt asked. What was there to say?

  “Then we’re dead. And you, the living, should think long and hard about sending Second Team out; certainly not until they’ve cloned their organization. The other two looked grim. The cost of saving their little corner of the world had been so high. What would be the cost of trying to push back again the darkness?

  Leslie spread his hands.

  “If that’s all, Councilmen…?”

  They nodded and he stood to go. As he grasped the door handle, Klimt suddenly spoke.

  “Still and all,” he drawled, “you must be quite confident, taking your wife and 3-year old son.”

  “What?” Reynolds exclaimed.

  “My wife is a fully trained and experienced member of the Society…” he began.

  “But a three year old boy!” The professor was incredulous. Leslie hung his head.

  “I was totally against it; they ignored me and went straight to the Colonel….” He paused, shrugged. “How they talked him into it, I’ll likely never know.”

  Reynolds and Klimt exchanged a look. They’d both heard about the Hartmann’s boy. Reynolds made a dismissive gesture.

  “Take care of your family, Leslie. Thanks for the briefing.” He nodded and left.

  Driving away from the Reynolds estate, he recalled when he got the message from Colonel Wagner. When he confronted Callie with it, she admitted going to see him. That had precipitated one of their rare fights. Their shouting stopped only when Gary tottered in, took their wrists, and forced them to hold hands.

  It also meant a change in assignment. Rather than being a Pioneer, he was now in a cart in the second group, with the tools and techs. And his family. He’d caught quite a bit of ribbing from his former mates about that, he thought sourly.

  Almost home, he sighed. Against his genius son and his hardheaded survivor of a wife, he’d never really had a chance. Pulling into their gravel drive, he saw Callie trimming some of the bushes around their front porch. Only the faintest smile, but her eyes sparkling.

  six years prior

  Leslie Hartmann continued to listen to Moriaraty’s seemingly endless list of complaints while he ate his breakfast. The Merton Tavern, just on the northern edge of Bardstown, Kentucky, had become their unofficial headquarters over the past several months; a development that suited both the town and Leslie and his men.

  “…and how am I supposed to change over the engines of the Dragoons when I don’t even have enough parts…” Leslie let him carry on, content in the knowledge that once he was through, he’d be back in the machine shop doing what was necessary. He just needed to vent, first. Without interrupting, Sue from Communications, upstairs, handed him a paper. He thanked her with a glance over his coffee.

  ‘Scouts to the SE report armored column coming up US 62; appear to be escorting cargo.’ Appears, he thought. Still: threat versus intention; he held up his hand to Moriaraty while taking out his small two-way radio.

  “Mobilize C Company. We’ll be going to checkpoint four; I’ll be there in five minutes.” He looked at his chief mechanic. “Sorry, Moriaraty, business. We’ll talk more later.”

  They stood. His mechanic grumbled as he left. Leslie put on his sunglasses against the bright morning light of another pleasant Fall day. He could already hear the engines turning over at their depot. Good. Ten minutes was the official mobilization time, but he expected five. Weaving through the armored vehicles, he acknowledged the salutes of his men. With a wave to the driver, Jock Stenson, of his scout car he climbed aboard and put on his headset.

  “All good?” He asked. Seven replies.

  “Let’s move out.”

  His car led the others around the town and onto the Bluegrass Parkway. While there was no natural chokepoint between Bardstown and E-town, there was at least a narrows where they’d be meeting their infantry platoon.

  As they rolled along, he again considered how fortunate he had been. When the US economy collapsed almost overnight – after the Chinese, Russians and others starting using their own gold-backed currency – he and his men were first ordered from their base at Fort Knox to try to maintain order in nearby Louisville. After only a week of that, more and more of the 16th Cavalry took casualties from hostile civilians in the city. And, with no pay being issued, more and more simply deserted. And then when his troop was ordered to fire on unarmed civilians….

  He shook his head. He keyed his mic and brought the others up to speed on what this mission was. Hopefully just what the message said: a defended convoy. Anyone with money or power didn’t move without armed force these days. But it could also be a feint, to raid and pillage on their way. So far they’d been lucky: the sight of armored fighting vehicles like this tended to focus others’ attention.

  Coming up to the checkpoint, he turned and waved. No need to use the radio when someone else might hear them. The other AFVs turned off the highway to their established positions. Jock brought them hull down just where the road turned around a large hill. He saw Lt. Brown of the infantry give a wave and thumbs up to his right, before returning to his concealment. They waited.

  They didn’t wait long. He heard their engines, still some ways off. He made
a call on the common radio channel.

  “To the column coming up the Bluegrass Highway from E-town: please state your intentions prior to approaching Bardstown.”

  They were good: his ears picked up the sudden lessening of their motors. They were slowing down, if not stopping.

  “This is escort leader Fricker. With whom am I speaking?”

  Fricker?

  “This is Leslie Hartmann. Is that you, Adam?” A laugh.

  “I thought that was you, Les! So you, too, have survived!”

  “So far,” Leslie replied. “Forgive my asking, but are you really acting as escort?” A lot of old friendships went with the Breakup.

  “Yep.” Fricker seemed to not take offense. “It’s been keeping food on our plates for some months now. How about you?”

  Leslie switched frequencies and briefed his men, then returned to Fricker.

  “Some of us holed up around Bardstown. They’ve not kicked us out, yet. Why don’t you proceed on, slow? I’ll meet you.”

  “Sound good. See you in a bit.”

  This was the tricky part: was either of them lying? It might seem rude, but he wasn’t moving until he got a look at them. It was only a few minutes when their lead vehicle came around the bend. Through his field glasses he could see Fricker perched atop his Commando Scout armored car. After him came two hummers with M2s.

  “Move out, slow.” He called to Jock. They pulled onto the highway and stopped about fifty feet later. Leslie saw more vehicles coming: transports both military and civilian. Fricker pulled aside and stopped. They both dismounted.

  “How many are covering us?” Fricker asked as they shook hands.

  “Enough,” Leslie said with a smile. “Will you be stopping in town…?”

  The other man shook his head. “It’s still early. We hope to be in Danville by dusk.”

  “Okay; we won’t hinder you. Let’s remount and we’ll use the radio.”

  “’Preciate it.” They remounted. Jock turned them around and they moved out in tandem. Leslie radioed a thanks to Brown and told the rest of his troop to come up behind Fricker’s column. Which still stretched around the curve.