by Linda Nagata
I run through my menus, confirming the recording function is switched off. No new data is being written. Nothing’s coming in or going out. “I’m locked down completely.”
“Get used to it.”
If I have to, I will.
I make myself relax, leaning back in the seat. The refugees who gathered outside the hospital on the day after are gone now. Alongside the sleepy street, the concertina wire protecting the grounds looks like overkill.
“Did you hear what Elliot had to say?” I ask Kendrick.
He shakes his head: not in denial, but in disgust. “I’ve been hearing that for a week. He thinks everyone with a skullcap is a fucking puppet. What do you think?”
“I’m not here because I’m a puppet.”
The American Coma is real, and it’s not going to lift anytime soon. From newscasts I know the economy has tanked. Fuel is in short supply, and goods aren’t flowing for that reason and because no one knows where they should go. Kelly AMC is an oasis, running on photovoltaics and generators, but out in the real world, power outages happen every time load-balancing fails. Air traffic is restricted and only the wealthy can afford escalating satellite data charges. More people are losing their jobs every day. The politicians and the mediots ‘express concern’ but they don’t miss the Cloud. They love being in control of what we see and what we hear—while the rest of the world goes on without us.
Thelma Sheridan engineered this.
I turn to Kendrick. “So she bought clean hands? You know that for sure?”
He nods, his gaze fixed on the road ahead. “Yes.”
“You promised she wouldn’t get away with it.”
He glances at me. “You ready to do something about that?”
My voice is calm, but my heart is racing. “Yes.”
He gives me a dark, disapproving look. “The Lion of Black Cross, ready to jump in with his gun blazing!”
“Yeah, we pulled off that tactic at Black Cross, but I’m not sure it’s going to work a second time.”
“Think hard, Shelley. Why do you want to do this?”
I see those jets again. I see their pilots forcing Thelma Sheridan’s rocket to the ground before it can reach San Antonio, or Austin.
“It needs to be done.”
“There’s no going back from it.”
“I understand that.”
“Do you? We’re setting out to slam a dragon. Do you understand that no matter how successful we are, this will always be hanging over our heads?”
“It is a rogue operation then? I wondered.”
“This is what we’ve come to. The president is a performance artist and the congressional zombies do what their masters tell them and nothing else, while no one in the ranks above us has the authority to insist that justice be served.” He shrugs. “Well, that’s as it should be. The people have to claim justice for themselves. So yes, it is a rogue mission. If we go, we go on our own authority. We will not represent the army. We will not be funded by the army. We will not be defended by the army. We will be entirely on our own.” He glances at me again. “Still sure you want to play?”
There’s a gas station ahead on the right, one of those massive ones with six islands of pumps, but only one island is open, and the line of waiting cars extends around the corner and down the block. Some of the drivers turn to watch us with wary expressions as we pass by. Then one man recognizes me—I see it in his eyes—his mouth opens as if to cry out, Hey, are you—?
The fucking Lion of Black Cross, yeah. There’s propaganda value in it, and not just for the army.
“Sir, if the army’s not funding this mission, who is?”
“Private sources.”
I wait for more, but it doesn’t come. He keeps his gaze fixed on the road ahead, letting me think about things. I asked to come in on this, and he’s trusted me, this far. I want to know more, but the real question is, do I need to? Or do I trust him? “Colonel, how much do you know? How deep in are you?”
He nods as if to himself. “Core.”
He’s only a colonel, but he has influence, power, and discretion—more than anyone of his rank should have—and he risked it all in the assault on Black Cross. He risked his life.
“Okay, then. I’m in.” I glance in the side-view mirror, half expecting to see MPs following, lights flashing as they signal us to pull over, but there are only a few cars behind us, all civilian.
“See any Federal agents back there?” Kendrick asks as he brakes at a red light.
“No, sir. Not yet.” I watch the cross traffic pass in front of us: one police car and seven civilian vehicles. That’s it. The light changes and we cross the intersection. Kendrick moves into the right lane. “What is our plan, sir?”
“Our plan is to arrest Thelma Sheridan and bring her to trial. A fair trial. One that will actually consider the evidence against her.”
“But if she’s already bought clean hands—”
“The trial won’t happen here. There was an initial investigation. I talked to the agent in charge, and the evidence her team compiled is incontrovertible, but Sheridan got it buried under a top-secret classification. So we have no choice. We’re using a legal principle known as ‘universal jurisdiction.’ It’s a snake pit. We’ll be yielding sovereignty and establishing a precedent we are going to regret, but it’s all we have.”
“Universal jurisdiction,” I murmur, eyeing the encyclopedia icon on my overlay. The encyclopedia whispers back to me a summary definition. I learn that universal jurisdiction is a legal concept reserved for crimes so serious they are effectively crimes against the world. It allows any state or international organization to prosecute, regardless of where the criminal act took place.
“Got it figured out?” Kendrick asks me.
“It means we’re taking her to a foreign court. Is it in The Hague?” I know in a vague way that fallen dictators have been brought to trial there on the authority of the United Nations.
“That was our first choice. It didn’t work out.”
“Where then?”
His eyes narrow; there’s something bitter in his smile. “We found only one head of state with the spine to do it. Ahab Matugo has agreed to put her on trial for war crimes and humanitarian crimes. The evidence has been submitted. An international panel of judges is being assembled. Our part is to deliver Ms. Sheridan. In doing so, there are requirements we must fulfill. We have to prove her identity with DNA evidence. And she cannot be harmed. There can be no indication of torture or abuse, or Matugo will refuse to accept her, or to hold the trial.”
I’m stunned by what he’s telling me—and relieved too. “I had no idea. This is something at least... creditable. I thought we were just going to . . .”
I don’t really want to say it, but Kendrick knows what I was thinking. “You thought we’d just assassinate her?”
He looks at me, but I won’t meet his gaze. “So who’s in it?” I ask.
“You, me, Vasquez—”
“Not Jaynie. She wouldn’t step outside the lines.”
“Yes, Vasquez. And your pal, Matt Ransom.”
“This is for the fucking reality show!”
He checks the mirrors and takes an on-ramp to a freeway. “So I’ve been told. Episode three. I don’t know whose dumb-ass idea that show was, but it’s working for us.”
“You want people to know what we’re doing?”
“Hell, yes.” Traffic is light—there’s no reason for most people to be on the road, so much of commerce has shut down—and within seconds we’re doing seventy. “Assuming we survive, the story will get spun as fiction, but the dragons will know the truth—that we’re out there, and we can come after them, even if the politicians won’t.”
I shake my head in disbelief. “You’re crazy. Who else is in?”
“Other C-FHEIT soldiers.”
“Chen told me you hand-selected everyone there.”
“He trusted you with that?”
“It’s true, then?”
�
��We’re a special crew. We share certain personality traits, among them a concern for justice that is not as common as you might like to believe.”
“Justice over loyalty?”
“There’s no honor in being loyal to a corrupt system.”
“You’ve been getting ready for this for a long time. Long before it happened.”
“Not just me.”
“Who else? Who’s behind this?”
“I’m not issuing a roster.”
“Is Chen part of it?”
“Yes.”
“I’m guessing the Red was never part of your plans.”
He scowls. “The Red is the joker in the pack. There’s nothing I can do about it, except hope like hell it’s on our side.”
“Sometimes it is,” I muse, “and sometimes it isn’t. But I think for now, our goals are the same.”
He gives me a questioning look.
“It’s what Lissa said about what its purpose might be—to develop an optimized world with peak consumer potential across the population. That won’t ever happen if a psychopath like Thelma Sheridan blows everything to vapor.”
“Yeah? I hope you’re right. You won’t hear me complaining if we get a little supernatural help.”
He flips the turn signal, and takes an off-ramp to the center of town. There’s actually traffic in the streets.
“Where are we going?”
My question is answered when he turns into the driveway of a luxury hotel. “The mission starts tonight, and we may not be coming back.” He pulls into a parking stall. “So I’m meeting my wife. Lissa is here too.”
That’s all I need to hear. I reach for the door handle.
“Hold on.” The band of his farsights has gone transparent. He studies me, one hand cocked over the steering wheel. “I want to make sure you understand, all the way down to your balls, that this mission is not a game. It’s dangerous, and not just for us. If and when it gets out who we are, the dragons will come after us, and they’ll come after the people we love.”
“Oh fuck.” A cold sweat breaks out across my body. I know he’s right.
Kendrick says, “My wife knows what to do. We’ve talked about this for a long time. We have friends. You have friends too. They’ll be looking after your father. And Lissa will be safe, because she’ll be working with Keith Chen in a secure facility. And no, I’m not going to tell you where. The less you know, the safer for everyone.”
“Okay.”
“So are you still with us?”
Fuck.
“Could I back out if I wanted to?”
“Technically, no. Unless you plan to go straight to the FBI, you’re already a party to the conspiracy. So what’s it going to be? You going to try to save your ass as a government witness?”
What would he do if I said yes, I wanted out? Would he try to stop me? I don’t see a weapon on him. But it’s an idle question, irrelevant in the circumstances.
“Sir, there is no way I’m staying behind. This mission is bug-fuck crazy, that’s for sure, but it’s still the right thing to do—and it needs to be done. I want to be part of that. I want to see justice done, no matter what the consequences—”
I stop myself, realizing what I sound like. “Ah, shit. Listen to me. I guess every fucking terrorist in the world has said pretty much the same thing.”
“Probably.”
“You know, this is exactly how I got in trouble in New York.”
“Taking a stand?”
“Yeah. Fuck me.”
“No thanks. Not my job. Now get out of here. We meet back at the car at midnight.”
I grab my bag and we head for the hotel.
~~~
There’s a propane fireplace at the foot of the bed. Lissa and I live that night by its flickering light. We don’t talk about anything that matters; not at first. It’s all fun and games, sex and room service—a limited selection, post-Coma, but still not bad. I’m not drinking and neither is she, but we’re both as giddy and wild as if we’ve just knocked off a bottle of wine.
I don’t want to waste time sleeping, but I do anyway. When I wake up, she’s watching me with a smile on her beautiful face. We shower together, and then we get back in bed. I don’t need to hide my prosthetics under the sheet. We’ve gotten past that.
We kiss for a while. Then she pulls back, propping her head up on her hand. From her expression I know it’s about to get serious.
“Keith told me you’ve got a new mission and that you’ll be away for a while.”
“Keith?” I ask with honest confusion.
She arches an eyebrow. “That’s Major Chen to you, soldier.”
“Oh, right.”
She stares at me, her gaze demanding additional information.
“You know I can’t tell you what we’re doing.”
She waits, watching me with the patience of the sphinx. I don’t want to piss her off, so I tell her just enough to hopefully give her some comfort. “This is just temporary duty. It’s a specific task, and then we should be back home again.”
“How long?”
“I don’t know. Maybe a few days. If it’s longer, I’ll get word to you. I swear.”
“You damn well better.”
I feel like I just dodged a bullet. “So what are you going to be doing for ‘Keith’?”
She sighs and looks regretful. “Data analysis. Beyond that, mister, I can’t tell you.”
I grin and grab her and we roll around laughing, but it’s getting late. The midnight deadline is slouching closer, bringing with it a sense of desolation.
“Lissa.” We’re lying face-to-face, her eyes inches from mine. I touch the beautiful curve of her cheek. “Things have gotten kind of crazy, you know that. When you’re working with Major Chen... if you’re ever uncomfortable with what he’s asking you to do, if you ever have any questions about the legality, the ethics of it, I want you to back out, okay?”
I swear, every molecule in her body ceases to move. Time stops as she stares at me with her black-body eyes—dark marble, radiating heat—a gaze that extracts from my mind things I haven’t said. Time starts up again as she confronts me with it: “You’re planning to do something stupid, aren’t you? Just like before.”
I can’t deny it, but I can’t confirm it either. The only thing left for me to say is, “I love you. I always have. I always will.”
“And you’re a dickhead! Always have been. Always will be.”
“Lissa—”
“I love you anyway.” Her voices breaks as she says it; tears start in her eyes.
We kiss, and we hold each other, we press our bodies against each other, skin-to-skin—cheek, chest, belly, crotch, and thighs—down to the boundary of my prosthetics. We can’t get any closer. It’s a moment I save in my mind. I don’t want to think. I just want to be with her, but midnight is coming fast and I’m feeling afraid. “Lissa, there’s one more thing. I need you to remember that it’s the dragons who control the mass media, especially now, and you might hear things . . .”
I hesitate, uncertain how much I should tell her.
“What kind of things?”
I kiss her ear. “The kind of things you don’t want to believe. If you hear those things, know they’re not true. Promise me that you won’t believe them.”
She doesn’t have any idea what I’m talking about, but she agrees to it with a nod of her head, saying, “I’ll be here. I’ll wait for you.”
~~~
Subject: New assignment
Body: Hey, Dad. I’ve got a new mission. Overseas again. I’m supposed to let you know that because of the way things are – the Coma – I might not be able to talk to you for a while. But don’t worry. You understand? You are not to worry. I’m coming back. I promise.
Love You,
Jimmy
~~~
“We’re going to die tonight,” Kendrick says.
“What? Wait.” I know that Lissa can get the true facts from Major Chen, but—“My dad ca
n’t think I’m dead. I can’t do that to him.”
It’s 0121, and I’m sitting in the front passenger seat of Kendrick’s old Blackhawk, outside the army hangars. Occasional flights are leaving from the civilian runway; I hope Elliot has found his way onto one of them.
Kendrick is piloting. He’s finished his initial checks, and above the cabin, the blades are coming up to speed. We’re wearing flight suits and our LCS helmets, but we’re not linked into Guidance, and we’re flying without bones or armor. We don’t need them, because this is just a quiet flight up to C-FHEIT—in theory.
“Tonight’s incident is not going to be announced to the media,” Kendrick assures me, his low voice rumbling through my helmet’s audio. We’re using gen-com on a helmet-to-helmet basis, with a custom encryption to keep our conversation between ourselves. “The president will not let it get out that the Lion of Black Cross was assassinated by grudge-holding insurrectionists. But the people who need to know, they’ll hear about it. And when they’re trying to figure out who hit Vanda-Sheridan, our names won’t be on the initial list of suspects, because we’ll be dead.”
“The truth is going to come out eventually.”
“Shit, yeah. But until then, it’s an extra layer of distance to protect the people who matter to us.”
He talks to the tower and gets clearance. “Go ahead and put your overlay into recording mode.”
I do it, though I’m still locked down.
We head out into the night, climbing swiftly so that we pass high above the suburbs. There’s a cloud deck tonight, and after a few more minutes we pass through it. On the other side the stars are brighter and more abundant than I’ve ever seen them, even in Africa, and they’re inhabited. I count three satellites passing overhead, but only one airliner.
Reaching behind the seat, I grab two nylon bags. Each contains a rappelling harness. I take one out, make sure it’s untangled, and hand it to Kendrick.
I wanted to put the harnesses on while we were still on the ground, but he said no. He didn’t want anyone at the hangar asking questions. I help him slide the harness up over his legs while he continues to pilot the helicopter, and then I secure the buckle at his waist.