Calvin Rae, said voice of a man in his head, the accent Nordic, melodic. This is the DASIS station, El Paso-Juarez. You have inbound drone for extraction. ETA two minutes.
The wasp-drone must have found the relay signal now they were above ground.
Acknowledged. Standing by for extraction, mind-spoke Rae.
The jet engine of the approaching drone grew from the west. Rae squatted down and picked up Sabine, who was now drowsy, as white as the snow and cold to the touch. Blood dripped from her soaked bandage, and his multiple wounds, leaving a trail of red on the snow as he trudged away from the silo rim. The clatter of the opening door, followed by the exertions of soldiers scaling rungs, rose from the launch silo.
The Alliance drone sounded closer now—somewhere just beyond the ridge to the west. Rae put Sabine down and lay prone, SMG trained on the silo opening, wondering how many rounds he had left.
Where is that drone? We’re about to go hot! he mind-spoke to the DASIS controller.
Thirty seconds until eyes on extraction zone.
Rae saw the first soldier poked his head above the silo rim thirty meters away. He then reached up, and pulled down his helmet-mounted monocular, seeking his target. Rae lay beside Sabine in his blood-stained white lab coat, his SMG sights trained on the enemy. The soldier swept his aim, searching, then settling on Rae’s azimuth before saying something then hauling himself over the threshold and rolling to the side to allow the next guy up. Now they’d found him, Rae couldn’t let them have time to zero in.
He checked the selector was on burst then squeezed the trigger, lighting up the snowfield, the muzzle flash degrading his vision. No return fire came, and he saw he’d hit the first guy, but the second soldier was already prone and taking aim as the third one climbed out. Simultaneously the enemy muzzle flashed. Fountains of snow kicked up in front of Rae, like a veil of quickly dispersing powder. Even with his endo-armor, he couldn’t take hits forever—a bullet would find a gap, or he’d bleed out next Sabine on the snow.
The drone was close, the roar of its jet engines growing exponentially.
An incoming volley of enemy fire skimmed over him, shockwaves pulsing past his face. Then came another barrage, thumping into the ground beside him. A sinking feeling told him the next bullet wouldn’t miss. He had to suppress them. Cora flashed through his mind as he squeezed, willing his next burst to be enough. Click. Click. Out of ammo.
“Damn it!”
They’d come so far.
He looked at Sabine, her eyes drowsy, her face weak. She was brave. Too young to die. He rolled over to shield Sabine from the salvo of death that was soon to come.
“Where’s evac?” she croaked.
If that damned drone is armed, you better open up now on—
Then it came. A ferocious barrage erupted from the night sky, relentlessly pummeling the silo rim. The drone screamed towards it and decelerated at an astonishing rate to hover over the silo and strafe the inside with withering heavy caliber fire. The huge, armored drone paused in mid-air, ten meters above the silo, the whine of its vectored jets drowning out all other sound. The pitch dropped, and it throttled down, sliding towards Rae and Sabine, descending gently, its downdraft blowing a blizzard. Four landing struts telescoped out of the underside and it touched down, engines still running, powder swirling, enveloping the craft.
“Hostile territory search and rescue drone,” she murmured.
“We need to move—enemy armor’s closing in!” he said.
A ramp descended, revealing the inside bathed in dim red light. He picked up Sabine and lay her down inside on one of the two stretchers. He strapped her in, then pulled himself onto the adjacent stretcher. The deep percussion of the enemy’s .50 cal rounds died as the ramp slammed shut. Incoming lead thudded against the drone’s armor. It lifted off, powerful vibrations rocking the airframe as it returned fire. Rae rolled with the movement, pushed solidly against his back and feet by the beginnings of acceleration, while clicking in place his harness. A burst of hostile rounds thumped hard against the side-armor, forcing the drone into a wobble. Thrust vectoring worked with gyroscopes to stabilize it, before the roar of the jet engines grew loud. As they accelerated away, he reached across to the medical kit but had to abort—a whoosh from outside, followed by a powerful explosion sent his world tumbling.
Surface-to-air missile, said his dazed mind.
His stomach lurched as they began falling, still spinning, uncontrolled. A warning sound beeped urgently. Fierce blasts from the vectored jets halted the spin, righted the drone, and arrested the fall to earth. He held on tight as the drone went full power with terrifying acceleration. Its evasive maneuvers threw him side-to-side and against the restraints. He looked over to Sabine and held her hand, trying to give some comfort. But he could see she lacked the strength to resists the g-forces, instead flopping and rolling while constrained by the harness. Another whoosh came from nowhere, but this time no explosion. He felt his body go zero-g as the drone dived faster than freefall. When it bottomed out, blood rushed to his head then slowly subsided as it flew more-or-less level.
The enemy fire stopped. The warning sound stopped. He let out a long overdue breath and loosened his harness slightly before reaching for the med-kit. He re-dressed Sabine’s wounded leg with a nanite repair powder, followed by synthetic skin patch to stem the blood flow. After infusing her with vials of synthetic blood and pain killers, color returned to her face, her blood pressure began to recover. He then set about treating his own wounds, starting with the shrapnel in his arm. The other impacts had torn skin, gorged flesh, and dented endo-armor but hadn’t penetrated. The endo-armor had saved him, that was for sure. One day, in a more peaceful time, he’d have it removed though. That day hadn’t come yet. From what he’d seen, it might be a long wait.
The drone accelerated at a fearsome rate, staying low, throwing his weight this way and that, tracking evasively through the valleys and canyons; then above ridges and down over the foothills of the Rockies, ever westward. Now flying straight—he guessed somewhere over what used to be Utah—resurgent g-forces heralded the sonic boom as they breached the sound barrier, climbing high into the night sky.
“How are you feeling now?” he said.
“I’ll live,” she croaked, managing a smile, her eyes still drowsy.
“Any idea where we’re going?”
“Westward… the Pacific… a sub,” she said, her words trailing off, eyes closing sleepily.
He checked her breathing and pulse, then her blood pressure with the monitor—much better. She’d need surgery to repair the splintered leg bone, but it was nothing beyond modern medicine.
She drifted off to sleep. A few minutes later he did the same.
23
My dream is of a place and a time where America will once again be seen as the last best hope of earth.
Abraham Lincoln
R ae sat on the commercial flight from Vancouver to Paris. The physical exertions and the emotions wrung out of him over the last week had left him exhausted. Yet natural sleep was still hard to come by, and when it did come it was inhabited by visions of the dead and memories of Cora. Within minutes of awakening, he’d feel the fresh sting of tears. Already it had happened twice in the last few hours on the flight to Europe. Most of those tears were for Cora, his dear, brave wife, a victim of a monstrous system. There were many millions more victims living under the Regime’s odious rule. In comparison, normal civilian life in Democratic Alliance countries seemed so free, so alien to Rae. It was a life Cora deserved, and he would stop at nothing to get her back. The concept of freedom of movement within and between nations felt strangely novel. And the people were… different. Alive. Engaged. Seemingly full of hope, awash with the insecurities of everyday life—the normal human condition, at odds with the nightmarish reality in the once-great country he’d left behind. It had become an open prison, benefitting the few at the expense of the many. Now he was in the free world, the oppressive blank
et of paranoia had lifted, he could be himself—think, speak and act authentically without fearing the consequences. Just the simple calculus of reasonable behavior was all it took here. Under the Regime, the reckoning was infinitely more complex for someone of free mind. He wondered how many others were like he had been, free of mind yet still living amongst the Citizens and Serviles of the American Union. He hoped the Alliance had an entire army of sleepers waiting for the crucial times to come, waiting to attack the Regime from within. Such a Fifth Column was more hope than knowledge though.
Cora dominated his mind whenever left alone with his thoughts. Distraction was sometimes a welcome relief. He pulled down the virtual reality headset, placing it over his head and switching to the rolling news channel.
The caption read, Breaking News – Waves of Attacks in American MOZ.
He sat up, suddenly awake, his mind buzzing.
Aerial footage filled the screen as the news presenter questioned a former British Army general about the implications. The video showed a wooded area with a multi-lane highway littered with rusting vehicles and debris, weeds and saplings invading the cracked asphalt. A disused freeway, somewhere in the Badlands. A rag-tag stream of people ran across the freeway from the forest on the right to the forest on the left. Rae estimated at least fifty men, women and children crossing the clearing at any one time, some looking over their shoulders as they ran.
“We believe these civilians are being herded,” said the British army guy. “Herded from a local settlement in the Badlands.”
The civilians—Illegals, in Regime-speak—kept on coming.
“Herded by who or what?” said the presenter.
“Well, obviously the AU military. The military’s mostly made up of Serviles, as they’re called. Basically, a slave army. It’s been such a hermetically sealed society for so long now, that I think we forget just how brainwashed the population is.”
A few seconds later, some of the fleeing civilians fell. The footage was soundless, but when the next few went sliding to the deck, Rae thought he saw gunfire at the edge of the frame. Tears welled in his eyes as he relived the terrible deeds he himself had committed. His heart ached not only for the fleeing civilians, but for the puppet soldiers doing the killing. The worst thing was they’d be fully aware of their actions yet feel the righteousness flowing alongside the adrenaline high of the kill. And if they ever became free like him, they’d remember everything. He blinked away the tears and continued to watch.
“And there you can see it… the pursuers opening fire,” said the Brit. “As we’ve come to expect, the Regime has no qualms about committing war crimes. It really is a stain on humanity.”
Then a flight of four large, slow-moving, prop drones traced the path of their prey. A dark mist trailed the wings of each drone as they skimmed the forest and freeway.
“And what are we seeing here, General?”
“This, I’m afraid, is what’s been reported in several places in the Badlands since last night,” he said, sighing as the clip recycled to the beginning. “Sprayer drones, shells and missiles delivering nanites. That’s the dust coming out of the planes. These nanites are nasty—they’re designed to eat the human body alive, using its molecules to self-replicate.”
“Is this a genocide we’re witnessing here, General?” said the presenter darkly.
“I’m afraid it may be the beginning of it, yes,” he said gravely. “At the moment it looks like they’re field testing over limited areas, but I wouldn’t be surprised if they expanded the attack very soon.”
“Why aren’t we doing something about it?”
“The Alliance has a long-standing policy to respond with all-out counter-attack should any member state be subjected to an aggressor’s first-strike. The AU daren’t attack on foreign soil, but I’m afraid it’s a very different matter on their own territory.”
“Again: why aren’t we stepping in to stop this genocide, General?”
The general sighed.
“Look, that’s a question for our politicians. And the simple truth of the matter is that they can’t go in heavy-handed without provoking World War III.”
Rae switched off the depressing news. He’d helped thwart the Regime, denying them ASTRA. Dominating cyberspace would’ve tipped the balance of power, making a World War III victor viable. But the carnage inside the American Union continued apace. And Cora was still trapped in another part of the nightmare, albeit away from the genocide in the Badlands.
Since his medical treatment and debrief on the Canadian carrier sub, CS Quebec, he could hardly stop thinking about Cora. The feelings of guilt, of failure to rescue her, sapped the joy of freedom and mission success. Now he had time to reflect. Before distraction had kept his angst at bay. Now the crushing helplessness of leaving Cora behind depressed his very soul. Every time he thought of her, trapped, controlled, as Oliver Young’s mistress, anger welled up before transforming to sadness then despair at his impotence. It was like an endless cycle of emotion, his mind too weary to find solutions or solace. He was too tired to deal with it, so decided on more distraction to numb the pain. Technology gave as well as took. He pressed the button on his arm rest and an encoded, dancing pattern of shapes filled his vision, while sleep-inducing music played into his ears. No need for faster planes and flatbeds when near-instant natural sleep was available on-tap via the VR headset. The audio-visual show conspired to hack his brain, sending him into a deep sleep.
***
A week later, Rae strolled along beside the River Seine in the late-morning sunshine. A crisp winter’s day in Paris, alive with tourists and locals, having fun, living with purpose, falling in love. People living life. Freedom from tyranny. Liberty, fraternity, equality. Ok, it was still a work-in-progress, but an exemplar nonetheless. People on the top deck of a passing tourist boat smiled and waved at anyone who’d pay attention. He waved back as streams of delivery and passenger drones crisscrossed the skies, flowing constrained in their invisible lanes, freeing the surface for more civilized pursuits. A group of school kids stopped in front of him, their teacher explaining something about the grand façade on the opposite bank. Rae forced a smile and nodded to the teacher as he passed, but there was little humor in his eyes. The events happening half a world away seemed impossible on a day like this. He walked on, wishing one day to take such a stroll with Cora by his side. Every time something lifted his heart, it was instantly crushed at the thought of what she might be going through. Was she scared, lonely? Had she been abused, raped? He shuddered at the thought. All he could do was stay focused on the mission find a way to exfiltrate her as soon as humanly possible. He would not rest, could not rest, until that day.
He continued, towards the pre-arranged place, towards the meet. On the bench sat a middle-aged woman in a black peacoat, black beret and big designer shades. Beside her, a younger, blonde woman wore a brown leather jacket and jeans, her right leg in a ski-boot cast, crutches rested upright against the bench. Dr Stephanie Muller spotted him approach, breaking into a reserved smile. She nudged her daughter Sabine, who beamed as Dr Muller stood to greet him.
He held out his hand to shake, but she hugged him instead.
“Cal,” she said with joy and relief, “thank you for saving my Sabine.”
He bent down to hug Sabine, whose shades couldn’t hide the battering she’d taken.
“I saved his ass too,” said Sabine, grinning.
“It’s true,” he said. “And thank you, Dr Muller.”
“You’re most welcome, Cal,” said Dr Muller, sitting back down, making space for Rae in the middle. “And I must say, you two make quite a team,”
He sat down. They felt like old friends—the kind of friendship forged in common purpose, a life-and-death endeavor.
“Finished your DASIS debriefing?” said Dr Muller, referring to the series of meetings he’d had that week with the Democratic Alliance’s intelligence service.
“Thought you’d know,” he said.
“Not anymore,” she said matter-of-factly. “I’ve been… What did he call it…? Retired.”
“Oh.”
“Disobeying orders, going dark… Apprehended trying to cross into enemy territory at the Mexican border.”
“You were just doing what any mother would do,” said Sabine.
“Ha… I wasn’t even your handler… I got off lightly.”
“They’re more forgiving than my former employers, that’s for sure,” said Rae. “So, what about you, Sabine?”
“Still fighting the good fight, Cal,” said Sabine, handing him her sleek sunglasses, her blue eyes squinting in the sunlight.
“You’ve been debriefed,” she said. “You’re one of us now, Cal.”
He looked at her quizzically.
“Put them on,” she said.
He put on her shades. Single words appeared on the lenses in quick succession.
The assault on all twelve Sanctuary Cities started five days ago, prompted by the escalating genocide in the MOZ. Alliance assets simultaneously released millions of wasp-drones in the cities. Using red-light deprogramming, each continues to seek out mindchipped Citizens and Serviles, deactivating their neural implants. The Regime and wider population have been split into two factions—the Freethinkers and the Regime, led by President White. Civil war is imminent. The Democratic Alliance is working hard to support the Freethinkers, without provoking a WMD response from President White’s faction. DASIS have extracted dozens of key Freethinkers from enemy territory. Hopes are high of a successful overall outcome. However, the wildcards are Russia and China, who already have a presence in the MOZ. When your R&R period is complete, you will be briefed fully on your next mission. End of message.
The Free Citizen Page 23