On My Way to Paradise

by David Farland

  "It was so simple," Perfecto said. "Someone blew up the AI’s and the whole country blew up with it. Millions of refugiados in Independent Brazil and Panamá have armed themselves and are pouring over the borders into every socialist state. In almost every city in the EUSS, the military is so busy trying to fight looters that they can’t defend themselves from outside forces, while at the same time many soldiers are sabotaging their own defense systems and switching sides. And it has become evident that three of the AI’s were dedicating their entire memories in efforts to aid the socialists—for nearly three quarters of the socialists defenses went down when the three AI’s were bombed, including all of the cybernet tanks and neutron cannons. Since the AI’s have violated every agreement they ever made by supporting a military struggle, many nations are supporting our actions. India is even going so far as to send military aid to the refugiados—fifty thousand cybernet tanks, and an orbital neutron cannon. Ah, I wish I were back in Chile!"

  I was stunned. No one had ever offered us military aid, except for a little bit from Australia, and they made you beg so much it almost wasn’t worth the trouble. "Do you think it’s true! Do you think the EUSS could fall in one day?"

  Abriara shook her head. "No. They’re already recovering. They’re drawing up new battle lines, retreating to Bolivia, Paraguay, Uruguay and Chile. People in some of those countries haven’t even stirred. They may be so far behind the lines that they don’t even know what’s going on. It will still take years to win everything back."

  "I would not be so sure," Perfecto said. "The socialists are being cut off from most of their heavy weaponry. If our forces gain control of some of those weapons, this war could be over in three months."

  Zavala and Mavro jacked out. Zavala began screaming, and jumped up and down, and ran out of the room with Abriara and Perfecto, heading downstairs to celebrate with friends. I told them I’d join them in a while. Mavro sat on his bed and smiled, and I just sat down on the floor.

  When the others were gone, Mavro said. "So, Angelo, the information from that socialist whore you brought with you was good, no?"

  "Sí, it was excellent information."

  "And to think, it all happened because I saved you at Sol Station!"

  "You are a good friend," I said. I wasn’t sure I meant it. I remembered how he’d spoken evilly of me behind my back, criticizing my battle skills. But he’d been drunk, so I tried not to hold his words against him.

  Mavro grinned and leaned his head back and stared at the ceiling. "In a couple of months Garzón will choose his captains. When he does, he will remember what we’ve done. I would not be surprised if you and I both were made captains."

  I remembered the green rolling hills of Panamá, the way the sun set over the lake behind my little house in Gatún while the big ships sailed across the lake to port in Colón and Panamá City. I thought of the way the flocks of blue and green canaries played in the bushes in my back yard. I’d left all that behind, and suddenly it hit me that I’d left it behind for nothing. I could have taken Tamara to the rebel soldiers in the forests south of Colón, and she could have given them her information. The results would have been the same. The socialists on our borders would have been repelled, and I could have lived in Panamá forever, a free man, with no threats hanging over me—if I’d only let Arish live. I should have let Arish live, taken Tamara to safety, and just gone home.

  Yet the idea of doing this had never struck me before. Once again, the fact that I’d acted so irrationally hinted that I was insane. Or could I just be stupid, I wondered. When I was a young man, every two or three weeks I’d notice how stupid I’d been at that same time a year before. But now that I’d reached 59, I no longer looked back with amazement to realize how stupid I’d been at age 58.

  Perhaps it was time to begin doing that again.

  More than anything, I yearned to be in Panamá. But even if I managed to return after battling the Yabajin on Baker, I’d have spent 45 years Earth-time in travel. The Panamá I left wouldn’t be the same. Even though I felt a sweet sense of victory because of what was happening, the victory was irrelevant to me. I’d never benefit from it. It could just as well have been happening on some tiny planet I’d never heard of.

  Mavro said, "That socialist woman, she must have had some strong information. She must have been in the highest echelons of their government. Remember when Garzón was questioning you and he got excited about her and asked what she did in Intelligence? He said he knew the socialists had ‘someone with her talent’?"

  "I remember," I said.

  "What did he mean—‘Someone with her talent’? I could tell by the look in his eye that he had discovered her job in Intelligence, but I do not know what he meant."

  I pondered. "I have no idea. I don’t think it is something Garzón is willing to discuss." Somewhere, I knew, Tamara was now awake. I wondered how well she was recovering, how complete her memories were. I wondered if she’d remember me, and if she’d know what I’d sacrificed for her. For a moment I felt content, free of the desire to seek her out, and I wished her well.

  But when I tried to consciously break my tie with her, I suddenly felt as if a great dark bird unfurled its wings above my head, filling me with overwhelming dread as it readied to strike.

  Chapter 13

  That morning we passed Pluto’s orbit and exited the solar system. The Japanese kept us on standby while the ship made course adjustments, ejecting the huge pulse rocket that accounted for most of the ship’s mass, and then extending the fins for the ship’s ram scoops. The way the Japanese had dramatized the event, I’d have thought it would be some big thing, but I only felt slightly queasy for a second, as if I were in an elevator and it had stopped at the top floor, then a lurch as the ship’s gravity increased from 1.35 to its full 1.45 G’s.

  Our bodies hadn’t yet adjusted to the force of the new acceleration speed. It was not the crushing weight one would feel at four or five gravities, where air is tugged from your lungs while blood pools at your feet and your bones groan as if they’ll splinter if you make a false move. It was a steady pull, a feeling of sinking slowly into the floor, a heaviness that seemed unbearable because it steadily increased. My muscles had tightened and my excess fat was falling away. Yet I felt tired. Worn and frail. We tried to convince the samurai to give us a day off so we could celebrate. But the samurai were not concerned with the small victories our friends gained in South America.

  While we put on armor, I kept expecting Abriara to give us some encouragement, but all she said was, "I hope you’re all prepared for another joy ride through hell."

  Mavro suited-up with his usual grim smile, and Zavala’s eyes glittered like those of a nervous madman. An air of depression hung over our little group. We put on armor, took our places on the model hovercraft, then Kaigo jacked us in:

  Scenario 66: Deep Patrol

  The message on my monitor gave me hope, something I had not felt for days. If we had graduated from the Mid-patrol scenarios, it meant we’d see new territory. It might also mean we were getting better and had graduated to a higher level in spite of the fact that we’d lost every battle.

  The scenario opened on the cruelest desert we’d seen on Baker, a flat plain of cracked soil as hard as concrete that stretched as far as the eye could see. No plants. Not even a rock. Only the shimmering heat of the desert gave any reprieve—in the distance the cracked soil turned into imaginary lakes. We shot along the plain at top speed and the hovercraft didn’t rattle. We may as well have floated over a paved road.

  We spotted the Yabajin to the east at ten kilometers, the sun gleaming on their metal hovercraft. It was to be a duel on the open plain—a test of our basic battle skills—an unpromising scenario. Abriara held course straight south and the Yabajin moved to intercept us. It was a wasted gesture—the best they could hope for was to close up a kilometer or two, and that was all they did. We spent over an hour running, cheating them of a quick victory, and everyone’s moods lig
htened a little, enough so that Mavro began to tell a few jokes. But then we came to a marvelous canyon.

  It was as if the world fell away. Painted mountains in shades of red, yellow and white stone hovered in the hazy distance seven kilometers below us, and wind-sculpted chimneys of rock rose up nearby. It was as if the fiery crust of Baker had cracked apart, leaving nothing but blasted stone behind. I’d seen the Grand Canyon back on Earth, but it was just a furrow in the dust compared to this. We couldn’t discern the far rim—only pale violet sky and billowy clouds in the distance.

  At first the immense canyon appeared impassable, but directly below us one could see that the earth didn’t just drop away: There were many slopes and fault lines in the rock, and these were worn smooth with age. If we took the right route, the lucky route, we could make our way to the canyon floor.

  Abriara said, "I vote that we go down." The Yabajin were closing in behind us, and I wondered quickly if it would be a wise move, but Abriara continued, "And since I’m driving, mine is the only vote that counts," and she drove off the cliff.

  We spent the next five minutes in a barely controlled fall, sliding down a 40-degree slope, constantly gaining momentum, with a cliff to one side and a rock wall on the other. I threw my gun down, hooked my feet under my chair, and clutched the hovercraft’s handrail.

  Perfecto chuckled nervously. "Did I ever tell you I was afraid of heights?"

  Mavro said, "This is not so bad. You won’t even feel it when you hit bottom."

  Abriara was torn between the desire to run from the Yabajin and the desire to get down the cliff safely. She traveled fast, too fast. We came to a switchback and almost flew over the cliff. Perfecto moaned and grasped the handles on his turret so hard he accidently fired a round into the rock above us, sending shards of gravel to fall on our heads. Because the hovercraft travels on a cushion of air, it is difficult to make tight corners. We made the corner and saw that before us our road ended in a sheer ledge. Abriara hit the forward thrusters and slammed us into full reverse, but at so steep an angle of descent the engines just groaned and the hovercraft kept sliding down. I bailed out over the side along with Zavala. Perfecto was at the forward turret and didn’t have time to jump, and Abriara wasn’t able to get out of the driver’s seat. Mavro didn’t seem to care.

  They roared over the cliff and dropped away. Perfecto screamed, "Agh! Agh! Agh!" through his head mike as if he were choking.

  But Mavro just said, "Ah, this isn’t so bad."

  I shouted, "Goodbye, my friends." Then they crunched as they hit a cliff below us. I ran to look down where they’d fallen.

  The hovercraft rolled several times down a hill and came to a rest in a narrow defile. If it had rolled twice more it could have dropped over the next cliff. Even the first drop was a long way down.

  Zavala started laughing, and I thought about Mavro’s last words and laughed with him. Zavala laid down on the rock and kept it up for several minutes, holding his stomach and rolling around.

  When he was able to sit up he said, "Angelo, where is your gun?"

  "I left it in the hovercraft."

  He held up his rifle. The barrel was bent, which meant its internal mirrors would not be aligned. It couldn’t be used as a weapon. "I fell on mine," he said. "How long do you think we’d last if we attacked the Yabajin bare-handed?"

  "We might be able to prolong the battle out to three seconds," I said.

  Zavala laughed. "Sí. I think so too. How do you want to die—fry or fall?" he asked, then he ran two paces and swan-dived over the cliff. He made a tiny cracking sound when he landed.

  "Let me think about it," I said to no one in particular.

  I still had a good ten minutes until the Yabajin descended the trail—plenty of time to come up with a plan. Actually, the more I considered it, the less likely it seemed that I needed a plan. If the Yabajin matched our velocity they’d just go flying over the same cliff. Maybe I’d even be lucky and none of them would jump out in time. All I really needed to do was to hide in a crevice somewhere up the trail till they passed.

  I climbed back up the trail, looking for a good place to hide. But the rock wall was pretty smooth and left few convenient overhangs. None large enough to hide under. After five minutes I found a spot that could do in a pinch. It was just at the top of the switchback, where the Yabajin would be clinging to their handrails for their dear lives. It was a small vertical crevice, and I found that if I removed my chest plate I could squeeze in the crack. I wriggled in and scrunched down tight.

  I thought of Zavala. No one in our group had committed suicide before. Some of our more recent maneuvers could have fit into the category of maniacally reckless perhaps, but none were suicidal. Yet his move made sense. Burning is the most painful way I know of to die, and he’d chosen an easier route. Still, it seemed wrong to give up without a fight.

  I heard a roar up the trail and the Yabajin whizzed by on their hovercraft. As I’d anticipated, they were so preoccupied with negotiating the deadly curve they didn’t notice me. I turned up the volume on my outside mike and listened for the hovercraft’s engine. It roared suddenly as the Yabajin tried to reverse before flying off the cliff.

  Unfortunately, their efforts at braking succeeded. The engines quieted to a low rumble, which grew louder as the hovercraft returned.

  I stepped out of my crevice, deciding to face the inevitable. I didn’t have a weapon, so when the hovercraft appeared around the bend I just raised my hands to surrender.

  The hovercraft stopped and the Yabajin watched me suspiciously. I was well aware that we fought the same five Yabajin in the simulators in every battle. One of the laser gunners was a squat man Mavro had named "Piglet." In the same spirit we’d named the other laser gunner "Keg" because he had such a big chest. The aft turret man often leaned his head to the right, so we called him "Lazy Neck." These three hopped from the craft and approached.

  They were uncertain what to do, and they stood for a moment. Their red armor blended so perfectly with the red of the sandstone they almost seemed part of the landscape. Lazy Neck walked over and looked down on me and shook his head. I could hear him laughing and chattering with his companions over his head mike. I didn’t like his tone of voice, since he sounded as if he were making derogatory remarks about my sexual preferences. Keg strode on past me and checked the road up the hill, while Piglet leveled his gun at me. I suddenly remembered that for as long as we’d been in the simulators, no one had ever surrendered, and I got an uneasy feeling.

  When Keg returned he kicked the back of my legs so that I fell forward, then the three of them took turns kicking me in the ribs. I curled in a ball and covered my head.

  Lazy Neck removed his helmet and yelled in Spanish, "What is the matter with you, baca yakoo? Why don’t you fight?"

  "I don’t have a chance," I said.

  "You make chance!" he shouted.

  He flipped off the magnetic snaps on my helmet, arm and leg pieces, trying to strip me of my armor. I wrestled him for every piece, but he got mad and twisted my arm behind my back and applied pressure till I gave up. Then he undressed me anyway. "Lie flat!" he said.

  I lay on my back on a flat rock. Piglet field-stripped his laser rifle, opening the stalk to reset the timing on the burst regulator, turn down the power supply to the lasers, and disconnect the targeting computer. When he was done, he shot me experimentally on the inside of my thigh. A red weal bubbled up on my skin and fat crackled. I curled up to protect myself, but Piglet found other tender targets to fry—my back, underarms, toes. The quick killing burst of a laser seemed a soft way to die in comparison.

  I was only two meters from the ledge, and I tried crawling to it so I could throw myself over.

  Piglet took the opportunity to burn the crack of my buttocks and cook my ears, then Lazy Neck grabbed my feet and pulled me back.

  I screamed, and he forced the barrel into my mouth. I bit down, trying to keep him from shooting my tongue. My cheeks glowed momentaril
y; my teeth felt as if they burst into flame. Lazy Neck was standing between me and the ledge. I batted at his legs, pushing him aside, and crawled for the cliff. My fingers were burned black, so I crawled on my elbows and knees. Keg and Lazy Neck kicked at me, egging me on. Piglet had already fried off the nerve endings in my tender places, so when I made it to the ledge, they let me drop.

  For a moment the cool air soothed my wounds.

  I awoke hugging my knees in the corner of the battle room where I hid between two chest plates of battle armor. Abriara was whispering to me softly, saying "Come, Angelo, come get up. You can do it!" I was groggy and unbalanced. She helped me to my feet.

  Zavala knelt before Master Kaigo, and Kaigo paced back and forth while cursing him. "You shit-eating coward!" he said. "You dishonor your comrades by your presence! You throw your life away over a cliff when you could as easily die in battle? Who can understand this behavior? You shit eater! You dishonor the mother who bore you! Who can understand this?" Kaigo slapped Zavala on the side of the head, knocking him down, but there was no viciousness in the blow. Kaigo shook his head and looked at Zavala. "Who can understand this?" and because Kaigo honestly didn’t understand, he admonished, "Don’t do that again, right? You won’t do that again! You bring shame to me as your master. You bring shame to the company that hired you. You want to be a samurai, don’t you?"

  Zavala nodded.

  "Then you must serve Motoki and seek an honorable death in battle! What more could a samurai desire?"

  Kaigo shook his head and his ponytail swayed. He pointed at me, "And you! Did you hear them laughing at you? What is this thing you did with your hands?" He frowned and raised his hands in the air.

  "I was surrendering," I said. "I could not win the battle."

  Then Kaigo said the most important thing I ever learned about Baker: "On Baker, there is no surrender."