Rise & Shine

by Patrick Allington

  ‘It’s a lovely thought, but, nah, not today. Amazing to think, isn’t it, that he had so much trouble coming out, when the girl slipped out in seconds?’

  ‘You never actually see the amputation.’

  ‘Eh?’

  ‘In “The Battle of Bare Hills”: you never actually see the amputation. While it’s happening, you see the soldier’s face, the surgeon’s face. You hear the whir of the saw. You see that the surgeon drops the leg onto a tray, but you don’t actually see the leg. You hear it, oh my God do you hear it. You see the —’

  ‘Somehow that makes it even more unpleasant.’

  ‘But my point is, you don’t actually see the actual cut —’

  ‘I’m not feeling all that well, to be honest. I might need my get my tumour checked.’

  ‘Imma from the office claims that it never really happened.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘The amputation in “The Battle of Bare Hills”. She says that poor man who got run over by the tank has both his legs to this very day. She says she’s seen him, walking around in plain daylight on his own two feet. She says there are people who believe for a fact that none of it’s real. That’s the way she puts it: “there are people”. She’s careful not to suggest that she doesn’t believe it herself.’

  ‘All that blood and still she doesn’t believe what her own eyes tell her. It’s no wonder she’s so thin.’

  ‘She’s got a tumour on her hip. It sticks out. Stretches her clothes something awful, she says.’

  ‘Ew. Why doesn’t she just get it removed?’

  ‘In fairness, she exercises a lot. Some days, she does weights at the same time that she watches war footage. She swears by the combo.’

  ‘If the war wasn’t real, none of us would care. That’s basic biology, right? Right? If none of us cared, we’d all be dead. I mean, what on earth is she talking about?’

  ‘All right, love. I said I agree with you. No need to yell at me about it. Take a deep breath. Take another. And another. Good … Look, well, let’s just say Imma’s got a lot of funny ideas. I like her. She’s the life of the party … not that I can remember the last time we went to a party.’

  ‘That one we watched today: what was it called again?’

  ‘“The Battle of Sergeant Sala”. Evocative title, don’t you think? Good of them to name it after that poor, poor girl. It’s only right.’

  ‘In that one, you can smell the blood. That’s my point. You can literally smell it. There’s no way they can fake that.’

  ‘Can we watch “The Battle of Bare Hills” for dinner? Skip the live feed?’

  ‘Well … it’s not my absolute favourite.’

  ‘I know, love. But the children love eating vintage.’

  ‘What about I watch the live feed, and then we all watch “Bare Hills” as a family?’

  ‘Perfect,’ Geraldina said. ‘Now, I’d better get ready for work.’

  She patted Flake on the shoulder as she left the dining room. He stayed where he was, waiting to make sure she wasn’t coming back, and then put his wearable close to his mouth.

  ‘Buy “The Battle of Sergeant Sala”,’ he whispered. ‘And play it again. Private viewing. On mute.’

  The image of Sergeant Sala appeared just past the tip of Flake’s nose. Flake’s eyes widened. The safety catch on his mouth snapped and his tongue hung free for a moment before he pulled himself back into line.

  ‘Go closer,’ he murmured urgently. ‘Come on, closer. Closer. Closer, dammit.’

  The image became an extreme close-up of Sala’s face, eventually focusing on a single pore. But the pixels merged; the close-up wouldn’t quite focus.

  ‘Where are you, dear?’ Geraldina called.

  ‘Off. Turn off,’ Flake whispered fiercely.

  The image disappeared just as Geraldina entered the dining room.

  ‘There you are. I’m off to work. The kids are in the playroom. Take it easy today, won’t you? You’ve been working too hard. You need some rest.’

  Flake nodded, fighting to control his breathing. Geraldina left with a wave.

  ‘Wrong. Very, very wrong,’ Flake muttered to himself. Whatever disrespect Geraldina’s friend Imma was showing towards the war — towards Walker, towards the feat of survival — Flake knew that his own transgression was far worse. What an awful way to treat a hero. He had no idea what was wrong with him. Perhaps, he hoped, it was just a tumour in his head, leaning on the wrong spot of his brain.

  ‘Play it again,’ he whispered to his wearable.

  ***

  ‘Is she here yet?’ Walker asked Hail. A few days had passed since the premiere of ‘The Battle of Sergeant Sala’. Long enough for the people of Rise to feast. Long enough for the critics to rave. And long enough for Sala to be summonsed from the front line, where for weeks she’d been recuperating from her injuries and then idling while waiting for the premiere of the footage. At last, she’d had the call: a personal meeting with Walker.

  ‘Yeah, she’s already in the waiting room,’ Hail said. ‘We were due to start fifteen minutes ago.’

  ‘Okay, let’s do it.’

  ‘Let her down gently, won’t you?’

  ‘Don’t I always?’

  ‘Holland says she’s not happy about it. Not happy at all.’

  They left Walker’s private quarters and made their way along a long corridor until they came to the words ‘Reception Room’ painted onto the floor. They stood on the sign, which descended into a room. They stepped off and the sign rose again to the ceiling. Walker positioned himself between two Rise flags.

  Hail opened a door. ‘Walker will see you now,’ he said.

  ‘How many times do I have to remind you?’ Walker whispered. ‘It’s “Walker will meet with you now”: “meet with you”, “meet with you”, “meet with you”.’

  Sergeant Sala entered. She marched across the room, stiff-armed, and stood to attention in front of Walker. She met and held his gaze, feeling nervous in his presence and yet sure of herself. She wasn’t happy, but she was ready.

  ‘Thank you for coming, Sergeant Sala,’ Walker said. ‘It can’t have been easy, these last weeks. The wound. The recovery. Waiting for the footage to debut. It can’t be easy still, adjusting to a new life.’

  ‘Thank you for inviting me, SIR. But I wasn’t aware that I had much choice but to be here,’ Sala said.

  ‘Easy there, soldier,’ Hail said.

  ‘Fair enough,’ Walker said. ‘Congratulations, then, on understanding the reality of your situation. I wanted to thank you personally for your sacrifice. The citizens of Rise owe you so much. I, personally … Is something the matter, Sergeant Sala?’

  ‘I’m sorry, sir, but can I ask you, what’s with the flags?’

  In truth, Walker wasn’t a fan of flags. He was old enough to remember the way bigots wielded them like semi-automatics in the last years of the Old Time. And yet, in the earliest days of Rise, something had compelled him to use them for formal occasions. Perhaps, he had to admit, his motives were base: a little whipping up of mild parochialism was a distasteful necessity. But he liked to think that the flag of Rise, featuring a stylised cityscape nestled within its domefield, gentle red rain falling, meant nothing more than ‘it is good that we still exist’.

  ‘You don’t like them?’ he asked Sala.

  ‘Frankly, they offend me,’ Sala said.

  ‘Now, look here —’ Hail started, but Walker held up his hand.

  ‘Excellent,’ he murmured, mostly to himself. Without turning, he pushed the poles over, leaving the flags prostrate.

  ‘Sergeant Sala: I, personally, owe you so much,’ Walker continued, ignoring the shock on Hail’s face. ‘On Commander Holland’s recommendation, I have read your file several times over the years. I’ve written the odd comment in it myself. I’ve watched
many hours of unedited footage of you. In short, I’ve followed your progress closely.’

  ‘Makes you sound like a bit of a pervert, sir.’ Sala peered hard at him. Up close, she thought, he was shiny. Suspiciously so: was he wearing a mask?

  ‘Sergeant Sala, stand to attention,’ Hail said. ‘You really are too much.’

  ‘It’s fine: at ease, at ease,’ Walker said. He smiled a wide smile that hurt his face. ‘I didn’t expect you to last this long, given the spirited way you fight.’

  ‘Sorry to disappoint you, SIR.’

  ‘You misunderstand me. On purpose, I can see.’

  ‘I’m not just a pretty face, eh?’

  Walker allowed himself another smile, but he could feel the dizziness start to impose itself. He fought for balance, as best he could.

  ‘You could always simply accept my compliment,’ he said, ‘which is heartfelt and richly deserved.’

  ‘Is that an order, SIR? That I accept your compliment?’

  Mostly, Sala wanted to make Hail fret, since he seemed so prone to it. But there was no unsettling Walker, she could see. He was entirely unfussed by her poking and prodding. In fact, he seemed to be enjoying it. And yet something was wrong with him. She could sense it.

  ‘It’s not an order,’ Walker said. ‘Merely a request that you accept the truth: you have been an unusually fine and effective and committed soldier. Not just during your final glorious act, but throughout your career. You have been a magnificent servant of the people of Rise — and of Shine, for that matter. And you have my word that you will get all the personal and professional support you need, now and into the future. You are a hero to the people. Your sacrifice will help feed us for years. I hope that you will find a way to feel proud every mealtime, and that you allow yourself to take pleasure in your conduct.’

  ‘Don’t misunderstand me, sir: it’s the great honour of my life to serve the people. And it’s really quite nice to meet you.’

  ‘Even if you didn’t have a choice, eh?’

  ‘I had a choice to serve or not. I had a choice how to serve. But now, in my moment of glory — that’s what you just called it, right? — I have no choices. Except to speak my mind.’

  Walker stepped forward so that he was very close to Sala’s face, and examined it in forensic detail. She inhaled and exhaled through her nose because she didn’t want to breathe on him. But her damaged, half-closed nostril hissed, and the scar tissue throbbed. And while he inspected her, she saw right through his face powder to the wounds beneath. Shit, she thought.

  ‘You understand what must happen now?’ Walker said.

  ‘I do, sir, but … Yes, I understand. But I want to ask: is there any way, any way at all, that I could stay in my battalion? I love the trenches. I am at peace fighting. I know the rules, but I’ve thought about this a lot, and I’m certain that I could —’

  ‘Sergeant Sala, I’ll say it again: come to attention,’ Hail said.

  ‘Ease up there. It’s been a big month,’ Walker said to Hail. But to Sala he said, ‘What you ask is impossible, and you know it. Haven’t you looked in the mirror lately? Your legacy will endure, but your work in the trenches is at an end. You’re immortal, but you’re done. Okay,’ he said to Hail, ‘let’s do this.’

  Walker and Hail stood erect and formal, and Sergeant Sala, after considering her options — she had none — followed their lead. Hail read from a document that appeared on a personal autoscreen before his eyes:

  ‘Sergeant Sala, you are hereby honourably discharged from the 4th Armoured Battalion after seven years, eight months, and twenty-five days of service, including six years, nine months, and three days of active combat service. You are released on full pay for thirty years, and four-fifths pay thereafter, index-linked, with free medical treatment, including for all existing and new tumours, until you die. You are released from your obligations with the people of Rise’s grateful thanks.’

  ‘And with my personal best wishes for whatever civilian life holds in store for you,’ Walker added. ‘Is there anything further you wish to say?’

  ‘Please understand me: I don’t care about my face. Really, I don’t. But I will mourn my lost calling for the rest of my life.’

  ‘I understand. But you’ve done all you can do.’

  ‘This way, please,’ Hail said, taking Sala’s elbow. She glanced over her shoulder as she left. She and Walker shared a nod, almost of equals. These days, Walker rarely met another human being who didn’t bow and scrape. He would have jumped and cheered, if only he’d had the energy.

  Hail returned, patting his tummy contentedly. ‘Well?’ he asked. ‘Did you feel anything then? Seeing her up close must have done it for you.’

  Walker shook his head. ‘No, nothing,’ he said. But he continued to ponder ex-Sergeant Sala. He knew the best of the best. He could sniff them out. Sala was too skilled, too self-possessed, too smart, too brave to disappear into retirement, aged twenty-something.

  Hail, meantime, had more pressing matters on his mind. It was his job — increasingly, he thought, it seemed to be his only job — to try to get Walker to eat something. Anything.

  ‘We need to move on to Plan B. I repeat: commence Plan B,’ Hail said into his wearable. ‘You won’t be able to resist this, boss. Not a chance in the world.’

  ‘Oh, the world,’ Walker murmured. ‘Remember the world?’

  The doors opened to admit a grinning, slobbering dog. It staggered into the room, led by a handler, shackled by a plastic rope and noose. Mid-sized, with random sweeps of brown, black, and white hair, the creature moved on four legs of different shapes and lengths. In place of a tail, it had a wagging fifth leg, which may or may not have doubled as a penis. It struggled to walk, stumbling constantly on its gnarled nails. The handler handed the lead to Hail and left the room.

  ‘First dog I’ve seen in …’ Walker said.

  ‘Thirty-four years, give or take,’ Hail said, doing the maths for him. ‘Say hello to Fred.’

  ‘Is it real? Is it safe? Where the hell did you get it?’

  ‘I picked it up out beyond the badlands. I —’

  ‘What were you doing out there? I’ve asked you — I’ve pleaded with you, for Chrissakes I’ve ordered you — to stay away from the outlying sectors.’

  ‘What’s the problem? Cleave’s always sending people out there these days. Think of it as the outer suburbs of Rise.’

  ‘Cleave doesn’t give those people a thought. It wouldn’t occur to her. Curtin makes sure they’re safe.’

  ‘But they go. That’s the point. They go.’

  ‘They’re highly trained. Scientists in suits, with oxygen tanks, taking precautions before, during, and after. They submit to full-body cleans. They’re willing to put up with extra tumours. They aren’t forever walking into walls.’

  ‘Oh, be fair: I only did that once. Weeks ago. And I’d been watching battle-scene edits for ten hours straight. Anyway, what makes you think I found Fred myself?’

  ‘Because you’re the worst micromanager I’ve ever met.’

  ‘Surely you mean the best?’

  ‘Surely you jest?’

  ‘Well, look, I only go out there because I care about you. I worry about you. And I can’t exactly tell these experts of yours what I’m looking for and why, now can I? Besides, the purple sunsets out there are incredible. You should come out with me for a look sometime. Really.’

  ‘And if you go and grow a second head, or an arm spontaneously appears out of your arse, or a tumour twice your body weight erupts in your armpit, how the hell will I explain that to the media? There’s no escaping the rain out there. Seriously: I hope you are taking proper precautions. Don’t go getting complacent about survival.’

  In truth, Walker knew that Hail didn’t only go to the badlands to try to scavenge food for him. He knew that Hail had always felt trapped
by the confines of Rise, and especially by being stuck day after day in Walker Compound. Hail missed the great expanse of the world, now off limits, as if it weren’t there at all. In the Old Time, Hail would have chucked a backpack in the back of a brick of a car and followed his nose out beyond mountain ranges and deserts.

  Walker peered at the dog. ‘Have you had that thing checked for diseases? What’s its radiation count?’

  ‘Fully approved by Cleave and by the good doc. Let’s just say we can be confident that Fred is a hell of a lot healthier than you.’

  ‘So it might last the week, then?’

  ‘Okay, watch this: sit, Fred. Good boy. C’mon, sit. Sit, boy. Sit, Fred. You can do it, Fred. Go on, Fred.’

  The dog did its best to sit, but it couldn’t quite work out how to make its limbs behave. It seemed as if its every breath were designed to make it collapse in on itself. Hail grinned on. Walker watched reluctantly, dismayed and yet unmoved. Not for the first time that week, he asked himself if he were still human. The dog tried again, managing a crouch.

  ‘Jeez, how long have you had it?’ Walker asked. ‘How did you train it?’

  ‘We have our methods. Don’t think about it. Enjoy the show.’

  With a whimper, the dog leapt into the air, performed a midair flip, and landed with a heavy thump on its side. It lay on the floor, panting, wagging its tail that was actually a leg. Hail stared intently at Walker, who ran his tongue around his teeth.

  ‘Anything?’ Hail said.

  ‘Something. Not much. But something …’

  ‘Do you need it to do it again? Take two, Fred. Up, Fred, up.’

  ‘No no no. That’ll get me through the day. Maybe. Probably. Let’s get on with things. But help the dog up first. It’s unbearable.’

  ‘Are you kidding?’ Hail said. ‘No way I’m touching that thing.’

  ***

  Grainy — thirty-one years old, a child of the chaotic early years of the New Time — still wasn’t feeling well. It had been like this for weeks. At first, he hadn’t thought much of it. Yes, both of his parents had died at about his age. But they’d had that wasting disease that had finished off some of the Old Time people in the early days of Rise. Once you had it, there was no getting rid of it: regrettable but inevitable, the official line went. And fair enough, Grainy thought. The New Time doctors weren’t responsible for Old Time failings. It was just as well he thought that way, because right now he was sitting in a doctor’s waiting room, pretending not to be nervous.