The man stood there for a moment, the loud conversations all around the room seemingly mellowed for those few seconds. Miles took his humiliation with him and let Neeson be. With his head down and defeated, and Jacob returning to his pillow, the party picked up momentum again.
***
“Oh, it is a blessed Friday morning, boys and girls!” the drill sergeant announced in the early morning chill. “Today, many of you will be able to return home for the weekend to visit your mommies and daddies. Those of you who retain that privilege, anyway. Today, we will be running a training exercise similar to the one we did two days ago but with a different ball. Rules stay the same.”
Sgt. Huntman once more walked between the two lines. Though he faced neither directly, instead looking up at the trees all around them, he knew both were listening closely to what he said. Jacob absorbed every word, but his eyes were locked onto the scared little man in front of him.
He was definitely much older than himself, exemplified by his receding white hair and sagging eyes, his teeth a pale yellow. Neeson could not gander at his eyes, for the man had them sealed shut, his lips moving as if he were speaking to Jacob. But he heard no voice. The pathetic bastard is calling out to his deity in a caprice, he realized. Perhaps he’s begging that a white dove be sent down from the clouded sky glowing with a golden aura to our amazement.
That row of men and women, varying of age, sex and ethnicity just as much as their own line, had that unsightly orange uniform on, if one could call it a uniform. With them on, none of them looked different from the other. Jacob noted all of this.
“Before we proceed, it is important for you all to know that these piles of shit standing before you now are filth of a different brand. They are rapists, child molesters, hopeless dope-heads, and the mentally unstable. Hell, what’s the difference?” The response to Huntman’s supposed joke was a customary calm. If a joke at all, he was merely relaying facts. “Also here are would-be gang members, harbingers of traitors, and even a few deluxe homeless. These people are the social waste of our society. You have been taught this since you were enrolled in the Academy in your training pants and knew this day would come. These people forsake everything you and I hold sacred! That is not tolerable! Now raise your rifles!!”
With machine efficiency and timing they did so in a millisecond.
“Fire!!”
The soldiers did as commanded, and once more bullets raced through skull and brain matter. The old man did not give Jacob the satisfaction of opening his eyes for the executioner, leaving the man admittedly disenchanted. Coward.
However, one prisoner still stood, and immediately everyone turned their eyes not to the scumbag but to the soldier parallel to the target. The sergeant was on him so fast the others couldn’t rightly say they’d seen him move.
“What the flying fuck are you doing?! Is your weapon jammed?!” he yelled into the trainee’s face. Miles trembled like a young tree in a fierce wind.
“No, sir, weapon is fully functional. The private must report that he cannot do it.”
“You can’t? What do you mean you can’t?!”
Huntman delivered a hard forehand across the trainee’s cheek, turning his pale skin crimson. The thwack resonated through the air like ripples in a pond.
“I, I can’t sir. I’ve been—I just can’t, sir.”
The other soldiers looked on with not so much as a twitch in their expressions.
“Well, that’s lovely. That’s fan-fucking-tastic, in fact. We’re gonna have to revoke your mail privileges. Congratulations, son.” Huntman ripped the weapon out of his hands. “You just bought yourself a ticket to the Des Moines Corrective Center. Empty your locker, leave the gear. Sergeant Lee!”
The man usually in charge of prisoner detail stepped forward immediately.
“Yes, sir!”
“See to it that this pathetic piece of shit doesn’t get lost on the way back to his bunk.”
“Sir, yes, sir!”
The two were off now with Miles jogging toward the dormitory with Lee following alongside and yelling into his ear at point-blank range. Huntman instantly looked at the leftover prisoner as if it were deli meat that had failed to sell.
“Damn it all, that lousy chicken shit is gonna ruin my perfect monthly report, damn it! Private Neeson!”
Only then did Jacob turn in the direction of the ruckus.
“Yes, sir?”
“Would you please demonstrate proper weapons firing?”
Jacob, without a second’s pause, walked over to Miles’ place in the line and raised his M4. The target was a fragile-looking preteen, a girl with brunette hair and wondrous blue eyes. Her young face was rounded, her skin riddled with sores, though there was limited healing since the apparent incarceration. These, however, were brief observations.
Jacob only focused on the eyes. Inside, his heart was filled with glee but his hands remained steady. Not today He comes, not ever. Not a second later her head kicked back, her rapid breathing halted, and she fell over dead.
“And Godspeed to that poor, poor soul”, the sergeant announced loudly. “Someone like her, all these cretins, probably have the rationale they could do whatever they pleased and if they turned to their big man in the sky in their last few remaining hours all would be forgiven.
“Let me reiterate something: we have the right to take life as servants of the State. We are also preservers of this great land, and in so doing it must be kept clean. It doesn’t matter what you see in those eyes before it ends. They had their chance and disobeyed the laws we all must abide by. If you confuse religion with morality, take them as one and the same, you’re about as concrete in your beliefs as that fucking fantasy book!”
“Sir, yes, sir!!”
The soldiers registered the dose of what they all understood to be the basics. Huntman eyed his line again, refusing to pause at the now empty slot.
“That was a clear-cut example of a do and a dammed don’t. We had the chicken shit, Miles, and we have the admirable Neeson, who in all likelihood will be able to make sergeant very quickly if he plays his cards right.”
“Thank you, sir!” Jacob acknowledged in a yell.
***
From afar, the Administrative Center was a structure resembling an eloquent, yet nostalgic, piece of Roman architecture. Compared to the greenery surrounding it, the pallid building seemed almost outlandish. Still, it rose above the trees in its wake. Watching through an office window was Dr. Robert Neeson. Seated on the corner of his desk eating an apple was Halsey. His face was apathetic.
“Your boy is impressive, Robert. The squad really looks up to him.”
“I know, I know,” the doctor said as his mind drifted elsewhere. He remained standing at the smear-free window overlooking the trees. It provided a strangely fantastic view. The next line of soldiers and prisoners were approaching what the cadets had affectionately dubbed the “Skid Row Alley Cleanser.” Today, Jacob would be visiting his father, but this was still his home.
“Soon, my son will be a full-fledged officer.”
“Look at it this way,” Halsey said as he threw what little was left of his lunchbreak into the receptacle, “at the very least he won’t take part in the war, this ‘Great Expansion’ as we’re calling it. Venloran boasts it’ll end before the New Year. From what we’ve seen on the news, I wouldn’t doubt it.”
Halsey’s service record assured that his return to his country would still be fairly lavish. He was one of the highest-ranking personnel at this training facility and yet he’d been here less than six months. Still, the man looked on it all rather passively.
“Thank you, my friend, but I’m afraid the way events are unfolding, what will it really matter if he goes to war or not?”
“Well, tipping the boat is a good way to get in the shitter. I consider myself lucky so far.”
“A man behind his desk naturally has no worries.”
Playing to the insult like a fish on a rod, Halsey planted hi
s feet on the floor. Neeson faced him as the man finally stood.
“Well, aren’t you distinguished, Doctor?”
“My boy, I’ve seen my share of blood. Their mother, my wife, died working in the field.”
Halsey felt the need to pause, knowing when he’d crossed the line.
“Forgive me, Robert. Perhaps I am getting too comfortable here.”
“It’s all right, but I must let you know the day is drawing near. For me, the time of being idle is over, friend.”
Neeson placed one hand in his pocket, holding onto something he let no one see.
“Are you sure you want to go through with it?”
“My children need to see that all I told them about years ago is not dead. If I back out now, I won’t be disappointing just myself but others I’ve made an obligation to.”
“Destroying all you’ve built as well, Robert, remember that.” Halsey found a spirited smile on his face. “I’m behind you all the way.”
Neeson returned his gaze to the trees.
“Do you know how old Jacob is, Joseph?”
Joseph? Halsey dropped his smile. He knew something was amiss. The doctor almost always called upon him by his rank, occasionally by his last name. Playing the cliché mutineer, Halsey had pretty much always referred to Neeson by his first name. Good old Neeson was a sport about it, though.
“Sixteen, Neeson. Why?”
“Gabby turned fourteen only a month ago. But she’s changing so fast. Every time I see her she’s got a different book. One thing I still can’t grasp, though, is her affinity for Descartes. I keep asking her, ‘What is it you find so interesting about him?’ According to her, his concepts are ‘perplexing.’”
“She’s taken on religion, has she?”
“Her ideas are vague, but there are little bubbles. I think she gets it from Emma. There goes a mystery in itself, you see: why my wife pursued God. We’d taken classes together at Cambridge, but she held onto it till the end. How she would’ve loved to see Jacob and Gabriella now.”
“Some people use it for hope. It keeps them going.”
Neeson chuckled.
“Yes, I’ve heard that many times.”
“Doesn’t hurt to look, right?”
“I suppose you’re right.”
Two diminutive birds flew back to their perch on a tree branch, huddling close to each other. With the impending winter, Neeson surmised they would need all the warmth their tiny bodies could acquire.
“I beseech you because my success, even if I get that far, might be limited. I may be digging my own grave and humans have the tendency to easily forget. I myself once made a promise that I did not fulfill. It tortures me. That’s why I must do this. If things get really bad—”
“I’ll take care of them, on my honor. I’d cast every possession of mine and then some into the fire for the punks.”
Neeson stood there with uneasiness.
“I know I have no right to place such a burden on you.”
“Robert, without your bullshit I’d go insane. If you really do leave us, the next best thing will be your children.”
Chapter 2 - Condolences
October 6, 2065- Birmingham, Alabama
Nathaniel turned over in the large bed, its warm comforters and heavenly pillows now inadequate. He watched as Aliss sat up from his slumber, now sitting on the edge of their mattress. The lamp in the room slowly turned on, though it remained dim. Nathaniel marveled at the muscular physique of his beloved in the newfound light.
“You know you could still be sleeping,” Aliss said as he ran a hand through his blond hair.
“I know, Aliss, I know. I have to get up in two hours anyway for work, so don’t worry about me.”
“In that case, I should make you some coffee. Hazelnut or Vanilla?”
“Hazelnut.”
Aliss stood up now, getting ready to head for the shower. Upon turning back to face Nathaniel, he was met with sad eyes. Damn it to hell. Aliss looked away, heading toward the elegant bathroom. As the tall blond man searched the drawer for toothpaste and his toothbrush, he still felt those eyes glaring at him.
“What is it, Nate?”
Aliss had known this was coming. He’d been hoping to avoid this by leaving slightly early, but it hadn’t worked. Nathaniel peered down at the velvet blanket, his dark curly hair hiding his eyes. The thin man was far less sculpted than Aliss and he spoke with a soft voice.
“Still no word on when you’ll be back?”
The tall man relented. He walked back over to the bed, sitting close to his husband. Their hands touched, and their eyes met once more.
“I think we both know I’ll be on duty till that coward shows his face. The second I put him down, I’ll be on the first flight back to Birmingham.”
Aliss saw that smile he cherished, and the two shared a kiss.
“You’d better, Head Commander,” Nathaniel said. He used his thin fingers to move some of Aliss’ hair into the comb-over he loved so much.
On the wall next to their bed was a picture of Aliss, but fully donned in his military uniform. He was posing with a peace sign in the famous Cretins Corners from the Museum of Revolution in Cuba. Behind him was the Reagan of yesteryear, but the painting had him depicted as a comical sheriff.
Silently as possible, the door to Andrew’s room was opened. The pair gazed at the sleeping boy as if he were a dream. With cautious footsteps, Aliss treaded over to him before kneeling at his bedside. Nathaniel stayed in the doorway in his robe, teary-eyed. Aliss planted a kiss on the child’s forehead. Though he stirred for a moment, he did not wake. The soldier felt his own eyes water now.
“So long, Andy.”
***
Chicago, Illinois
“All right, see you tomorrow. Thanks again,” said the young woman as she gathered up her purse and dinner, preparing to exit the car.
“No problem. You just get some rest,” advised the driver.
“I will. I promise,” she replied as she stepped out onto the sidewalk. “You have a good one.”
She shut the door, but the passenger window was still open. The driver took a sip of her coffee.
“Don’t give me that. You were kind of sloppy today.”
The woman merely nodded in response, the other driving off. She was at her apartment building at long last. She was still in her scrubs, exhausted, and holding a large bag of warm food. It would probably be her food for the next day or two. Recently, she hadn’t been in the cooking mood, not for a while. You’re just tired, that’s what she always blamed it on.
The cold air was enough to wake her even with her jacket on. Even with her modestly thin form and youth, the darkness under her eyes seemed to add on age. At the entry door, she fumbled for her keys before dropping them. The woman could only sigh just as a voice broke the night air.
“Need assistance, ma’am?”
She felt herself quiver at the sudden break of silence rather than the man’s entrance itself. She turned to see a decorated serviceman who tipped his military cap to her. Her eyes drifted down the street to see a black Chrysler under a tree, tinted windows and all. Down the steps of the stairs, on the sidewalk, two fully armed UNR soldiers stood at attention. The young man seemed gentle enough, though he did have a pistol holstered.
“It looks like a decent load,” he said warmly.
“Uh. Yes, thank you. You’re with the PSID?”
“Captain Howarth, Head Director of the Public Services and Inquiries Division at your service, ma’am.”
Howarth saw the confounded look on her face. Dawn was breaking, and the first peeks of sunlight struck her face. Despite her clear fatigue and troubled eyes, for a split second the captain was caught up in ogling at her. Go on, fool…
“Ms. Viramontes, you scheduled to meet with me at 6:30 a.m. today. I called you yesterday to confirm this.”
With that, the woman’s face changed from confusion to embarrassment.
“Shit, that’s right! I’m
so sorry. I had to stay a little longer than I expected.”
Howarth only put up a hand.
“No need to apologize. Working late nights is a job in itself.”
“You get used to it, though I sometimes make a poor showing.”
“Takes me three cups of coffee to make this miracle happen.”
The two of them laughed before she made way for him to pick up the keys. As they entered, the soldiers remained statues, staying posted on their exact spot on the sidewalk. Their ride up to the fourth floor was a pleasant one, chatting as they walked down the hall toward 4-10.
“The odd thing about getting home from work when everyone else is waking up is, sometimes you can’t even sleep,” Howarth said.
“I usually find a cold one helps with that,” she replied.
“Not a bad remedy, Ms. Viramontes.”
“Please, call me Alyssa.”
“Will do, ma’am.”
They entered her room, the captain setting the food down on her table without taking a seat and removing his black leather gloves, which revealed smooth hands that matched his caramel-toned face. He also removed his hat, under which was a taper fade haircut, but he did not remove his long black trench coat.
Alyssa began to unwrap what she supposed was her breakfast, an enormous steak-and-egg burrito. Howarth made his way around the small living room, noting the small knickknacks. On a slim table against a wall close to the door he spotted a few family photos, most noticeable one with a woman in the arms of a man. Interesting, but it can wait.
She saw the young man stop his stroll, having taken notice of Cassie. The little pyramid shaped object sat on the coffee table in front of her beaten couch. He knelt like a child inspecting a wounded bug.
“Is this the series seven P.E.C.?”
Alyssa sighed slightly.
“Sure is, but Cassie here is a piece of shit. Stupid virus knocked her out a week ago.”
“Something I hear quite often about the recent update, but I’m pretty sure it’s a problem with the software itself. May I take a look?”
“Would save me a trip to the blood suckers.”
Howarth’s hands were already at work on the toy-sized ruby-red device’s control panel.
The Chess Pieces Page 2