The Flowery War

by Tim Andersen

“Yeah,” she said, looking puzzled.

  She looked like she was about to say something else but sat down in her seat again, facing forward. After a minute, she turned around again and said, “how come I’ve never seen you visiting her?”

  “Uh,” I said, “should you have?”

  “I’ve been with your mom for a year now, and I’ve never seen you once,” she said. I had the feeling that she disapproved of this.

  “Oh, I’ve been away at school,” I said.

  “That’s no excuse,” she said. She paused. “You know I have a boy about your age.”

  “Does he come visit you at work?” I asked, a bit cheekily.

  “He’s stationed in New Sol at Sylvania,” she said, proudly.

  I went pale. “Oh, er,” I said and looked out the window.

  Lika kicked my leg and said, smiling, “Goshan’s a bit shy.”

  “Well---” She cut off and turned around as we slowed to a stop. “What’s this? Are we at the check point already Sergeant?”

  Out front we could see a roadblock, but nobody was guarding it. “Get out there, and take that down,” said Friedman.

  Duncan got out of the car and approached the block. He started to move it when he was hit by a disruptor blast from the trees. It was a chest shot, and his body armor took the punch. Plasma disruptors burned, they do not have the same force as a projectile, or he would have been knocked down. He whipped his own disruptor around and fired and almost instantly was enveloped in flames. He screamed and went down. His weapon had exploded.

  “God damn,” said Friedman. She grabbed a fire extinguisher from the glove compartment and made as if to get out of the vehicle to put him out, but another plasma shot hit her door. “Out that way now!” she said, pointing to the opposite door. “Take cover behind the vehicle.”

  We scrambled out of the car, and I dragged my backpack after me.

  Friedman checked her own disruptor. “Somebody’s tampered with this,” she yelled as more shots came. She threw it down and searched herself for some other weapon. All she came up with was a buck knife.

  I reached into the backpack and pulled out the handgun. I put it into her hand, and she gave me a wide-eyed stare for a moment but said nothing.

  The plasma shots had stopped and now I could see someone cautiously approaching wearing all black. The sunlight was failing, and it was hard to make out if it were even a man or a woman. Whoever it was seemed to think that we could offer no serious resistance because he or she was not bothering to take cover.

  When the person was within ten meters, just off the road, Friedman brought the handgun up and pointed. “Stop,” she shouted, “I’ve got you. Stop and lay down your weapon.”

  I heard a man’s voice say. “If you want to end up a human torch like him,” he said, pointing at Duncan, “by all means, fire.”

  “I’ve got other weapons,” she said.

  “You lie,” he said, sounding worried.

  “Try me,” she said.

  Suddenly, he brought his weapon up. She fired. The recoil was so powerful that it threw her backwards. The assailant had just started to hit the dirt, and the projectile missed his head by a hair. It hit a tree behind him instead, and it exploded, showering burning pitch and wood shards over us all. Some of it hit and stuck to the man. He screamed and, scrambling to his feet, ran back into the woods, still on fire.

  Friedman ran to the edge of woods, but he was gone. Then she ran over to Duncan who had stopped burning. One look at his face, and I started to wretch. It had been burned beyond recognition. Somehow, though, he was still breathing. His body armor had protected his vital organs from the fire, but he was bleeding and would not last long without treatment.

  Friedman pulled out her comm and called for him to be evacuated and for re-enforcements. After about two minutes, I heard the whine of a scramjet. A huge medical jet had stopped overhead, hovering on its four rotating engines. It landed in the roadway and paramedics came, scooped up Duncan, and carried him into its cavernous bay. I was surprised when Friedman did not go with him, but she said, “he’ll be alright. I still have a job to do.”

  On the heels of the medjet, came another, sleeker jet. Several heavily armed guards came out, and Friedman ordered them to search the area for the man who had attacked us. Then she ordered Lika and me into the jet, which took off vertically and then accelerated.

  “Where are we going?” I asked.

  “Same place as before,” said Friedman. She looked deeply worried. Then she looked at the gun and scowled. “What are you doing with this, boy?” she said, holding it up.

  “Some of your people gave it to him earlier,” said Lika before I could answer. “He forgot to give it back.”

  She shook her head. “Not my people. No guard unit would carry something like this. I’ve never even seen anything like it. It looks like something from Special Forces.”

  “Oh, er,” I said, feeling like I was about to be trapped. On the one hand, I did not want Lika to know that I had been talking to Trexel; on the other, I did not want to be arrested for possession of whatever bizarre weapon Trexel had given me. “Uh, maybe it was Special Forces who rescued me?” I suggested.

  “Special Forces,” said Friedman. “They rescued you from where?”

  “The, um, Lincoln Memorial,” I said, my throat becoming dry.

  “Hmmm, and they gave you this and forgot to take it back?” she said. Then she shrugged, “if you weren’t the Minister’s own son, I’d say you were lying. But it’s out of my hands. I’ll have to report it.” She holstered the gun in her belt.

  I sat back while Friedman busied herself chatting in the cockpit. Lika said, “Goshan? Were you telling the truth about the gun?”

  I looked at her trying to think about what to say. It was irrational, I thought, lying about Trexel, but somehow I needed her to respect me, to trust me. My having the gun signaled that Trexel trusted me, and, if he trusted me, then Lika could not. I could not let her know.

  “Yes,” I said.

  She turned away, looking sad, and I wondered if I had not just lost what I had hoped to keep.

  The jet flew for only fifteen minutes, crossing over Long Island, and then landed in a field in Groton, Connecticut on the Thames River. We were hustled off the jet and put onto a car which took us to the Subbase. Submarines here were mostly used for scientific research since the necessity of having a submarine force had largely vanished with global government.

  As we walked along the pier, dark water lapping the shore, Friedman was keeping close to us. Four other soldiers had joined us too as we were marched out onto the pier. I huddled into my jacket as a cold wind blew off Block Island Sound.

  We boarded a small, dark blue submarine, the interior of which was a lot like a taxi with padded seats and complete automation. There was only enough room for Friedman, Lika, and me.

  “Why are we getting in a submarine?” I asked.

  “You’ll find out,” said Friedman.

  Friedman sealed the hatch, and we started to descend, dark water bubbling past the small porthole. I asked, “were we going to drive all this way?”

  Friedman chuckled. “No, this is just the backdoor. We had to change plans.”

  “Are we going to be in here long?” asked Lika.

  “You sure ask a lot of questions,” she said. “Just sit tight.”

  We sat there silently, listening to the whir of the engine. I could not see a thing out the windows, and it felt like hours. I started to read my book, but Lika, seeing her name on the inside cover, snatched it away. “That’s mine,” she said, not at all playfully either. She was angry at me.

  “Come on,” I said. “My grandfather wrote it.” This was supposed to be a joke, but Lika was not in the mood.

  Friedman laughed. “You two make a cute couple,” she said.

  I was about to correct her on that when light flooded in through the window.

  Friedman stood up, stooping because the ceiling was so low. Somebody
outside opened the hatch.

  Friedman got out first, and then helped us out. Happy to be out of that claustrophobic environment, I surveyed the cavern where the submarine had docked. It appeared to be an underground subbase, with several small subs like the one we had arrived in tied up on concrete piers. There were two sentries shouldering large disruptors. “Where are we?” I asked.

  “Someplace safe,” said Friedman, as she led us towards a hatch set in the rock walls.

  “Is this where the government is staying?” said Lika.

  Friedman scanned her retina and thumb at the door. A light blinked green, and I heard the latch release. She opened it and motioned us through.

  On the other side of the hatch was a long, straight corridor that looked like poured concrete with bright, glaring lights set at intervals down its length. Looking in either direction I could see the corridor dead-end. There appeared to be no way out.

  Lika began to ask her question again and Friedman cut her off. “Look, only people with the highest security clearance are even allowed in here. It’s better that you not ask too many questions about this place.”

  She took off to the right at a fast pace, and we followed.

  “But Goshan’s the Minister’s son,” said Lika. “Doesn’t he get some sort of clearance?”

  Friedman laughed but did not turn around. Her voice echoed off the walls as she headed for the dead-end. “He doesn’t get squat, Miss, without the background check equivalent of a full cavity search.” She laughed at her own joke. “Even Admiral Askari has to get checked.”

  I nodded. “It’s true,” I said to Lika. “I bet the Lieutenant Colonel doesn’t even know where we are.”

  “I know enough, boy,” she said, “to keep my mouth shut.”

  As we got closer to the dead-end, I realized that it was actually a T-intersection with the cross corridor painted to look like a dead-end.

  For about ten minutes, she led us through a maze of identical passages. I tried to remember which way we had gone but lost count of the number of different turns. One thing was clear. This place was meant to accommodate several thousand people, enough to run a war. We passed a few people, mostly military, all armed, but also a Member of Parliament and some other civilians.

  As we rounded the seventh (or was it the eighth?) disguised T-intersection, I asked, “how do you find your way around?”

  “You get used to it,” she said.

  Finally, she stopped at a door that looked like a hundred others we had passed. It was marked with a code number that appeared unrelated those on the doors on either side. She knocked, and I heard a familiar voice call, “come.”

  Friedman opened the door. There was a small outer office with a sofa and a desk that was empty. The door to the inner office was open. We stepped in, and Friedman closed the door. “Minister,” she said.

  My mother looked up from the desk. Seeing me she stood up, came around, and hurrying over, hugged me. “Goshan,” she said, “you made it here. Thank God.” I hugged her back, and she squeezed me tightly. Tears were rolled down her cheeks onto my shoulder, and I found that mine were dripping down too.

  When we pulled apart, my mother was trying to smile, but I could see a deep weariness on her face that not even her darkest hours on the campaign trail had equaled. She turned and looked at Lika. “Who is this?” she said.

  I was about to introduce Lika where Lika broke in. “Minister, so wonderful to meet you. Lika Townsend.” They shook hands and my mother eyed her suspiciously.

  “Call me Silvana, please. You work with my son?” she asked. I could tell that she already knew.

  Lika put her arm around my waist in a very familiar way. “You could say that, Silvana,” she said.

  I was horrified. I could not understand what Lika was doing. As usual I could say nothing. I stood there stuttering. My face started to flush.

  “Oh, I see,” said my mother, glancing at me askance. “Well, Lika if you wouldn’t mind. I’d like to talk to my son.” She turned to Friedman. “Mary, would you show Lika to the lounge? Leave the . . .” She pointed to Friedman’s belt.

  “Yes Minister,” she said. She took the handgun Trexel had given me and placed it on the desk. “This way,” she said to Lika and walked out the door.

  Lika followed, and, glancing back at me, she tapped her nose, feigning a scratch.

  Once they were gone and the door closed, my mom sat down on the sofa and gestured for me to sit next to her. “Do you want something to drink? Coffee? Something stronger?”

  I shook my head, “some water.”

  She got the water from a little bar that contained liquor bottles. She poured herself a whiskey, downed it with a gulp and took another.

  “You’re drinking again?” I asked.

  She nodded. “Just a little bit. It relaxes me.”

  I stared hard at her.

  “Look I haven’t had a thing for six months,” she said. “You have no idea what kind of pressure I’m under. I haven’t had any sleep, I can’t remember the last time I ate, so don’t give me that look.”

  “Sorry,” I said. We both stared at the floor.

  “Look, Goshan, we don’t have time to talk about me. Let’s talk about you.”

  “Okay, what about me?”

  “You must have a lot to talk about,” she said.

  “What? That somebody’s trying to kill me?”

  “Look Goshan, I never wanted you to be involved in this,” she said. “If I had known that you’d be in danger, I wouldn’t have, but you have to understand. The opportunity fell into our laps like magic. One moment I’m trying to figure out how to investigate these secret communications, the next, Tolan Smith is asking for you to be on his team.”

  “But why did you need me? You could have hauled Smith in, interrogated him properly.”

  “No,” she said, “no, I couldn’t. If we went to Domo, he would never allow it, he’d have insisted on an internal investigation.”

  “State Minister Domo? Surely, he’d cooperate if the Prime Minister backed you up?”

  “Oh, Goshan,” she said, laughing, “you were always hopeless with politics. You always think of the way things should be rather than how they actually are. No, the Prime Minister’s power over the State Ministry is limited by what Domo is actually willing to do for him. Domo knows that. He wouldn’t refuse. He’d just set up a sham investigation, and that would alert the mole. We don’t want that.”

  “A mole?” I said. “You think Smith is a mole?”

  “We don’t know,” she said.

  “It’s like the Amidans said.”

  “The Amidans? Did they tell you about the mole? Did you find out who?” She looked wild for a moment.

  “No,” I said, “they warned Smith in the secret communications that there were elements in the government that were untrustworthy. That’s why they had to contact him and only him.”

  “Greg told me about that,” she said, looking resigned. “He said you were convinced that Smith is innocent, that he’s trying to act in our best interests. I can see that you’re quite taken with his assistant, Lika.”

  “We’re not like that, Mom,” I said.

  “If you say so, I never poked into your private affairs when you were living at home. Far be it for me to ask about it now. Why should I know what you’re doing? I’m only your mother.”

  “Mom,” I said.

  “Look, Goshan,” she said, placing her hand on my knee. “I’m trying to protect you. These affairs are way over your head.” She looked away. “When you told me you were dropping out of graduate school to go into public service, I was afraid that you’d find out that things aren’t so rosy outside the ivory tower. The public are like a vicious animal, chewing you up all the time and wanting more. The people who survive in this game are cruel.”

  “Like Trexel?”

  She looked back at me and shook her head. “Greg served with your father in the Atlantis war. He was with him when he died. If there’s any
one you can trust, even if you don’t trust me, it’s him.”

  “How can you say that? He’s the one who gave me that thing,” I said, pointing at the gun.

  “That thing saved your life. I not only applaud Greg for giving it to you, but, I insist that you take it back.” She handed it to me, but I did not reach for it.

  “I don’t want it. I don’t want to kill anyone.”

  “I’m not asking you to kill, Goshan. I’m asking you to be a man and defend yourself.”

  There was that phrase again, “be a man.” “Why do I need to carry a gun to be a man?” I asked.

  “You don’t ordinarily,” she said. “You know I don’t like them any more than you do. But when your life is threatened, you reach for the nearest cudgel and beat your opponent to death! You don’t think about the moral implications. That comes later.” She had a stern look on her face, the kind of look that made me realize how ruthless she could be.

  I did not have a choice, I felt, and I took the weapon. I rationalized that I would only use it on bots, never another living creature.

  “If anyone asks you about it, show them this note.” She scribbled something on her private stationary and handed it to me. I slipped in into my pocket.

  Just then there was a knock at the door. “Come,” she called.

  Mary Friedman entered and closed the door behind her.

  “Report,” my mom said.

  “We confirmed that the plasma disruptors in weapons locker 23-alpha were reprogrammed to go into a feedback loop the next time they were fired.”

  “And the man?”

  “Our search party did not find the assailant. They discovered some skin cells, but DNA tests were inconclusive because he injected a spoiler agent before the attack.”

  “A spoiler agent?” my mom said. “I thought those were still classified.”

  “They are. Fibers from the man’s clothes indicate he was dressed as a member of the Spaceforce.”

  “Damn, that means he’s one of our own and has access to this base,” said my mom.

  “The good news is that if someone turns up with serious, inexplicable burn marks, we’ll know it’s him,” said Friedman, almost smiling.

  “Or if someone here goes AWOL,” said my mom, considering. “Thank you Mary. Bring in the girl now please.”