by Weston Ochse
Even if by leaving I endanger lives?
So your argument is that it’s okay to sacrifice yourself and do something that you don’t want to do because it’s the best thing you could do?
Yes. What’s wrong with that?
I switched subjects. Does it hurt?
Emotionally? Physically?
Yes.
Emotionally I feel a sense of loss. There’s a sense of longing I can’t define. Physically, I don’t feel any pain at all.
I channeled Jon Carte. No pain at all? Come on, Michelle.
It’s nothing I can’t handle.
What is it?
I was about to give up on any chance of a response when she said, Where the machine interfaces with my torso, there have been... infections. I was an early model. I’m told they’ve corrected the problem since me. I guess I’m the Model T of HMIDs.
So what happened? What’s that mean?
She laughed.Let’s just say I’m not going to win any beauty contests.
I’m going to save you, Michelle. Just tell me where you are.
There’s nothing left to save.
There’s always something to save.
Not in this case.
Tell me where you are.
Silence.
Michelle, Goddamn it, tell me where you are.
Nothing.
I stood there for a moment, staring out at a landscape blurred by tears. I made the Herculean effort to move my feet and broke into a jog. It was a long two miles back to the hooch, long enough that I’d made a sound plan to free Michelle, even if it would mean the end of me.
The most terrible job in warfare is to be a second lieutenant leading a platoon when you are on the battlefield.
General Dwight David Eisenhower
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
BEING A LIEUTENANT had its bennies. I was able to walk into Facilities Maintenance Division and get a map of Fort Irwin along with the generator tasking matrix. Without an electrical grid, everything we did was subject to support by generators. The more electricity needed, the more generators were required. So it was my thesis that I could locate the black box using the tasking matrix, and then align that with the base map.
I was hunched over these documents when Olivares returned from his run.
“How far’d you go?” I asked.
“Ten miles.”
“Good for you.”
“What happened to you?”
“I had a phone call to make.”
His eyes narrowed and his brow furrowed.
“In a manner of speaking,” I added.
He waved his hand at the map as he shed his wet PT clothes. “What’s all that? Looks like a map of the fort.”
“It is. By aligning the electrical needs on this document with the locations of facilities on the map, I think I’ll be able to figure out where they’re keeping Michelle.”
He stopped in mid-undress, one arm in the shirt, the other arm out. Then he laughed and continued undressing. “Good one. Did you forget that Mr. Pink said he’d let you see her?”
“If you think he’s going to keep his bargain, then I have a Cray-Away spray to sell you that actually works.”
“So all this is backup?”
I nodded.
“Why all this interest? I thought we’d dealt with that. Didn’t Ohirra say it was Michelle’s choice?”
“Not much of a choice,” I mumbled.
“What’s that mean?”
“She doesn’t know what she wants. She’s confused.”
“Wait, how do you know what she wants?”
“We’ve been talking.”
“You’ve been talking,” he said in a disbelieving tone. “And how have you been doing that, Mr. Wizard?”
I explained to him what I’d been told about the changes in my DNA and how I could now communicate with her, and conceivably other HMIDs as long as they were in range. Then I summarized our conversations. Olivares went from incredulity to a sort of sadness. I called him on it.
“You don’t believe me?”
“No, brother. I believe you. It’s probably why they put the other ex-fungee Ethridge on my team. I just didn’t know he had these abilities.”
“Then what is it?”
“Did you forget about her dissociative identity disorder?”
“Her...” I had forgotten. Was that it? Was she flipping back and forth through her personalities? I let my pen flop onto the map and sat back. “Jesus, what do I do?”
“Maybe nothing.” He leaned forward. “Listen, man. It was one night. One. Night.”
I knew he was right. But it had been more than that. We’d made a connection. The rarity of two people actually seeing each other, feeling each other, on the same longitude and latitude, was something I’d experienced maybe three times in my entire life. It might have just been one night, but it made all the other nights that much more bearable, and unbearable at the same time.
I grabbed both sides of my head. When next I spoke, it was like I was a million miles away. “I know it was only one night and I can’t explain it. But neither can the guy from World War II who had one night with an Italian girl right before he went to the front. Or stories we’ve all seen on TV about a man longing for the girl he dated in Saigon.”
“Those were movies, man.”
“I know they were, but they were a reflection of reality.”
“You sound crazy, you know that, right?”
I sighed heavily. “I feel crazy.” I gave him a look. “This shit has made me crazy.”
“Rest easy. Listen, you almost died. You’ve been infected for the last four months. It’s the end of the world. Fuck, dude. You have PTSD on top of PTSD. If I was a doctor, I’d say you were overcompensating and mirroring. It’s a control issue. You had a total absence of control with the spores. Michelle has a total absence of control as an HMID. By trying to save her from her problem, you’re trying to save yourself.”
I stared at Olivares for a long minute. Then I said, “That’s about the most sense you’ve ever made.”
He grinned. “What about the time I said you were a better fighter than me?”
I grinned as well. “Okay, it’s a tie for that time. But seriously, could it simply be that I’m mirroring? I know I’m being obsessive. I can feel it.”
“I can see it too.” Olivares stood. “Listen, get cleaned up and we’ll go to the chow hall. You just need to let it leach out of you. Think about other things.”
I stood. Glancing down at my plan for Operation Free Michelle, I couldn’t help but wonder how crazy the whole thing sounded. “Give me ten and I’ll be there.”
“Sounds good.”
I shed my smelly PT apparel and headed to the shower. Fifteen minutes later we were strolling across the compound to the mess hall. If I was lucky, they’d have chili mac. I’d never seen it in any restaurant, but it was a staple in the Army—the perfect merging of macaroni and chili, joined with a large amount of an unidentified government cheese.
And yes, I was lucky. They were serving great heaps of it.
Although our intellect always longs for clarity and certainty, our nature often finds uncertainty fascinating.
Carl von Clausewitz
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
A TEAM FROM the intel shop debriefed me for three hours the next morning. They were led by Ohirra, who appeared relieved that I’d managed to survive the mission and its effects. Afterwards, she made a call and Mr. Pink came in with Malrimple in tow. Mr. Pink appeared as self-assured as always, while the head scientist looked as if he’d just slid into someone else’s skin. Remembering Dupree’s last words, it could only mean that Malrimple felt guilty for managing the HMIDs. I’d love to be able to get him in a position where he could tell me what was really going on. I was pretty sure given the right circumstances I could convince him to cooperate.
Mr. Pink spread his arms. “You’re a veritable miracle, Lieutenant Mason. How do you feel?”
“I feel good.
Incredibly good, actually.”
“Your body is producing increased endorphins. The changes in your DNA have triggered the pituitary gland to produce more than usual. It’s like an afterexercise high.”
That was the perfect description. “Yes. That’s it.”
Ohirra, always the worrier, asked, “Can he expect any problems with too much endorphin production?”
“Euphoria is common. Mr. Mason has to be careful that he doesn’t disassociate with reality. A drop in production could cause depression, mood swings, and/or suicidal thoughts.”
“What could bring it down?”
“Too much iron in the blood stream. Blood loss.”
“So as long as I don’t get shot and lose a lot of blood, I should be okay, right?”
Malrimple gave me a stony stare.
Mr. Pink looked to Ohirra. “Are you finished?”
She nodded. “I’ll have a copy of the debrief on your desk by five.”
Mr. Pink turned towards me. “What are your impressions?”
“Of L.A.?”
He smiled as if to say, Of course.
“It’s nasty business,” I said. “Survival groups are popping up all over the place. It’s literally every man for himself. God’s New Army could be the worst. They fired on us—chased us and tried to stop our mission. Do I understand it right that we’re working with them?”
“We have to align ourselves with groups capable of protecting their people and territory, as well as establishing the rule of law.”
“It’s the old we have to break a few eggs to make an omelet excuse, right?”
Everyone in the room stopped cold. Even Mr. Pink seemed to have been startled by the remark. He laughed, immediately brightening the mood. “Glad to see that the best of you wasn’t lost to your infection, Lieutenant.”
“God’s New Army and that madman Sebring don’t have our best interests in mind.” I could have added that he’d gone after Sandi and made her into his own version of an HMID, but I wanted to keep my ability to communicate with Michelle private for the time being.
“And what are our best interests, Lieutenant Mason?” Mr. Pink asked.
What was this, a trick question? “To win back our planet and get it back to where it was before the alien invasion.”
“Malrimple, please tell our young idealist the projections.”
Speaking as if each word cost a year of his life, Malrimple intoned, “The temperature has already risen by four degrees. We have reports that ocean levels have risen by seven feet and are still rising. The increased temperature has caused permafrost to begin melting, resulting in the release of massive amounts of methane. Even before the alien invasion, craters were forming in Siberia. Now the event is global. The earth as we knew it is gone forever. The climate, the weather, the temperatures all have yet to settle.
“If we happen to take back our planet, and if we are able to survive the new climate, it will still be more than seventy-five years before we can return to pre-invasion technology.”
“And to do this,” interjected Mr. Pink, “we need assistance.” He held his arms out. “Do you believe that the men and women of OMBRA in Fort Irwin are capable of defeating all of the aliens west of the Mississippi, while also projecting worldwide without assistance? It’s just not possible.”
He put a hand on my shoulder, something he’d only done once before. “Listen, you’re our moral compass. I’d rather not work with Sebring. He’s mad as a hatter and an opportunist. But if we can make his desire for greatness meet our expectation for assistance, then we have an ugly partnership.”
“Your moral compass,” I repeated, not really knowing what to make of the comment.
“Your simple ideas of right and wrong, and that corporations and governments tend to manipulate the lives of its customers and citizens to their own ends, are absolutely correct. We think we know better. Often we manipulate ethics to the point that we redefine them. ‘Right’ becomes acceptable, or what we can afford. Some might see your candid comments as insubordination; I see them as reminders of what we should be doing.”
It was several seconds before I realized he’d stopped talking. Even so, I didn’t know what to say. I looked around the room and saw all eyes on me, so I felt I had to say something. “So your opinion is that GNA is a better option to partner with than the Cult of Mother because of their size and ability to defend themselves.”
“That about sums it up,” Mr. Pink said. “We’re making tough decisions all over the planet. We don’t always like who we’re working with, but it becomes a necessity sometimes.”
“Breaking a few eggs,” I said.
Mr. Pink nodded and smiled.
“I understand that’s where you’ve positioned HMID Thompson. Do you think it’s smart, leaving them outside of your control?”
His smile fell. “I see HMID Aquinas has been talking a little too much.”
I wasn’t surprised he knew about my ability to communicate with the HMIDs. For all I knew, he’d planned it all along. I certainly wouldn’t put it past him.
“I figured that out on my own. He’s always been able to use theta waves.” I gave him a stern look and a shake of my head. “And to think you told me he was killed in Africa.”
He waved my comment away. “How does the communication work, between you and the HMIDs?”
“Peachy,” I said. “Maybe ask Ethridge and he can give you a better explanation.”
“We already have, but since you knew the HMIDs prior to transformation, I thought you might have some insight.”
“You don’t want to hear my insight. Speaking of HMID Aquinas, you told me I could see her upon mission completion.”
I saw Malrimple glancing our way out of the corner of my eye, but I didn’t turn my head. Instead I held Mr. Pink’s gaze.
“Now wouldn’t be a good time,” he said evenly.
I concentrated and called Michelle the same way I had yesterday, but nothing happened. I tried again, closing my eyes and pouring every ounce of concentration I had into her. Nothing.
I opened my eyes. “What happened?”
Mr. Pink turned to Malrimple.
The scientist sighed. “She tried to take herself offline last night.”
I’d noted that she’d been silent. I just figured she’d been on assignment or something. “What’s that mean, take herself offline?”
“She’s...” Malrimple glanced at Mr. Pink, who nodded. “She’s injured herself.”
I was stunned. She’d tried to commit suicide? One would think that in her new form, that wasn’t possible, but she’d always showed the tendency. That’s why she’d joined OMBRA. She’d thought it would be suicide by soldiering.
“Is she going to be all right?” I asked, controlling the emotion in my voice.
“We should have her rebooted and working within twenty-four hours,” Malrimple said.
I stared at him, wanting nothing more than to wipe the condescending look off his face, retribution for his bald-faced dehumanizing of Michelle.
Mr. Pink must have noticed, because he put his hand on Malrimple’s shoulder and turned him towards the door. To me he said, “I believe you have a medical appointment tomorrow morning, but in the afternoon we have a critical mission brief.”
“I’ll be there,” I said without taking my cold gaze off Malrimple’s back.
We make mistakes, we have our faults, and God knows some of us have more than our share, but when danger threatens and duty calls, we go smiling to our own funeral.
James Larkin
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
I SPENT THE rest of the day in my hooch. I’d made my plans. All I needed was to wait until nightfall. Occasionally I’d try and contact Michelle, but there was no reply. Olivares came and went. He tried to engage me in conversation, but when it became clear I didn’t want to talk, he grabbed his things and left.
At dinner, I found a table and sat alone.
Ohirra came by, but I remained remote.
/> What I was about to do was permanent; something I couldn’t come back from. I knew that if I told Olivares or Ohirra, two things would happen. First, they’d try and talk me out of it, providing solid arguments why I shouldn’t do it. I’d listen, then tell them I was going through with it anyway. Then, after a fair bit of complaining and name calling, they’d join me. And I didn’t want to put them in the jeopardy I was putting myself.
Ohirra knew I was planning something; before she left she whispered, “Be careful.”
I didn’t respond, nor did she expect me to. She took her tray to another table and was soon deep in conversation.
I finished my meal, dropped off my tray, then headed to the post library. It was crowded with lower enlisted, using the monitors and televisions to play the library’s collection of DVDs. I found an empty chair and sat down, staring blankly at a disc of the sit-com Friends. I sat through five episodes, remembering where I was and who I’d been with when it had still been on television. The catchy intro tune was something we’d all danced to, waiting for the clapping parts. I allowed myself to take a short journey down the road of sentimentality as I wondered what Michelle and I could have had if we’d met all those years ago, before the alien invasion. Would we have become a couple, or would we have crashed and burned like so many?
At ten I rose and left the library. I found South Loop Road and headed south on it until I got to Inner Loop Road, which angled away from all the major activity to a cluster of buildings. I couldn’t follow the road, so I continued another three hundred or so meters down South Loop, then angled into the brush. The desert terrain here was flat with the occasional scrub brush, and I kept my profile low as I moved.
I had the light of a quarter moon to guide me. I knew the field wouldn’t be mined, but I wasn’t sure if security was using ground surveillance radar. I kept my eyes out for the telltale signs, but there were too many shadows to be certain, so I crossed my fingers and continued until I got to the building’s parking lot.