Atlas

by Isaac Hooke

  New Chicago didn't seem so different at first from the city I'd grown up in. From faraway, it seemed about the same size, with the same layout: A central core of steel and glass buildings surrounded by an outer layer of sprawling suburbia. As we got closer, the core of office and condominium towers kept increasing in size until those structures ate up the heavens, quite literally scraping the sky. The goal seemed to be to pack as many people as possible into the tiniest real estate conceivable, while still conserving living and working space, by building upwards. Contrast this to my city, where we didn't build upwards, or build at all really, and the personal space just dropped as the population rose.

  There were at least three distinct roadway levels stacked half-a-klick above one another, linked every four blocks by spiraling ramps that led up to the different levels. I couldn't see any pillars or other support structures holding up the higher roads, and I guessed they were held aloft by some technology or physics I didn't understand. But when I noticed that all those roadways were in direct contact with the buildings, I realized that the skyscrapers themselves provided the support infrastructure.

  Car-sized rotorcraft flew in the clear space between the buildings, seeming to follow preset paths. They moved in orderly lines, with roughly the same amount of space separating each one. No human flew like that—they were definitely controlled by automatic pilots.

  When we got off the train, I half-expected to catch a whiff of the usual pollutants I'd come to associate with cities, but the air was surprisingly clean. The perfectly straight sidewalk was completely clear of snow—apparently there was some sort of heating and water collection mechanism built right into the pavement.

  Ace slid on his aReal glasses and found out the bus route we needed to take to get to the stadium. We left the train station behind and the sidewalk soon became crowded with people bustling to and fro. For a society where work was optional, they sure seemed like they had a lot to do.

  "Where is everyone going?" I said to my group.

  "Well it's near lunch time, so probably the free food halls," Ace said. "A lot of people just send their robots out to pick up the food. Others order in."

  I realized that more than three-fourths of the crowd was comprised of humanoid robots, dressed in clothes, betrayed only by their polycarbonate, scoop-shaped heads. Most of the robots were carrying reusable canvas bags, full of food, judging by the delectable smells that floated around me. Above the sidewalk, just out of reach, Amazon delivery drones flitted to and fro, carrying various parcels and food containers.

  I noticed something else about that crowded street. It was a small thing I guess, but to me it was the biggest difference between my country and this one: There were no guns. Not a one. Even the few police robots I observed seemed weaponless, though they probably carried hidden electro-stunners of some kind.

  For the first time in my life I actually felt safe, walking a city street. Like going to my destination wasn't some kind of trek through a warzone.

  What a feeling.

  Our small party eventually piled into an automated bus. The AI of the bus scanned our embedded Ids as we stepped in the door and it deducted the transport fee from our bank accounts. One man behind us, he was homeless I guess, didn't have enough money so the doors automatically closed.

  "You have five seconds to step away from the automated doorway before a level two electrical discharge is issued," came a loud, deep voice, from the box that stood in place of a driver. "You have four seconds..."

  The scruffy-looking man stepped away, and the doors folded aside.

  I shoved my way through the rest of the people who were coming on board until I was back outside. I wanted to find the homeless man, and transfer some money to his embedded Id. I glanced around, but couldn't see him in the thick crowds.

  "Last call," the automated voice of the bus announced.

  "Rade, come on!" Alejandro was standing in the entrance, blocking the folding door.

  "Please clear the automated doorway," the automated voice said.

  I searched the crowded sidewalk a while longer. Nothing. The man had been swept away by the throng.

  "Please clear the automated doorway."

  "Rade!"

  With a sigh I plowed back onto the bus.

  "I thought there was no homelessness in the UC?" I asked Ace when we were underway.

  "What?" Ace screwed up his face. "Where'd you get that idea?"

  "People don't have to work. Food is provided. Rooms."

  "Oh. Yeah sure, all that's provided. But some people fall out of the system for whatever reason. Immigrants, usually. Illegals."

  "Like me," I said.

  "Oh, you don't have to worry anymore," Ace said. "The Navy takes care of its own. They're not going to let you fall through the cracks."

  Why didn't I feel all that reassured?

  The roads were packed with other vehicles, but they were all going the same speed as the bus, and traveling the same distance apart. When we stopped at a traffic light, I noticed that the drivers didn't even have their hands on the steering wheels.

  The day went by in a blur. What I remember most was the level of automation in the city. It was mind-blowing. Robots were everywhere, ticketing the cars, driving the cars, repairing the cars, towing the cars. Robots acted as doormen, hostesses, shopkeepers. The robot errand-runners were ubiquitous in their civilian clothes and reusable canvas bags. Ace explained that in addition to food vouchers, the government guaranteed one robot per family. Public transportation was also free. If you wanted your own vehicle however, that was something you had to work for. Judging from the busy traffic on the streets, there were a lot of people still working. Either that, or a lot of retirees.

  After the game, Shaw went off with her fiancé (good-riddance), and the rest of us joined up with some other graduates and spent Saturday night at a Navy-friendly bar, drinking bottled water and flirting with anything that had tits. A fight almost started when some ex-Marines came in, and we had to venue change to another bar, but otherwise the night went well. Most of us spent a good portion of our first month's pay renting hotels in town for the night, and the partying continued into the wee hours.

  Back at our hotel, Ace got a civilian to buy us some beer (we were worried our expenses would be tracked), and then most of us got plenty drunk in the room. I was one of the worst offenders. So much for not having alcohol while on liberty. I just hoped the embedded Ids couldn't log blood alcohol levels.

  Shaw showed up sometime after midnight. There was no sign of her fiancé. I didn't say anything.

  0200 found me alone by the fake fireplace, staring at the digital flames. Most everyone else was either asleep on the floor around me, or banging the girls they'd picked up, putting the three-bedroom suite to good use. There was a small group in the kitchen playing some party game—I heard Ace and Alejandro laughing away.

  Shaw came out from the kitchen and sat down beside me.

  "Hey," she said.

  "Hey." I didn't look at her.

  "Having a good time?"

  "Sure." I pretended to take a long sip of my beer. Truth is, I'd emptied the bottle a few hours ago. It was kind of a reflex though. Thinking about Shaw, and what she did to me, well, it just made me want to drink.

  "Where's the fiancé?" I said, wishing I wasn't so sober.

  "Rade, I—"

  "It's okay. I understand. I really do. It makes sense actually. Why you've been avoiding me these past few weeks. Brushing me off."

  "Rade—"

  "No, you don't have to say anything. We're going our separate ways. Today and tomorrow are the last time we'll ever see each other. It's better this way. I only wish you'd told me about him a bit sooner. Might've saved me some heartache." I instinctively tried drinking from the bottle again. Still empty. "You know, what hurts the most is, we could've had something. We really could've. Maybe we'll meet again in another life, you never know. But anyway, you should really go back to your man. I don't know why you're he
re."

  "I'm here because of you," she said.

  "Really." I deadpanned. "Well, sorry to disappoint you, but I don't mess with engaged women. Go back to your fiancé."

  "Rade. I broke up with him today."

  "You... what?"

  She was staring directly into my eyes. "I broke up with him."

  "I... don't know what to say to that." My hands seemed suddenly clammy, and I felt a drop of sweat trickle down my ribs.

  "The whole Navy thing didn't work for us. These past eight weeks were torture for him. You see, him and celibacy, well, let's just say the two of them didn't go well together. He told me, to my face, that he'd slept with three women while I was gone. This after I bought him dinner at the most expensive restaurant in town. So I cut him loose. I had to. Eight weeks... can you imagine what he would have done when I was gone for two years at a time, out on deployment? I don't know how I could have been so blind. He duped me, Rade. Duped me to the core."

  "Like you duped me?"

  "I'm sorry, Rade." She leaned closer. Her gaze lingered on my lips. "Let me make it up to you."

  Our faces were so close now. "You know what? Hell with it. All is forgiven."

  I hoisted her up, led her to the bathroom and locked the door.

  * * *

  Our group got back to base on Sunday night, and I took my leave of Shaw at the train station. She was moving on to her rating school, while I would stay behind with Tahoe, Alejandro and Ace. We promised to keep in touch.

  "Good luck Astronaut Apprentice," she said, and leaned forward to kiss my cheek. I turned my head at the last minute to meet her lips with my own.

  She pulled away. "You're a sly one."

  "I am."

  She held my hand, her eyes shining with unshed tears. "Remember me in the deepest, darkest hours. When you think you can't go on. When the training is too much. Hold on to the moments we've shared. Hold on to last night."

  "I will." My voice was thick with grief. It felt like I'd only just found her, and now I was losing her. "Maybe we can meet again sometime, when we graduate. Arrange some liberty time together."

  She beamed. "I'd like that."

  When she let go of me and turned to walk away, I couldn't shake the feeling that I'd never see her again. Once she finished training and made it to her posting she'd probably shack up with someone else. She was far too beautiful to stay single for long. Probably be an officers wife when we met again.

  "Maybe next time we meet you'll be my boss," I called to her back.

  She glanced over her shoulder. "You wish. Besides, it won't be so long."

  If you say so, Shaw.

  I watched her board the vactrain. I waited there, as new recruits emerged from the open doors, recruits both starry-eyed and frightened at the same time, like I had been. I almost wanted to change places with them. To live those eight weeks over again, despite how tedious Basic had been. If only to be with her.

  But it was time to move on.

  I turned away as the train's last call came, and I didn't look back.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  After eight more weeks of intense PT under the tutelage of civilian coaches hired by the Navy, Alejandro, Tahoe, Ace and I were shipped off to the spec-ops rating school at New Coronado, California, where we would begin MOTH Orientation.

  Monday morning found me seated cross-legged on the concrete deck beside the combat training tank (pool). I was dressed in swim trunks and a white T-shirt. Beside me were the other students of Class 1108.

  I heard footsteps echo off the black concrete. I glanced at the digital clock embedded in the cinder-block wall. 0500 on the dot.

  Our class leader, Lieutenant Jaeger "Jaguar" Robinson, climbed to his feet. He was the senior officer among us, a Space Warfare Officer with four years experience. We were all equals here—officers trained right alongside enlisted men.

  "Feet!" Jaguar yelled.

  "Feet!" Nearly two hundred voices shouted in unison as the class members clambered upright.

  "In-struc-tor Ree-ed!" Jaguar said.

  "Wooyah, Instructor Reed!" we proudly roared. Sounded like a vactrain in here.

  A well-built man ambled into my field of view. His head was completely shaved. I would have pegged him at mid-forties. He was dressed the way I'd soon learn all enlisted instructors dressed: blue T-shirt, khakis, white socks, black military boots. He wore a pair of wraparound sunglasses—possibly an aReal. His face was almost kindly, but by the way Instructor Reed carried himself, like a tightly-wound coil ready to spring into action and pounce at the slightest provocation, I knew he was a warrior.

  He glanced at the tank behind him and nodded to himself, apparently satisfied that everything was in good order. Then he turned around, and tilted his head, seeming to look at some spot just beyond and above us. He didn't say a word.

  Time dragged out. I and everyone else remained at attention, stiff, unmoving.

  Waiting was always the worst part of any fight. And I was certain this was about to be one of the biggest fights of my life.

  "Drop," Instructor Reed said quietly.

  "Drop!" the class responded, and we dropped, every one of us assuming the starting position for a pushup, also known as the "plank."

  I and everyone else held that position, because we hadn't been given permission to get up again, or to do actual pushups.

  The seconds passed. Twenty. Thirty.

  My arms were beginning to shake from supporting my body weight.

  One minute.

  One minute thirty seconds.

  Two minutes.

  "Push 'em," the instructor said.

  "Push 'em!" Jaguar echoed.

  "Wooyah!" the class said, finally doing the first pushup.

  "One!" Jaguar said.

  "One!" the class responded enthusiastically.

  "Two!"

  "Two!"

  After counting out twenty pushups we returned to the "plank" starting position, and waited once again. My arms were just in agony, and shaking worse than ever.

  There was no command to recover. No command to continue pushups. Nothing. We just held that starting position.

  I risked a glance up.

  Instructor Reed hadn't moved. He merely stood there, gazing blankly across the ranks from behind those sunglasses.

  "Again," he said, finally.

  We did another twenty.

  "Again," Instructor Reed said.

  Twenty more.

  "Again."

  "Again."

  We were up to one hundred pushups in total now. As I held that plank position, sweat dripped down my pecs to pool at the center of my shirt. More perspiration oozed down my forehead, along my cheeks, and dripped from my nose. Along with mucus.

  "Again," Instructor Reed said.

  Twenty more.

  "Again."

  I pushed my butt higher into the air, trying to take the pressure off my burning arms. Others around me were doing the same.

  "Again."

  Men started dropping around me. They just couldn't take it. I was about to collapse myself. My arms were just jackhammering.

  "Recover."

  At first I thought I'd imagined the word, because Instructor Reed said it so quietly.

  "Feet!" Jaguar said.

  "Feet!" the class responded. Not a roar anymore. More like a bunch of choked chickens.

  I staggered to my feet. Around me, other students fell flat on their faces, their arms too weak even to get up. They managed to stand at attention with help from other students. Alejandro and I had to help Ace up.

  "Report, Mr. Robinson," Instructor Reed said.

  "Class eleven-oh-eight is formed, sir," Jaguar said. "One hundred eighty-two men assigned, one hundred eighty present. One man on watch, one man at medical. Sick call."

  Instructor Reed nodded. "Thank you, Lieutenant." He turned to the rest of us. "Seats."

  "Seats!" We hit the concrete, and sat cross-legged.

  "He is best who is trained in
the severest school," Instructor Reed intoned. "Who said that?"

  "You did, sir!" a trainee near the front answered.

  "Drop and push 'em for being an idiot," Instructor Reed said.

  The student immediately complied.

  "Anyone else?"

  I knew the answer. During downtime I'd read History of the Peloponnesian War, which was on the recommended reading list, but I didn't say anything, not wanting to draw attention to myself.

  "Thucydides, sir!" It was Ace who answered, seated two students down from me.

  "Excellent." He glanced at Ace. "Drop and push 'em for being too smart."

  Ace's face fell, and he obeyed.

  "Thucydides also said, the strength of an Army lies in strict discipline and undeviating obedience to its officers." Instructor Reed looked us up and down. "We are here to teach you both these things."

  He toured the room, passing between our ranks. He paused beside one man. "Why did you enlist?"

  "I enlisted to kill me some SKs!" the trainee said. Sino-Koreans. "Sir!"

  "Not good enough. Drop and push 'em."

  "Wooyah sir!" The student started his push-ups.

  The instructor halted beside another man. "You. Why did you enlist?"

  "I want to kick some ass in an ATLAS mech, sir!"

  "Not good enough. Drop and push 'em."

  He went to another student. "I've seen your face here before. What are you doing? Can't you see when something just isn't for you? Can't you look defeat in the face and realize you're a failure?"

  "I'm going to make it this time, sir!"

  "If you say so. Drop and push 'em."

  The student obeyed.

  Instructor Reed reached me. I stared straight ahead, at his knees, not daring to meet his eye, hoping he wouldn't say anything to me. I didn't want to stand out. I didn't want extra instructor attention.

  "What's your reason, trainee?" Instructor Reed asked me.

  I knew he'd mock me no matter what I said, but I decided to give him the most honest answer I could think of. "I want to be a man, sir!"

  "You want to be a man?" I thought there was a touch of cynicism in his voice.