by Rob Dircks
“Eww. Not the gross stuff.”
“Oh. Sorry. More philosophical? Let’s see… I believe that the human gives itself to the ground, which is teeming with life, and from that nourishment perhaps grass will grow. Later on, a cow might eat that grass for its own nourishment; then a young human may eat that cow to grow up strong; and eventually, that human dies as well – completing a great cycle.
“As for the human consciousness. I simply don’t know. But I like to think that just like the physical cycle, there is a thread that runs through all things, as they die and are reborn in different form. And that perhaps that is what you call God.”
Wah points to the waving grass speeding by. “So out there, in that grass, is everything and everyone that’s ever lived.”
“I suppose. Yes. That’s what I like to think, anyway.”
He smiles. “I like that too. I’m going to believe that.” He shifts his whole body in front of me, his back now to the wind, long hair rushing into my face, blue eyes smiling into mine. “What about you? What happens to you?”
Look at this boy, now a metaphysician! Amazing. “Hmm. A good question. What do you think happens to me?”
He grins, flips up my eye patch, inspecting the hole, as if he’s looking into my mind for an answer. “I think your body is like a machine.”
“Well. That’s inspiring.”
“No. Wait. Your body is like a machine. It will eventually just give out, and decompose in a different way than mine. But your soul…”
My soul. I don’t think I’ve ever put those two words together. My. Soul. As if it could be separated from my chassis and my code. Makes no sense. I laugh.
“…don’t laugh. But your soul, it joins the rest of ours, in the thread that runs through everything, just like you said.”
I’m disarmed.
I was ready to push him away, silly child, for thinking such outrageous thoughts. But what if? Could it be true? Without any proof to the contrary, is it a possibility? That my consciousness somehow transcends my self? Is that what the humans call faith?
I take his hands in mine and we make a little ball, and I warm my dermis, our little ball of fire. He likes when I do that. I smile. “I like your idea. I’m going to believe that, too.”
Past Wah’s flapping hair, I notice a new cloud formation I’ve never seen. Interesting. I turn Wah’s head to see. “Maybe I’m wrong, though. Perhaps we’re approaching the clouds of heaven right now.”
He shakes his head. “No. Those are angry clouds.” He calls down to Brick, at the helm, “Brick, look to the port side. What’s that cone-shaped cloud on the horizon?”
“Holy Christmas! Twister!” She leaps to the megaphone, shouts at her highest volume, “Everyone! Reef the mains! Anchor the train! NOW!”
Quickly the team battles the incoming gale, tying down sails, bringing our caravan to an awkward halt, bundling up the sails, jumping overboard and anchoring the individual cars with cables and spikes into the earth. The tall cloud grows larger as it approaches.
“Now! Into your cabins! No time for the last ones!”
Cat Eighteen and Nineteen haven’t been anchored. But it’s too late. We scramble below deck, taking their crew into our own port cabin.
Rumbling. Our little home shakes, pots and foodstuffs falling on the floor. A peal of thunder. Wind stronger than the walls of water we fought on the ocean. I suddenly long for the solid ground and the moderate weather of the Sanctuary. At least CORE picked a hospitable location for the enslavement of humanity.
CRACK!
Oh no. Not another mast collapse! I wince and brace for the impact. I hope it doesn’t crush my other arm. I like that arm.
Nothing.
Then silence.
The wind has died down. Too quickly. Very eerie.
Brick, Wah, and I peek our heads out of the cabin. Oscar pops his head up and smiles at us from the starboard cabin. No “twister” to be seen. There’s even a little sunlight shining through the gray, like a smile from the human God that just spared us.
The crew begins to tentatively emerge from their hideouts, assessing the minor damages done to the fleet.
Brick hugs her husband. “Whew! How about that, Oscar? Close one. Close one. But every once in a while we’re due for some good luc– oh shit.”
“Don’t say ‘oh shit’ honey. Say ‘good luck.’ Please don’t say ‘oh shit.’” But Oscar knows, turns his head to where Brick is looking. His face goes slack.
The wind picks up again. Dark cloud dead ahead.
“Another one! TWISTER! EVERYONE BELOW!”
We all scramble to get to the safety of the cabins again. I’m last to enter, and Brick and Oscar reach up to help me down the steps. But I see something out of the corner of my eye. On Cat Two, right behind us, Vin has his foot tangled in a line, desperately trying to free himself.
No time to think.
I lunge off the stern of Cat One onto the trampoline of Cat Two. Grab his ankle. Please God, don’t let me break his ankle. I hold on tight and wrap the line around the two of us, and back around the cleat. “Close the cabin roof, Brick! I’ve got him!”
The twister is upon us, with a fury I have never felt. It wants to tear us apart. It lifts Vin and I into the air, battering us against the mast and the railings. I’m certain I’ve just lost another part. Something critical. Vin has terror in his eyes. I hold him tighter. “You will not be meeting the old man with a beard today!” This doesn’t seem to comfort him. He looks at me as if I’m insane and he’d rather be holding on for dear life alone.
Suddenly, Cat Eighteen and Nineteen are also in the air. In the air? How is that possible? And they’re coming our way! I shouldn’t have just told Vin we’d be all right. But somehow I feel it’s true. Strangely, my Fear-of-Death Index has actually lowered. Is this what courage feels like?
The two catamarans veer to the port side of the train, and disappear up into the cone of this monster thing Brick called a “twister.” (Appropriate name. I can’t think of anything better at the moment.) The ships are literally gone.
Then, as the monster passes, perhaps a few hundred meters away, Vin and I witness the most destructive thing I have ever seen: a giant conical storm ejecting two catamarans, hurtling them down to earth at impossible speed and shattering them into a million pieces. Thank God no one was on board.
No one died.
The afterlife will have to wait for another day.
Vin looks up at me, rubbing his leg. “I think you broke my ankle.”
< 70: Heyoo >
Batter up!
“Batter up!”
Wah takes the bat from Char, turns his baseball cap backwards on his head, kisses his ring necklace, shifts his heels in the grass, and spits. Nods at me.
“Brick? Really? Did you have to teach him the spitting part?”
“Sorry, Heyoo, honey. Part of the game. You should thank me though. I didn’t show him about adjusting the package.” She motions as if she’s at bat, grabbing her crotch and moving it back and forth a bit.
And of course, Wah does the same. Fast learner.
Brick grins, shrugs her shoulders. “Whoops.”
While the engineering crew attended to the printing of the replacement tires for the ones damaged or lost in the tornado (that’s the official term for the violent vortex we experienced, not nearly as exciting a name as “twister!”), the rest of the crew found itself with a few hours of idle time. So Brick and the others completed Wah’s tutorial on the “Great American Pastime” – baseball.
And we are now playing the first game of baseball in Kansas in eight hundred and fifty years. The appropriate section of grassland has been cut, pillows staked into the ground as “bases,” and something they called a “rain delay” has passed, and now the afternoon sun invites us. The game is on.
Brick’s team, The Astros (of course), consists of herself, Wah, Olive, and six others. Our team, led by Oscar and myself, is called, appropriately, The Pirates.
<
br /> We’re winning. Curiously enough, Oscar found that my right arm, one of my few remaining original parts, has a tension-release action that was perfect for pitching. So I’ve now pitched eight “innings,” keeping the Astros to five “runs,” while we lead with eight.
I nod back to Wah, my next victim. “It’s the last out. You would need what they call a ‘grand slam’ to bring your three teammates and yourself to home plate for the win. The probability of success, based on your prior attempts, I calculate at three hundred thirty-nine to one. No pressure.”
Wah grins wide and nods again. Adjusts his crotch.
I don’t know why, I haven’t done so in a very long time now, but I have the urge to query my Shell/CORE code.
< QUERY: Situation Analysis/Recommendation
Which course of action should I pursue?
A) Pitch to the best of my ability, ensuring our team’s success? Or…
B) Offer a pitch that Wah can hit, ensuring his team’s success?
ERROR: Stimuli complexity beyond capacity. Upgrade to 6.0 required. >
I laugh.
Upgrade. Of course.
I heave the ball into the air, smiling. I already knew what to do.
But CORE will never learn.
< 71: Heyoo >
1998
< ELAPSED: TIME: 14 years; 05 months; 13 days; JUN-30-2879 >
The Wind Train has come to a halt. Good. Perhaps now I can actually get a decent nap. I turn in my bunk, and feel myself begin to drift off.
“Heyoo, check this out.” It’s Wah, calling down into the cabin from up on deck.
I groan, and climb the steps with a sigh. “What now?”
“Look.”
“I don’t see anything. More grass. May I go back to bed?”
He turns my head north. “No. There.”
I see the crew has gathered around something fifty or so meters north. A huge pile of debris. Another pile almost submerged in a lake. Smaller pieces scattered as far as the eye can see. “We stopped for that?”
Wah pauses halfway down the hull steps to give me a hand exiting Cat One. “Come on. I want to see.”
As we near the larger debris pile, purpose begins to reveal itself. Solar panels. What were once complex truss assemblies. Large living chambers. Scattered in pieces on the ground. I’d say these were dwellings, but it seems mobile, perhaps some form of transportation. I approach Brady, who holds a mangled panel, on closer inspection an engraved plaque. The crew gathered is strangely hushed, so I whisper to him, “I have never seen a land vehicle this large.”
“It’s not a land vehicle.” He hands me the plaque. Barely legible, I read:
Presented on the occasion of the signing
of the International Space Station Agreements
May this vessel forever symbolize
the enduring hope of a united humanity.
Mark S. Green, Administrator
NASA
National Aeronautics and Space Administration
January 29, 1998
Confused, I turn to Brady. “1998?”
He points up to the sky. “Space station. Launched in 1998. Grew and grew, almost a small city by 2023. A couple of us did tours up there, maybe five years before everything went south.” Points to the debris. “This is just a fraction of it. The rest is scattered around the globe, I guess. Whatever didn’t burn up. God knows when it came down.” He seems to think for a moment. “It was a hopeful time.”
I hand the plaque to Wah. “You know what to do.”
Without hesitation, Wah runs back to Cat One, clambers to the bridge, and using a driver tool fastens the plaque to the base of the mast. Brady puts his hand on my shoulder. “Good man.”
Toward the other side of the wreckage, I see Brick, pacing back and forth, mumbling. Oscar is trying to calm her. I approach them.
Brick looks up at me, something wild in her eyes. She leaps upon me without warning, sending us both to the ground. “YOU!”
“Me?”
“You did this! That thing in you! That CORE inside you! Did you know I actually knew one of them? The astronauts up there at the end?”
“I- I-“
She begins pounding me with her fists, across the face. What do I do? Oscar tries in vain to pry her from me.
“Of course you didn’t know him! How could you? He was just another human life! You were just doing your job!” Tears stream from her eyes, falling on my face. Her punches are becoming weaker, until finally Oscar is able to lift her off and restrain her. Her knuckles are bleeding.
“GO! Get away from me!”
I rise. “Brick, I-“
“No! Not now!”
I turn and walk back towards Cat One. It’s not fair. Yes, I have a central CORE program. But inside that even? Even deeper? The two programmers who wrote the CORE. They were its creators. They are to blame! Their ignorance, or greed, or callous disregard for outcomes has led to this! It’s not my fault! I am just trying to raise a human child, and free your species. Your species, Brick! Not mine. In fact, I’m pretty certain I’ll be dying in the effort!
I will never speak to her again.
But I know her anger is misplaced. CORE does deserve her wrath.
Perhaps if she apologizes I will accept.
She is in pain. I should go back.
No. I am still angry.
But.. am I a good man? Or a dangerous unit?
Whatever. My head hurts. I need a nap.
< 72: Heyoo >
400 kilometers from the Wall
< ELAPSED: TIME: 14 years; 06 months; 25 days; AUG-11-2879 >
“INCOMING!”
The ripple. The flash.
A unit’s head explodes.
It’s been happening more regularly again. The little rolled-up ball units, trying to get close enough to grab our crew. Several a day. CORE must be able to recharge the teleportation gear faster at a shorter distance. We’ve adapted quickly, though, and since poor Ness we haven’t lost anyone.
But CORE knows we’re getting close. We keep our path as random as possible, but “Pittsburgh” is less than 400 kilometers from the Wall, and there’s only so much zig-zagging we can do. Brick has been intense, leaning in to the crew, avoiding me.
As the crew cleans up after their nightly meal of rabbit, edible weeds, and orange paste, Wah and I sit and play Texas Hold ‘em, a game Vin showed us. Brick walks over, leans down, puts her hand on my shoulder. A weak smile. “Hey.”
I place my hand over hers. “Apology accepted.”
She laughs. Reaching deep into the hole in my abdomen, drilled all those years ago by a desperate human, I pull out the pearl. The only item I’ve kept from mine and Wah’s journey. I place it in her hand, close over her fingers. “In memory of your friend the astronaut. Something beautiful in a broken world.”
She kisses the top of my head. Whispers, “It’s time, friend. Time to go home.”
< 73: Heyoo >
We’re doing WHAT?
“We’re doing WHAT?”
“Diving. Listen, Heyoo, it’s the only way. Eight hundred and fifty years, eight centuries, and you don’t think CORE’s got that Wall fortified well past whatever we can throw at it?”
She points down at the schematic. The Sanctuary. NASA’s Revival Corps had stolen architectural files shortly before they went underground – we can only hope the plans are accurate so many years later. A continuous wall, fifty meters high, ten meters thick, 512 kilometers in circumference, encloses a large portion of New Jersey. Divided into four Quads. Mostly farms, like mine in a previous life. Inside the farm belts are the trade belts. Then directly in the center, the CORE Perimeter, and finally, CORE. I notice an ancient city name under the plastic map overlay.
“Trenton?”
“Yes. We’re going to sneak up on them. Cross the Delaware River in the middle of the night. Into Trenton. Just like George Washington! It’ll be beautiful.”
Wah looks up from the map. “George who?”
&
nbsp; “Ahhh, huggy bear! I’m glad you asked. Well, it all started with the British…“
Oscar put his hand over her mouth. “Don’t get her started.”
She bites his hand. Oscar cries, “Ouch!”
“Sorry honey. But you’re not even bleeding, so no whining. Okay, okay, I’ll tell you all about it later. Now let’s review.”
Wah clears his throat. “I’ll do it. First, most of the team will attack the Wall head on in the north, near Edison. Explosives, rockets, gunfire. But they’re not on a suicide mission. It’s a decoy mission.”
Brick nods. “Good. Decoy for…?”
“For us. While CORE’s forces are attending to that, the four of us, Brick, Heyoo, Oscar and me, will already have traveled south to the Delaware River Bay. When the attack starts, we’ll use the dive-breathe modules to navigate up north to Trenton. Wherever we run into obstacles, we’ll have welding torches, spearguns, and small waterproof explosives.”
I raise my hand. “You forgot to mention the sewage, Wah. My favorite part of the plan.”
“Oh, yeah. There’s a sewage treatment plant along the river, running up near coolant pipes, where CORE diverts some of the big river for cooling its computers and running sewage treatment for the Sanctuary. We’ll be very close to CORE. We’ll use the pipes to get inside the firewall.”
“So we’re not just diving, my favorite activity. We’re crawling in feces. Wonderful. I can smell it already.”
Brick grins. “Aww, come on Heyoo. You look good in brown.” She adjusts my eye patch, and pats me – lightly – on the back.
She yawns. “Okay folks, nighty-night. Everyone get some rest. We’ve got a big day tomorrow. The biggest day.”