I Am Automaton 2: Kafka Rising

by Edward P. Cardillo

  “I knew that someday we would be dealing with this,” Carl said.

  “You mean Mom and Dad dying?”

  “Yeah. But not this soon and not so suddenly.”

  “Carl, I’ve been thinking about this myself. Mom was murdered, snuffed out of our lives. But at least she never got to experience being an old lady. You know, watching her mind and body fall apart like some people.”

  “I always thought Dad would go first,” said Carl.

  “I think Dad thought so too,” Peter said, “which is why we have to do our best to support him. I am sure he’s been thinking about Mom too. It’s just past the one year anniversary of her death.”

  “Yeah. He must be hurting.”

  “She’s gone, Carl. There’s nothing we can do to change that, but we have to pull together as a family. He’s all we have left besides each other, and we’re all he has left. I think we owe it to him to have a good visit. He’ll be glad to see us.”

  “Yeah, he will,” Carl smiled.

  “Plus,” Peter added, “it’s not every year he gets to spend Christmas with THE AUTOMATON.”

  “Shush,” said Carl, shoving Peter. The cashier looked up from his digi-newspaper over his reading glasses.

  “Shush, CAPTAIN,” corrected Peter. “Even the almighty Automaton has a boss.”

  “You wish.”

  They walked up to the register at the front of the store with the bottle that Peter was holding.

  “That’ll be one hundred fifty,” said the old man at the register.

  “Can you gift-wrap it?” Peter asked.

  “Sure thing, young man.”

  As Peter produced his mini-com to scan payment, Carl took notice of the article the old man was reading. It was about him.

  THE AUTOMATON UNCOVERS WEAPONS SMUGGLING RING

  “So,” Carl said addressing the cashier, “what do you think about this Automaton?”

  The old man looked up from his transaction with Peter, surprised at the question. “I think he’s doing a lot of good, despite what some folks say. A credit to the army. It’s about time the government did something to make this country safer.”

  Peter was glaring at Carl. “Well, thank you, sir. Happy New Year.”

  “Happy New Year,” the man replied without much sentiment and returned to his paper.

  “You’re a real wise ass,” Peter said as they left the store.

  Carl smirked. “Hey, I have to keep in touch with my adoring fans.”

  ***

  Blueberry Hill

  Texas

  09:58 HRS

  Peter drank in his hometown as he and his brother sat in the back of the cab. The golden fields, Veterans Memorial Park, the Blueberry Hill Water works. They passed the 1950’s style burger joint, the one his grandfather used to go to, and thought Fats Domino was wrong—one had to leave Blueberry Hill to find any kind of a thrill.

  They pulled up to their childhood home. Peter paid with his mini-com and the cab pulled away. He was clutching the gift-wrapped bottle of tequila as they mounted the front path leading to the front door.

  Carl rang the doorbell. Their father answered.

  “Guys! You’re here. It’s so great to see you. Come on in.”

  He held the door open for them to enter, and each son got a hug as they stepped inside. Peter was happy to see that his father was fully dressed, fully shaved, and the house looked in order.

  “Let me look at you guys.” They stood in the middle of the living room awkwardly as their father appraised them. “Well, you look good, considering.”

  “Merry Christmas, Dad,” said Peter, holding out the bottle. Carl detected a slight acceleration in his brother’s pulse, which probably meant he was changing the topic before their father could elaborate on the “considering.”

  “Oh, this looks interesting,” their father said, holding the bottle. He gestured with a hand for them to enter the kitchen. Most families met in the living room or a den. The Birdsall’s always met in the kitchen from time immemorial.

  Carl took a seat with his father at the kitchen table. Peter took his customary place leaning against the counter. Their father unwrapped the bottle gingerly and smiled at the result.

  “Ah, very good boys. What time is it?”

  Carl consulted his mini-com. “It’s just after ten.”

  “Hell, it must be noon somewhere in the world. Pete, get us three glasses, won’t you.”

  Carl shot Peter a disapproving look, but Peter shot him back a “shut up” look. He turned around, opened up a cabinet, and grabbed three tumblers together with his thumb, fore, and middle fingers. He placed them down on the table.

  “Dad,” Carl started, “it’s a bit early—”

  “Carl, there’s nothing wrong with wanting to have a drink with my boys. I haven’t seen you guys in quite some time.”

  Peter smirked at Carl as their father opened the bottle and poured three generous servings of tequila. Peter and his father took up their glasses in their hands, while Carl looked at his as if it was going to jump up and bite him on the ass.

  Peter smiled at this. He was pleased to see some remnant of the old Carl. Good old nerdy Carl. He was in there after all.

  “A toast,” their father announced. He waited expectantly for Carl to raise his glass. Carl caved into the peer pressure and raised his glass. “To my two boys, real American heroes.”

  “To us,” Peter seconded jovially.

  Peter and his father downed their tequila while Carl stared at his. Carl took a sip, was only able to down half of it, and coughed loudly.

  Peter and his father laughed.

  “I remember the day you were born, Carl. You were a little runt of a baby, scrawny. Your mother was being sewn up in the recovery room and I was holding you. Your brother, here, was begging me to let him hold you…”

  “Oh, Dad. I wasn’t begging,” Peter blushed. “Honestly, I thought he was a new pet chicken.”

  “Anyway,” their father continued, “I sat him on the chair, showed him how to position his arms, and I lowered you ever so carefully into his lap. He held you, and I remember his eyes were as wide as platters.”

  “I must’ve been startled when I realized that he was a baby and not a chicken,” Peter snickered.

  “What about when Pete was born, Dad?” Carl interjected, sensing his own pulse quickening.

  “Ah, your brother. I remember when they pulled him out of your mother, he looked like a bunch of her intestines, all gray and dimpled. But then he began to cry…”

  “Oh, so macho man was a little sissy after all,” Carl huffed.

  “They brought him over to the examination table to do the APGAR, and the doctor called me over. As they were hosing your brother off, he began to look like an actual human being. The doctor told me to talk to you.”

  “What did you say?” Peter asked.

  “I introduced myself to you, and the damnedest thing happened…you immediately stopped crying. You looked up at me with these big eyes. So I just kept talking. I told you about our house, our back yard, and the toys we bought for you. I was rambling on like an idiot, but it didn’t matter to you. You just stared up at me like I was imparting the most profound wisdom.”

  He looked at his boys. At that kitchen table, they didn’t look like soldiers. They looked like his boys, smiling at the story as they did when they were children.

  This wasn’t the first time they heard this story, but every time they heard it, there was something new—a new detail, a new feeling, a greater understanding of the importance of their births to their father.

  They all paused, savoring the reverie. Barry remembered it like it was yesterday, the experience having been gleefully etched into his soul. It was almost like old times, only their mother was missing. Things changed, and there was no going back, but he was thankful for his boys.

  Carl sensed a slight acceleration in his father’s pulse.

  “So, what’s this business of tunnels by the border?” Barr
y asked.

  Without the preview of detecting accelerated pulses, Peter was taken off guard by the sudden change in direction of the conversation.

  Carl answered. “Nothing we couldn’t handle.”

  “CARL,” Peter reprimanded. “Dad, we really can’t discuss it.”

  “Oh, I know something about it. Did you use the zombies?”

  “Dad,” Peter warned, “Carl shouldn’t have told you about what he did in the program. Isn’t that right, Carl?”

  Carl shrugged his shoulders. “There’s no harm, Pete.”

  “Carl, this is classified information. CLASSIFIED. Did it ever occur to you that you put Dad in danger by telling him?”

  Carl hadn’t considered this. “Danger? What do you mean?”

  “Carl, the government added something to you to protect the program. What makes you think they aren’t taking precautions to make sure that things don’t leak out?”

  Barry looked confused. “What do you mean they added something to Carl, Pete? Carl, what is he talking about?”

  Carl put up a hand dismissively. “Nothing, Dad. Nothing you need to worry about.”

  “Oh, so now you boys are getting all tight lipped on me. It isn’t fair. It isn’t fair that I know as much as I do and have to stay up nights worrying about you.”

  Peter scowled at Carl.

  “It’s my fault, Dad. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have ever told you about what we did.”

  “Now there’s all of this talk in the news about you having superpowers,” Barry said to Carl. “What am I supposed to make of all this?”

  Peter frowned. “We can’t discuss this with you, Dad. It’s for our safety as well as yours. You have us here now, we are okay, and we just want to visit with you. Can’t we just leave it at that?”

  Barry considered this for a moment. His expression lightened. “I suppose you’re right. I have my two boys here with me now, and that’s all that matters. You boys want to go out to eat?”

  “I was hoping for some good ol’ Texas barbecue,” Peter said.

  “I can fire up the grill,” Carl added. “You have any meat in the fridge?”

  Barry looked at Carl with faux seriousness. “Son, I am a widowed man living all alone, and barbecue is the only cooking I know. You’re damned right I got meat in the fridge.”

  “Great, I’ll get everything ready,” said Carl.

  “Should I do a beer run?” Peter asked.

  “Yeah, I’m running a little low,” said Barry.

  “Good. We’ll have ourselves a barbecue, some suds, and a decent game of Texas Hold ‘Em,” Peter declared.

  “Sounds like a bit of heaven to me,” Barry said.

  “I’ll take your car,” Peter said. Barry reached into his pocket and pulled out his mini-com. He handed it to Peter. “A case of Becks?” Peter asked.

  “That sounds about right,” Barry said. “Use my mini-com to pay.”

  “I got it, Dad,” Peter insisted.

  “Yeah, now that he’s a captain he can afford it,” Carl said sardonically.

  Peter flashed him a “screw you” look and left the kitchen. As he stepped out the front door and heard the digi-lock engage behind him, he noticed a cable company worker hanging off of a pole in front of his father’s house. Below him was a cable company truck.

  Peter nodded up at the man, who reciprocated with a small nod of his own. Blueberry Hill was a small town in the middle of nowhere, and Peter remembered always having problems with the cable service growing up.

  He unlocked his father’s car and slipped in. He had a few choices for a beer run. He remembered there was one gas station on Main Street that had the cheapest beer. Although his pay grade as a captain was pretty adequate, he wanted to make the most of his peanuts.

  He got in the car and turned on the ignition. Immediately, his father’s preset oldies station began to belt out some crusty old Kelly Clarkston song. He reached over and turned the radio to the AM dial. He was only half-listening to the Brandon Plato show as he pulled away.

  He thought of Carl. He hoped that while he was gone, Carl wouldn’t spill any more classified information to their father. He was annoyed at how much his father seemed to know already. However, Carl had been different lately. He wasn’t so reckless anymore. Maybe he was finally maturing.

  Carl was pulling the meat out of the freezer—steaks, hamburger patties, hot dogs. He put the meat on the countertop and opened the door to the large microwave hanging above the stove.

  “So what was all that mess with the border?” Barry asked standing behind him.

  “You know I can’t discuss that, Dad,” Carl said with gentle reproach. He ripped open the packages of meat and placed the meat in the microwave.

  “I just worry about you,” Barry explained. “I mean, it’s pretty weird having the Man From Tora Bora as a son. I think your life would have been quieter as an engineer.”

  When the microwave was full, Carl closed the door and punched the defrost button. The inside of the microwave lit up as the circular glass tray rotated the meat. Carl was startled…the microwaves were visible to him.

  His father mistook his reaction as a reaction to his comment. “Not that I’m not proud of what you’re doing now.”

  “Dad, that life is long gone and never was,” Carl said absentmindedly as he gawked at the microwaves in astonishment.

  “I blame myself for that, Carl. I should’ve worked harder, made more money.”

  “It’s not your fault, Dad. There was nothing you could’ve done. There was nothing many parents could’ve done. The unemployment rate is at 27%. I was in good company.”

  “A lot of young men and women are dropping out of college and enlisting,” Barry said pensively. “Sometimes I think the government doesn’t want to do anything about the economy so it can prey on our youth.”

  “Boy, that’s a cynical view of government,” Carl remarked.

  “The government doesn’t always do what’s best for its people, particularly when it gets too big,” Barry preached.

  “Politics was never my strong suit. I’m a scientist, remember?”

  “You said it yourself, Carl—that life is long gone. You’re an instrument of government now. You need to consider the political climate. It directly affects you.”

  “Pete says that a good soldier is a blunt instrument. We enforce policy. It’s not our place to question it.”

  Barry stepped closer to Carl and looked him in the eye. “Son, that approach has always worked for your brother. He always did as I told him, as his football coach told him, and now as the army tells him. But that’s not you, Carl.”

  “What am I supposed to do? I can’t go around questioning every order I receive.”

  “No, but don’t turn off your brain, Carl. Never stop thinking. You are not a…”

  “Automaton?” Carl asked. “That’s what the press calls me. I am a machine, remember.”

  “I didn’t raise a machine,” Barry said softly. “I raised two bright, capable young men.”

  “Do you really think the government wants high unemployment?”

  “Well,” Barry said, leaning against the kitchen table, “look at what they are doing. They are taxing us into oblivion, crippling small businesses. They are making affording a college education an impossibility.”

  “But the government has tried to subsidize college tuition,” Carl said.

  “Which only resulted in universities raising the tuition further,” Barry corrected. “They increase the amount of entitlements—welfare, food stamps, entertainment credits…so the only options left to young people are welfare or enlisting.”

  “But with all of the enlistment, our military is stronger,” Carl added.

  “And who’s going to pay for all of this?” asked Barry. “With the private sector shrinking, China, Japan, and Germany have been methodically buying up our country. We have become indentured servants to foreign nations. We are no longer free. The government can’t take care of us,
Carl.”

  Between the microwaves streaming inside the microwave and his father’s point, Carl was getting a headache. “So what are you saying, Dad? We’re all screwed?”

  “I’m saying that while you and your brother think you are out there protecting our borders, I’m telling you that they’ve already been breached, and it’s our government that opened the door.”

  “Jesus, Dad. Is this what you think about?”

  “Well, I’ve had to close the hardware store more often, so I guess you can say I’ve had more time to think. And without your mother…” His eyes welled up with tears.

  Carl didn’t know what to do. He looked down at his sneakers. He had thought his father was doing better. Apparently, it wasn’t going to be that easy. “I think about Mom every day…it’s what drives me.”

  Barry stood there looking off into space somewhere above Carl’s right shoulder. The microwave beeped, signaling that the meat was defrosted. A tear trickled down Barry’s cheek.

  “You’ve got to have hope, Dad.”

  “It’s hard for me to have hope, Carl. It just seems like things are getting worse every day. I lost your mother, and now I’m afraid I’m going to lose you boys.”

  “Do you have any idea what Pete and I have been through?”

  “You told me—”

  “Well, then you should know that Pete and I don’t go down that easy.”

  “You’ve both been lucky,” said Barry as he wiped the tears from his eyes. “I’m not saying that your training didn’t have anything to do with it, but you’ve both definitely been very lucky. One day luck will run out.”

  Carl wanted to tell his father about the changes. If only he could explain to his father that he could sense enemies before they even knew he was there, or that he had extraordinary strength and speed.

  Peter came bounding through the front door and into the kitchen bearing a case of Becks. He held it up like a hunter held up a trophy quail and grinned. His face fell as he registered the scene he had just wandered into.

  “Is everything okay?” he asked cautiously.

  “I’ll be outside firing up the grill,” Carl said, and he left the kitchen.

  “Jesus, what happened while I was gone?”