by David Pope
“I found them this way. Other than checking for a pulse, I’ve touched nothing. Called for military police right away,” said Captain Eugene Longfellow. As the officer in charge of Mortuary Services, he was a middle-aged career bureaucrat. Soft around the middle, Longfellow continued, “These two bastards were no good. Both were on punishment detail, supposed to be tagging and bagging enemy dead. I sure as hell didn’t trust ’em, so I tried to keep abreast of their whereabouts. At first, I wasn’t too concerned when I tried raising them over the company net and they didn’t respond. Not unusual for those two. But I continued roaming, keeping an eye out, until I came across this. That’s when I called it in, only ten minutes ago.”
Flood bent over the bodies and inspected the grotesque scene. Too dark, he turned on his helmet lamp. It wasn’t pretty. Turning his head to offer different angles and avoid shadows, he determined both victims were facing each other with one body atop the other. The one on top had his throat slit and still clutched a knife in dead white knuckles. Beneath him, the other wore pants pulled down around his ankles. The stiff beneath was a mess as intestines protruded from an obvious knife attack along the left torso. In an outstretched hand, the bottom corpse also held a knife. From Flood’s perspective, it appeared the two guys had fought each other to the death.
Flood stood and turned to the squat mortuary officer. “Captain, sir, I’m not an investigator. The military police are busy dealing with the Mesquite civilian situation and lacked the resources to cover security over the battlefield. So my squad is it. But we lack any formal police training, and this looks like something the MPs should handle.”
Captain Longfellow seemed to sense the sergeant’s reticence. “Yes, it looks like these two guys, Privates Hough and Pugh, killed each other during an act of sexual perversion. I wouldn’t put homosexuality or criminal behavior past them, but not in this case.”
“How’s that, sir?” asked Flood.
“Well, with Mortuary Services, we deal with the dead. That’s what we do, get to see death come in all shapes and sizes. But if you examine this scene, notice Private Hough on top has his throat slit. A wound like that, there should be a shitload of blood. But look at Private Pugh beneath him. See how there’s only a few drops on his face? It looks like Hough bled out someplace else.”
“Makes sense,” said Flood, “but where?”
Captain Longfellow walked a few yards and bent over. With his helmet lamp illuminating a dark spot on ground, he pointed and said, “There.”
Flood, skeptical, walked over and took a close look. Sure enough, blood soaked the sand. “You could be right, sir. If that’s the case, then someone staged the bodies.”
“That’s what I’m thinking,” agreed Longfellow.
“Sir, were these men working alone?”
“Affirmative. Two-man detail.”
“Any thoughts then?” Flood asked.
“Well, it’s conceivable someone from another punishment detail did this. Six teams are working tonight. But I’ve been checking through the evening, and other than these two poor bastards, all reported in. Nothing seems amiss. It’s still possible, but I would say doubtful.”
Suspicious, Flood walked around the shell hole and noticed an open pack. Peering in, the contents appeared a jumbled mess. Nearby, a pair of boots and socks lay. Size small, he guessed. Weird. Plus, embedded in the sand he counted multiple boot prints of various sizes, but that could mean anything. None of it made sense. Then he spotted something unusual: an opening in the side of the shell hole. Intrigued, he moved closer and bent lower. With his headlamp, he peered inside and detected a small blood trail mixed with dirt and sand.
“What you got there?” asked the captain.
He stood up and explained, “Sir, it looks like an irrigation pipe. Makes sense, as years ago intelligence maps show this area bordered a golf course. Inside the pipe there’s a blood trail.”
The captain walked over and motioned Flood aside. He, too, bent low and used his headlamp to confirm the finding. “I see it. Whoever killed our guys might still be in there.”
Sergeant Flood hated to agree, but the evidence was clear. “Sir, I’m not sure who the hell’s been in that pipe. Might be an enemy combatant, a civilian, or even one of our guys. Who knows? I’m responsible for battlefield security, and if someone unauthorized is roaming around, I need to find out.”
“Are you going in?” asked the captain, apparently excited by the prospect of a manhunt.
Not answering, Sergeant Flood activated his radio headset, “Squad Three Kinney; Squad Three Actual. How copy? Over.”
“Ah, Squad Three Actual. Copy you five by. Over.”
Flood recognized the voice of Corporal Aaron Dalton and frowned. “Squad Three Dalton, where’s Kinney? Over.”
After a moment Dalton answered, “Squad Three Actual. Ah, well, Kinney’s not here. He’s taking a dump. Over.”
Earlier, Flood left his squad inside their parked fighting vehicle twenty meters away. He intended to let them stay warm and allow them to rest while he investigated the call from Captain Longfellow. But now it was time to work. “Squad Three, Dalton. Go get his ass. Tell him I need him and to bring a suppressor for his Glock. Over.”
“Squad Three Actual. What you got? Over.”
“Don’t worry about it. Just get Kinney, pronto. Out.” Sergeant Flood, ending the radio call, stood conflicted. If he didn’t investigate, a later inquiry might find him derelict, and he didn’t want that type of blemish on his record. Still, he’d rather be tucked away in a nice warm place and not chasing God knew what. Dammit again. Flood spoke to Captain Longfellow. “Sir, with your authority, I will send in one of my guys. He’s tougher than nails, and if there’s someone in there, he’ll flush ’em out.”
Longfellow gave a quick endorsement. “Outstanding! I’ll call it into Command and let them know I’m ordering a reconnaissance in pursuit of suspected enemy infiltrators involved in the death of two US soldiers.”
Flood grimaced at the pompous speculation. Then he glanced at the pipe and tried to imagine Longfellow, the fat ass, fitting into the narrow confines. No way. Longfellow and his ilk clamored for glory, but it was his grunts that paid the price. He hoped this time the cost wouldn’t be too high.
Chapter Fifteen
THE OLIGARCHS
May 9, 00:55 (PDT)
Inside her private quarters, buried deep underground in the heart of the San Jose ROAS alternate seat of government, Ortega was taking a moment to gather herself. Looking in a mirror, staring back at her was a haggard and exhausted woman. The last twenty-four hours had been the hardest in her life, and it showed. Deep lines etched outward from her eyes, and poking through her freshly dyed raven hair, she detected too many grays. She was killing herself, but it didn’t matter.
At a young age, she had known politics was her calling. A passion burned so hard she couldn’t explain the depths. Equality, fairness, defeating bullies, overcoming injustice: all those ideals drove her. As a young teenager growing up on the hard streets of a Los Angeles barrio, she couldn’t contain her feelings. Instead, she strove to make the world a better place and voiced her opinions, joined many liberal groups, and wasn’t afraid to stand up to anyone who objected. Back then, as a young political activist, succession seemed a dream come true. And it was. She recalled those heady times and the joy of establishing a new national government grounded in the beliefs that compelled her.
All her life she worked for the common good, and now she was nearing the end of her second and final term as president. Then came today, and it held no such happiness. War, death, destruction: the decisions she made were killing people. The thought caused her stomach to rumble, not so much from hunger, she realized, but nerves. Just then a wave of nausea washed over her. Bending over to stifle the sensation, after a few deep breaths she felt better. Rising up, she needed to pull herself together.
Gazing in the mirror, she picked at a wisp of hair and examined the dark bags under her eye
s. The crow’s feet appeared deeper and longer than ever. She looked like death warmed over. The thought almost caused her to laugh as the job, sure as hell, was trying to kill her. But, she wasn’t dead yet. Determined, she stood taller, and looking at herself, vowed once more to do everything in her power to save the nation. To do so, she’d commit to almost anything. Besides, what else was there? Her detractors named her the “compassionate ice queen” as she had never married or had children. Although she’d had many lovers over the years, male and female, no one could replace her life force. Deep down, she knew her destiny was much greater, and she believed her name would go down in history forever.
But the reflection in the mirror wasn’t helping. The wrinkles in her neck appeared longer, and the flesh around them sagged. She hated the sight, and then a thought struck her. Maybe SALI could help? The AI was supposed to have infinite intelligence. Surely it could solve the ravages of age, gravity, and stress. Even better, the AI, if used properly, could save her country from destruction. Under her control, the AI could defeat the US armies, expand the borders of her country, and unleash a new age of liberalism. Given control, she’d use the AI to shepherd in a new wave of medical and scientific breakthroughs focused on enhancing the lives of humanity. Her name would live forever! But Vivek Basu and the oligarchs stood in the way. That thought pulled her back. Smoothing her hair, in ten minutes she had a critical meeting with Basu, and there was no way she could go in looking like this. Shaking off the nerves, she turned away and headed to the bathroom.
* * *
Fifteen minutes later, Ortega entered the small SCIF not far from her private quarters. Already seated at a small round table, Vivek Basu gave her a wan smile. She nodded in return and sat down, sinking into the plush chair across from the old man.
Ortega noted how Basu sat with a straight back, his withered hands clasped on the table. His gray hair, thin features, all pointed to an advanced age. Basu was the oldest member and leader of the secret, five-person Technology Committee. Chairman since secession, which included the early troubled years of the ROAS, under his leadership, she knew the Committee almost never failed to reach a unanimous decision. When disagreement did occur, Basu, the brilliant billionaire and renowned philanthropist, was the tiebreaker. Now, the single greatest crisis facing their young country confronted them, and Ortega was surprised when Basu turned the topic towards her.
“Julia, to save our nation, you agreed to the US extradition demand. In effect, you offered your life. Speaking for the Committee, thank you.”
She appreciated the sentiment but doubted Basu or any of the five oligarchs on the Committee would’ve agreed to their own extradition on a false murder charge. Staring back at Basu, she understood the oligarchs represented the economic might and technical ability of the ROAS, and she owed her position to their support. Still, their presence gnawed at her. More of an oligarchy than a true republic, they called many of the critical shots for the ROAS. Combined, they provided the guiding and driving force behind the country’s economic and political policy. Each ran a technological empire and, together, comprised the backbone of the nation.
On behalf of the oligarchs, when Basu had approached her two days earlier and suggested she accept the US terms as a last resort, she had little choice in the matter. But as SALI predicted in advance, thank God, her acquiescence was ignored. Now, it was obvious the US had greater ambitions than her own show trial. “Mr. Basu, I’d do anything to preserve our nation.”
“Your willingness speaks volumes,” said Basu.
Looking at the old man and his deep-blue eyes, Ortega felt mixed emotions. She both appreciated and resented the man. On the positive, three decades prior, Basu along with the other oligarchs were key in securing a peaceful secession. Since then, they had steered the nation to keep their high-tech global profits coming while still supporting politicians like her that insisted on implementing a domestic progressive agenda. But it was never easy, and she often found herself begging Basu to support increased taxes and revenues. And now there was war, and they were ill prepared. She recalled the history.
Thirty years ago, to achieve independence from the US, the ROAS had accepted many concessions. Among those, the ROAS agreed upon strict limitations on the size and scope of its military, including a nuclear ban. Also, the ROAS could develop emerging military technologies but couldn’t keep or export those to any other nation except the United States. In the never-ending race for advanced weaponry, the other Great Powers, China and Russia, distrusted the exclusive arrangement between the US and the ROAS, but it persisted. Those early decisions were now haunting her. But back then they’d little leverage.
On the heels of ROAS succession, a Great Powers Agreement between China, Russia, and the US was ratified in a not-so-secret manner. Since then, the Great Powers had shared a bond. All were nationalistic and believed in the merits of sovereignty. Together, they met and came to a general agreement. They left the United Nations, making it defunct, and agreed on a general principle of staying out of each other’s way for mutual success.
By implementing advantageous trade and business agreements, by force if necessary, and not stepping on each other’s toes, the Great Powers prospered. As agreed, Russia expanded its weight throughout Central Asia, and Eastern and Southern Europe. Along with Saudi Arabia and Israel as allies, Russia came to dominate the Middle East. China’s influence extended across the rest of Asia and most of Africa. China’s ambitions were only checked by a series of conflicts with India, but sooner or later, it was expected India would fall. Japan remained isolated and was a hollow shell of its former economic self. The US, meanwhile, held military sway over most of the western hemisphere, focusing on expanding its interests in Central and South America.
The Great Powers Agreement for two decades had acted as a bulwark for mutual gain, and the balance of power between them held.
Throughout, the ROAS avoided confrontation while it continued to develop and sell the world’s most advanced technology solutions to all comers. Canada and the ROAS absorbed millions of US citizens that fled the US government after secession, straining resources, but still, the two countries thrived. The remaining liberal democracies in Northern and Western Europe swung hard right and demurred to Russia. Australia and New Zealand survived through isolationism.
Then, ten years ago, Basu and his incredible technology firm unveiled stunning advances in advanced artificial intelligence and everything changed.
Given the name Sentient Artificial Life, or SALI, at first the US demanded this latest AI technology from the ROAS and claimed it fell under the exclusive advanced military supply agreement. Basu, and the ROAS, resisted and withheld the technology while making even further rapid advances.
Fear prevailed. Advanced AI, as demonstrated by SALI, was a great disruptor. To blunt the potential threat, the Great Powers came together and issued global restrictions on advanced AI and associated military technologies. Bans on autonomous weapons usage, including cyber and space warfare and severe caps on AI technologies, became a global decree. Any country failing to comply, the Great Powers threatened, would face severe economic sanctions and military retaliation.
Further, the Great Powers forced the ROAS to abandon and destroy SALI. No choice in the matter, Basu agreed, and observers witnessed the destruction along with all associated technical documentation. In a small act of retribution, the ROAS stopped all military technology development, and no longer would the US gain that advantage. The US responded with a trade war, but the ROAS held steadfast.
For the last decade, the restrictions held and the balance of power between the Great Powers maintained. Around the world, with the fear of artificial intelligence technology lingering, the global ban slowed the overall pace of technological innovation.
This arrangement, for almost a decade, worked. The Great Powers continued to expand, but as always, distrust and a hunger for superiority kept relationships icy. And now the US had attacked the ROAS, changing everythin
g once again.
Her remembrance was broken by the soft voice of Vivek Basu. “You appear tired. I know it has been a tough day, but please bring me up to speed on current events.”
“Yes, of course,” she replied.
First, she explained how the press had got the message out. Yes, the country experienced a disastrous day with the execution of Felix Manuel and the fall of Mesquite, but the ROAS remained defiant and strong. She mentioned several news clips, all of which highlighted the heroic video of Staff Sergeant Lisa McMichael. Aids reported positive public feedback as the video of the female grunt with the missile launcher gave a face to the struggle. Buoyed by the news, Ortega felt confident the citizenry would sustain their government as it fought back.
Then she outlined how messages of support had come in from the few remaining ROAS allies but little else. As expected, China and Russia condemned the US attack. So far, neither country offered direct aid, and if they did, she wouldn’t accept. Meanwhile, President Tower was bombarding social media with claims that Ortega’s acceptance of extradition was undeniable proof of guilt, justifying both the execution of Manuel and the attack on Mesquite.
In the last hour, she explained, the ROA diplomatic office had received word of the latest US demand, the repatriation of Nevada. SALI had predicted that threat, so it wasn’t a surprise.
“How much time are they giving us?” asked Basu.
“No timetable yet, but SALI expects the US will give us two days, give or take. A lot depends on how much pushback they get from China and Russia.”
“Not much time,” said Basu. He leaned back and stared at the ceiling as if guidance there would be forthcoming.
She waited for the man in deference. Truth was, even though she resented the oligarchs, she respected Basu’s personal wisdom and advice. Without his steady and brilliant mind, secession might not have occurred, and SALI wouldn’t exist. Still, he controlled the AI, not her. He’d kept SALI so well hidden, she hadn’t learned of the AI’s existence until a few months ago when the assassination crisis hit. It was then that Basu called her in and explained his secret—SALI had never been destroyed and the US, somehow, had come to learn of the deception. Since then, Ortega had decided it was best to let Basu take the lead while she determined how best to influence his decisions. Now, she was more determined than ever to see SALI properly deployed. But she’d have to play her cards carefully.