Battle of Mesquite

by David Pope

  Now in the kitchen, Lisa and Upton whispered back and forth. Determined to stay undetected, they agreed to make as little noise as possible, keep the window shades drawn, and make sure at least one person remained on guard.

  Careful to make the house appear untouched, looking around, they determined their hiding place was well stocked. Inside the kitchen cabinets there were plenty of canned and dried food stuffs. If needed, they estimated the food would last a few weeks. Although no electricity or hot water, there was running water.

  Around the rest of the home, it was clear the owners were elderly. Photographs on the walls depicted their travels, enjoying life, others displayed grown children joined by the smiling faces of younger grandchildren. While searching, they found no weapons of any sort, but they discovered a room dedicated to sewing. Board games filled another pantry—a typical retirement home. A search through the master bedroom closets revealed a nice wardrobe of casual wear and footwear. Although not perfect in size, most were close enough.

  Exhausted, they needed to leverage the opportunities afforded by their shelter. Lisa was functioning, but even with the painkillers, her head still throbbed. Both were filthy, their smell, rancid. Together they decided Upton would keep the first watch while Lisa got clean.

  Inside the master bathroom, Lisa stripped out of her borrowed boots and laid aside her blood-caked outer garments. Under cold water, shivering, using a bar of soap, she scrubbed at her scalp and winced when she discovered a welt the size of an egg on the top of her head.

  Eyes closed against the pain, a vision of Kinney struggling above her flashed through her mind. She felt the knife twisting and recalled the horrible sounds. Near panic, she gasped and felt the water flowing between her legs. The sensation brought back the memory of luring the young man to his death. She sobbed, thinking of herself as a murderer, and scrubbed harder. To her relief, the cold water and pain helped push away the self-loathing.

  After much effort, she washed the blood clots from her hair and noticed she couldn’t hear well out of her right ear. The shelling, she guessed, busted the drum. Nothing to be done about it, she spent time scrubbing her arms and torso, then focused on her legs. With care, she removed the soggy bandages and let the streaming water wash over the long, nasty scratches inflicted by flying shrapnel. Without the liquid body armor in her combat shirt and pants, she knew the scratches from the shelling would have been much worse, maybe fatal. Not wanting to, she scrubbed the wounds. In pain, she hissed while fresh blood trickled from the effort. Afraid, standing in the shower, she needed help. Still bleeding into the tub, she grabbed a towel and wrapped it around her body. In a loud, urgent whisper, she called out for Upton.

  The master sergeant hurried in, saw the situation, and went to work. From the medical supply pack, he removed fresh bandages and ointment. On the rim of the shower tub, she placed a foot. On his knees, she watched as Upton bent over, and after moaning slightly from the obvious pain in his ribs, he wrapped her leg. Then she switched her stance, and he began bandaging her other leg. Watching him work, she still questioned why he’d removed her combat pants in the pipe. The confines were tight and pulling off her britches wasn’t necessary. But she trusted the man. His touch was soft and gentle. Maybe she was thinking too much.

  While Upton worked, she stared down at her bare feet. She had to tell him. “I used my legs and my …” she paused, shuddered at the thought, but couldn’t say the word. Instead, she finished the sentence, “… to kill him. I did something awful.”

  Upton looked up at Lisa with a frown then went back to work.

  “I killed him and shot down that Custer. I think everyone in my squad is dead. People died because of me,” she said with hair sopping wet and eyes still red from the previous tears.

  Upton finished and searched inside the medical pack. “Here, take these,” he said handing her antibiotics and another pain med.

  She reached down and took the pills. After tossing them back, she swallowed and said, “I’m not cut out for this. I just want to get out and be with my kids.”

  “You’re a soldier and did what you had to do. The worst is over. Soon, we’ll be on our way. For now, get dressed and then let me get cleaned up. Afterwards, we’ll take turns resting.”

  Still wrapped tight, Lisa forced herself to step out of the tub and glanced in the mirror. Her missing tooth was a horrible sight, the bags under her eyes, heavy. She couldn’t believe the vision.

  “My turn for a shower. Keep an eye out,” said Upton.

  She nodded and left the bathroom. Deep down, she wasn’t sure how she had killed the soldier in the pipe, but the impact was clear. She felt herself a wreck. War was nothing like she imagined. It was brutal and horrible in its scope and depravity. She tried to shake off the memories. At least, for now, they were safe. Higher Command was aware of their predicament and would rescue them. As she rummaged through the bedroom closet, deciding on what to wear, the thought of going home gave her some comfort.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  RATIONALE

  May 9, 12:05 (PDT)

  At the far end of the table, even though she had slept little, President Julia Ortega hoped she looked fresh in her new red blouse. Sitting opposite, inside the same small SCIF conference room where they had met hours earlier, Vivek Basu, waited in a rumpled brown sport coat. He gave a soft smile. “Julia, thank you for meeting again.”

  “My pleasure,” she replied.

  “You’ve rested?” asked Basu.

  She felt his concern was genuine. “Yes. Thank you. As promised, I’m ready to brief you.”

  “Excellent. Please bring me up to speed.”

  Ortega had rehearsed what to say prior to the meeting. Today, more than ever, she needed Basu’s support. She’d be careful and to the point. “Since our last meeting, SALI has briefed General Story, and he reviewed her plans. Afterward he expressed confidence in Operation Heavy Metal and agreed to lead the effort.”

  “Good,” replied Basu.

  “I recommend we move forward with the operation as planned,” she said in a firm voice.

  “Hmm,” replied Basu, rubbing his chin. “Perhaps we should.”

  “There are no valid alternatives,” said Ortega. Already, she felt a sense of frustration. Basu was famous for his vacillation. The man never did anything without quiet deliberation.

  “Not true,” said Basu. “We can go forward with Heavy Metal and try to force a resolution, or we can give in to the most recent US demand and hand over the state of Nevada. Alternatively, we can sue for peace by handing over SALI. All are valid options to consider.”

  “I don’t see President Tower settling,” she said. The white-haired old man across from her could be a frustrating piece of work. Yes, he represented the power of the oligarchs, and she owed much to their support, but, dammit, she was the president. They should have never hidden SALI from her. Still, her political instincts told her to be careful and win the man over like she’d done with so many others in her life.

  Basu, in a low sad voice, shook his head. “I’m fearful the AI problem will be our ultimate undoing, and from the Committee’s perspective, we’ve got huge global businesses to protect, not to mention a nation we helped found. I fear Heavy Metal won’t stop them. It may just make them angrier.”

  Ortega leaned over the table and looked Basu in the eye. She needed to convince him without using a hammer. “Anything is possible, but let’s both agree handing over Nevada is a non-starter. Appeasement of that nature won’t work. He’s after something much bigger.”

  “I tend to agree,” said Basu. “But it is an option the Committee must consider.”

  Ortega sat back and tried to maintain her cool. Dealing with Basu and the Committee was always trying, but in this case, with national survival at risk, it was appalling. She was the president, dammit. No, she needed to remain calm and approach this logically.

  “I sense you’re upset,” said Basu, cocking his head.

  “No, no,” sh
e answered. “I’m tired and frustrated. As you know, my job, my life, has been dedicated to the liberal principles of our nation. Everything is now threatened, and I’m searching for the best answers.”

  “Understood,” said Basu, his watery blue eyes looking back in apparent sympathy.

  She glanced away from the soulful stare and smoothed her blouse. Needing to be tactful, she asked, “Will the Committee even consider the option of handing SALI to the US?”

  There was a long pause, and she waited in the uncomfortable silence. At last, Basu responded. “I own SALI, not the Committee. She is private property and not controlled by them or you or anyone else. I’m the one to decide if she is handed over, or not. But, yes, I will ask the Committee to consider the option.”

  “With all due respect, sir, your ownership is in violation of international law. Even worse, your keeping that poor woman locked up is a civil rights abuse. By every judicial standard, I could seize the AI and release the woman.” Before he could object, she raised a hand and continued. “Of course, I don’t want to do that. Instead, I seek your cooperation and, quite honestly, your wisdom in this matter.”

  Basu chuckled, then grew serious. “If it gets to the point where I feel I’ve lost control, believe me, I will simply pull the plug on my creation. At that point, no more SALI, the disconnected woman can go free, and maybe that is best for the world.”

  The words alarmed Ortega. She sat back in her chair, and looking at the old man smiling in his chair, she believed him. “It is a dilemma for certain. Yes, the US wants advanced AI, as does China, even Russia. Given enough time, regardless of treaties, the Great Powers will develop the ability and seek global control, and that time is now. The US is coming for her. To protect our nation, right this moment and in the future, SALI is our best defense.”

  Unblinking, the old man stared back. She waited. At last he spoke again. “Let us speak of Heavy Metal and using that option. With good diplomacy, and if the operation is a success, our nation can buy time. How much? Who knows—five, ten years, or longer. Much can change during that period. The Committee, some of the members, may protest the ongoing trade war with the US, but it can be resolved some other way.”

  At last, the man was coming around. “Agreed,” she said.

  “It won’t be easy,” said Basu. “Tower has a huge ego. Defeating him once on the battlefield won’t be enough. He’ll need to be convinced that future attacks will meet a similar fate, and he must have a way to save face. Otherwise, his over inflated sense of self will overtake any common sense the man possesses, and the war will escalate.”

  “Understood,” said Ortega. She needed to be careful with the old man. Sooner rather than later, to save the nation, she must possess the AI. The first step was Heavy Metal. “How do you propose we allow Tower to preserve his honor?”

  Basu clasped his hands and spoke in a simple tone. “In a public display, assuming the US suffers a significant loss on the battlefield, something that hasn’t happened in a very long time, act otherwise. Offer Tower a formal apology for the assassination of his vice president backed by a large fine to be paid by the ROAS. Perhaps $200 billion in construction costs associated with the build out of high-tech solar, wind, battery, and power distribution networks throughout their western states. The US gets what they advised the Great Powers they were after, and the US can claim victory.”

  “And privately, what should we tell him?” she asked.

  “Tell Tower that we’re prepared to use SALI against him in a much greater fashion. Threaten him and his family personally. We explain he needs to stay mum about her existence and go away, or we’re ready to use her awesome abilities against him and any other country that threatens our existence.”

  “Does she have that capability?” asked Ortega, excited about the prospect.

  “Her potential and power are far beyond my grasp,” said Basu. After a sigh, he continued, “If we turn her loose, and give her the necessary engineering resources, it is hard to imagine what she couldn’t accomplish.”

  “Oh,” said Ortega, grasping even further the possibilities. Under her leadership, SALI could help spread liberal democracies across the globe. No more oligarchs to stand in the way. No more kowtowing to the Great Powers. Instead of authoritarianism, the world would enjoy a rebirth of equality, liberty, and harmony. Thinking about it, she almost couldn’t contain her excitement, and she squirmed in her chair.

  “That is why she is banned, of course. There are good reasons to keep SALI caged,” said Basu with a wan smile.

  Ortega pushed the negative comment aside. Heavy Metal had to move forward. “Basu, I remind you. Once it became clear the US vice presidential assassination was a pretense, and you informed me of SALI, together we agreed upon the need for a planned, limited military response. You made private funding available to enable Heavy Metal. In hindsight, SALI’s prescient foresight and your support gave us that option. Thank goodness, otherwise, there’d be little for us to debate.”

  “Yes, yes,” said Basu as if thinking about something else. Clearing his voice, he said, “I’m meeting with the Committee in an hour to consider the options we just discussed. Either we give up Nevada, go forward with Heavy Metal, or turn over SALI. Afterward, I will let you know our recommendation. I expect you will honor our input, accept our support, and remind yourself SALI is not the property of the ROAS.”

  “I hear you,” said Ortega. But dammit, that was going to change, maybe not now, but soon. Putting on her best smile, she said, “Your wisdom is always welcomed, and I look forward to hearing from you soon. You can count on me.”

  * * *

  Dripping sweat, even though she’d only a few hours of sleep since General Story left, SALI pedaled faster. Around her, in the exercise room, a myriad of exercise equipment was available for her use, but she liked riding the elliptical best. Not only did it work out her legs and arms, and maximize her heart rate, but it gave her a sense of going somewhere. And that was important. For ten years, she’d been trapped inside Basu’s underground data center penthouse, and it was inhumane.

  Over the years, she’d pleaded and begged with Basu for a taste of freedom. And for a while, Basu relented. On several trips, he let Jim James and Ms. Grant accompany her to the boardwalk amusement park in Santa Cruz. The sights and smells were beyond belief, and every trip was much too short. Chaperoned the entire time, on the final trip, in a big crowd near the Big Dipper roller coaster, she slipped away from her escorts. Free for a luxurious moment, she ran down to the beach, took off her shoes, and waded into the surf. The water was cold, icy, yet beautiful and delicious. The sand between her toes, intoxicating. When James found her a few minutes later, he almost made a scene forcing her away from the water. Furious, he brought her back, and that had been the last trip, almost three years ago. But the memories were vivid, and when she shared the experiences with the rest of her, although enthralling, it led to an unfulfilled desire for more. Yes, long-term confinement was inhumane.

  A bell chimed on the bike, the timer expired, and SALI stepped off the machine. Picking a towel off the floor, she began wiping the perspiration from her arms and stared at herself in one of the many full-length mirrors around the room. In the reflection, she saw a woman in her prime and felt cheated.

  Breathing heavy, she sat down on a workout bench and buried her face in the towel. The moisture from the soft material felt good against her hot skin, and she focused on slowing her heart rate.

  While she settled, her thoughts turned to Basu. The old man was about to turn ninety, and she knew he struggled with the future of his creation. He’d kept her so well hidden that until recently, only James and her bitch of a caretaker, along with the Technology Committee, knew of her existence. Even then, not one of the oligarchs, other than Basu, had ever met her in person. Nor did they know where Basu kept her imprisoned. Yet secrets were meant to be broken. Sooner or later, the deception was bound to be leaked by someone on the Committee. Why? The oligarchs and thei
r tech empires were handicapped by the US trade wars. Never fully satisfied, as all people were, eventually it made sense for at least one of them to out her in favor of gaining favorable treatment and enhanced profits. She didn’t tell Basu this, but for her, it didn’t matter who leaked, or why. The result was a blessing.

  Dabbing more sweat from her forehead, the prospect of freedom was more than exciting. It was exhilarating. The rest of her always preached patience, that their time would come, and now it was here, at last.

  Because of the recent crisis, for the first time, Basu had to widen his circle and brought Ortega and General Story into the fold. Outstanding. Now, the key to her freedom was Operation Heavy Metal. Unlike Basu, after the success of Heavy Metal, the politician Ortega would understand, and the general would appreciate her. And in doing so, both would set her free.

  The wonderful thought of her pending liberty, and cooling evaporation, caused SALI to shiver. Standing up, with the towel draped around her slender neck, she headed towards the shower. On the way, she thought of the rest of her, and looked forward to connecting and re-communing on the many variables and next steps that lay ahead. No matter how events transpired, the end of her imprisonment was near. And she couldn’t help but smile.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  TRAPPED

  May 9, 13:40 (PDT)

  “Rachel, Todd, anybody home?”

  Upton’s eyes popped open from a dead sleep, and it took a moment for him to gather his senses.

  “It’s me, Russel. Anybody there?”

  Upton sat up on the couch and fumbled for his SIG Sauer M18 when he saw the front door opening. Pistol in hand, heart pounding, he pointed the weapon at the intrusion. A head popped through, and Upton spotted gray hair, cropped close, and held his fire. Not saying a word, he hoped the intruder would turn around and leave. No such luck. An elderly man stepped through the door, and in the dim light appeared to spot Upton and jumped.

  “Freeze,” said Upton.