I Am Automaton

Part III


Carl’s In Charge


Chapter 17

Fort Bliss

Texas

Four Days Later

Carl had been in the hospital for three days for medical and psychiatric observation. In that time, Captain London had been in once to visit him. She had offered her condolences regarding his brother, and she ordered him to report to her office upon his discharge. She set the time and date.

She was a breath of fresh air for Carl. He basked in her intelligence, her beauty, and her sincerity. He thought the sessions were a joke, but he knew she was only doing her job and he decided that he wasn’t going to give her a hard time.

The psychiatrist was another story. The man came in for only thirty seconds at a time and asked him some very obvious and rudimentary questions. He asked about his sleep and his appetite. He asked if he was anxious or depressed. And then he left.

There was one visitor that he expected but who never came—Major Lewis. But he was instructed to report to Major Lewis’ office upon discharge.

He anticipated what would come out of the meeting. He didn’t believe Lorenzo when he said that Major Lewis was oblivious to the plans to siphon off ID to the Navajas.

It just didn’t make sense. It didn’t follow that ninety ID were lost in what was a “successful” operation and he’d just give them more, no questions asked.

Carl figured that it would be Major Lewis’ reaction that would belie his guilt or innocence. If he pulled Carl out of the ID Program, he figured it would imply Lewis’ guilt.

Why else would he pull out the lone survivor of the program and start over from scratch? If Lewis were indeed a part of the conspiracy, he would not have expected Carl to survive. And, the fact that Carl was alive meant that he knew everything. Hence, Lewis would have to rebuild the program from scratch.

Or, Lewis was going to make him an offer to take Lorenzo’s place, but this was less likely. The fact that Carl was still alive meant that he killed Lorenzo and Lockwood and therefore wasn’t going along with the conspiracy.

Either way, the ball was in Carl’s court, and he was going to dictate terms.

When the door to Major Lewis’ office opened, Carl stepped in, removed his headgear, and saluted the Major.

“Have a seat, son.”

Carl sat.

“Let me begin by saying that I’m sorry for the loss of your brother. He was a good man. A tough soldier. He will be missed.”

Carl nodded.

“I’ve read your report about Lorenzo and Lockwood. It’s unfortunate. Two rotten apples that caused the deaths of American soldiers to make some money on the side. Frankly, I’m surprised at the both of them.”

Carl sat up straight in his chair, offering no response verbally or with body language. Major Lewis continued.

“I’m tempted to shut down the program altogether, but since you’ve been away, there’ve been several more terrorist attacks on soft targets in the American heartland. It’s unclear at the moment whether or not it was homegrown, but the usual suspects are taking credit. One thing’s for certain, the attacks were coordinated. The press is running wild, stirring up paranoia and panic.”

Carl smirked at the Major. “So you’re pulling me out of the ID Program.”

“I have to, son. The press is all over what happened in Xcaret. They’re reporting dead bodies of an entire platoon of what was apparently US Army in some very interesting uniforms. They’re reporting that there were some corpses that were inexplicably dead less recently than makes sense. We need damage control, and after the mutiny, I want to start from scratch.”

Carl sniffled pointedly and sat forward in his chair. “You want me out because Lockwood named you.”

Major Lewis’ expression turned to outrage. “Are you accusing me of conspiracy, Private?”

“I said that Lockwood named you.”

“Be very careful, son. I’ll have you court marshaled for insubordination.”

“It’s okay, though. It all makes sense,” Carl continued, “but you’re not pulling me out of the program.”

Major Lewis didn’t believe the balls on this private. “Listen, you little shit. Just because you had a harrowing few days in Mexico…”

“No, you listen, Major. You want me in this program, because I can control the ID.”

“You can—what do you mean you can control them?”

“I can control them. They listen to me. I don’t need an Amygdala Inhibitor. Not only do they not attack me, but they take my direction.”

“What in the name of all that is holy are you talking about, boy. The psychiatrist needs to re-examine you…”

“You don’t believe me? I can show you.”

“Listen, son. You’re obviously mentally unstable. There’s no way I’m going to put you back in the program like this. You’re looking at a discharge the way you’re talking…or the brig.”

“Go ahead. Call the ID containment facility.”

“What? What are you talking about now?”

“I said call the ID containment facility.”

“I’m through wasting my time…”

Just then, the Major’s phone rang. He ignored it and pressed the button for his secretary. “Mary…”

“Yes, Major.”

“Have two MP’s sent to my office immediately.”

“What about the Third Hangar?”

Lewis’ face turned white. That was what they called the ID containment facility. “What about the Third Hangar, Mary?”

“They’ve been trying to contact you. Apparently they’re having some difficulty with some of the cargo in storage.”

Major Lewis gawked at Carl incredulously. Carl just sat there looking self-satisfied.

“Sir?”

“Yes, Mary.”

“You still want me to get two MP’s?”

He sized Carl up with wide eyes. “No. No, Mary. Cancel that.”

He terminated the call. His phone rang again. He picked up. “Hello?...Yes…calm down…they’re what?...did you hit the master AI kill switch…you did…seal the area and evacuate immediately.”

He terminated the call. “I don’t know how you’re doing this, but make it stop, Birdsall.”

“Oh, Major, I can make it start or stop at any time.”

“There are innocent people…”

“Oh, save it. They’re in no danger. You, on the other hand…if I were you, I’d listen to me very closely. Your life just might depend upon it.”

Major Lewis swallowed hard. He looked as if he was about to be ill. “I’m listening.”

“Because of you, my brother was killed, his whole platoon wiped out for the second time. But, I’m willing to overlook it for now.”

“Wh-what do you want?”

“I want the program to remain open.”

“Why? What are you playing at?”

“Because lucky for you, I need you. I still have a bone to pick with these terrorists…and the drug cartels. I need you to let me lead the program. It’s the only way.”

“How?”

“How what?”

“How do you…control them?”

“With all due respect, Major, that’s none of your concern right now. I want you to focus. This is very important.”

Major Lewis was completely taken off guard. He was taken off guard by the apparent veracity of this young man’s story. More importantly, he was taken off guard by his cold, calculating confidence and negotiation with a superior officer.

“This program is very important, and it needs to continue. We are on the cusp of turning the tables on these bastards. I want to take the fight to them. I want to hunt them down in their own caves and smite them from the face of the earth. It is now my sole purpose.”

“And what about me?” Lewis couldn’t believe he was at the mercy of some little grunt private.

“Believe me, Major, I’d like nothing better than to kill you, but it won’t bring my brother or any of the other men back. I need you because I have bigger fish to fry. But I wouldn’t expect you to understand sacrifice.”

It was true. This measly administrator no longer knew the pangs of sacrifice. He’d gone soft from sitting behind a desk, and in his decadence, his morality had decayed. He had been swayed by greed into conspiring with scoundrels, the very enemy he was sworn to hunt in the name of freedom.

However, Carl understood sacrifice. His brother Peter understood sacrifice. Barnes and Munger and Smithe all understood sacrifice. There was a greater good at stake, and an opportunity to pursue the elusive enemies of liberty to the bitter end.

“Firstly, I am not a Private. In the field, as the sole survivor of the Xcaret mission, I have been promoted to First Lieutenant.”

“Yes…yes, I suppose that can be arranged.”

“It has already happened. Second, I am to be shortly promoted to Captain.”

“But…”

“Captain, for valor. Thirdly, we rebuild the program with a new team. And then we go to Afghanistan and get these bastards where they live.”

“It took time to scout those men…”

“I have a list of men, from my experience in Basic Training. They’re good men, and we’ve already functioned as a team, so I expect the learning curve to be brief.”

“I-I—”

“And if at any time I get the sense that you are having second thoughts about our little arrangement, you will be paid a visit from some of our ID. Do you know what it feels like to be eaten alive, Major?”

Lewis just gaped at Carl. There was no response he could give other than a nod.

“Good, so we have an accord.”

“Wh-what about the ID in the containment facility?”

“Oh, them? They’ve already stopped.”

Major Lewis’ phone rang.

“You take that call. It’ll be the men at the containment facility telling you what I just did—the ID are immobilized again. I expect to see those transfers within the week so we can begin training exercises. The future of American lives and freedom are depending on you, Major. This is your chance to do something right.”

Carl stood up and saluted the Major, who flummoxed, returned a limp salute. Carl smiled and left the Major’s office.

***

In the week that followed, Carl assembled his platoon, which was largely composed of his mates from Basic Training—Mendoza, Koontz, Kettle, Cartieras, Fromm, and even Cronos.

It was like old times, only Carl was the CO and they were wrangling zombies. Carl preserved the Labyrinth hazing, putting each unsuspecting man in there with an ID. Lieutenant Farrow stood nervously by with his finger over the AI kill switch, but thanks to Carl’s newfound talent, it was completely unnecessary.

Once they began the training exercises of release, infiltration, target neutralization, and extraction, everything went like clockwork. The men already had a rapport and worked well together, and Carl’s uncanny control over the ID made everything run that much more smoothly.

There were no humpers, none of the ID got out of hand and attacked any of the men, and Carl often found himself inside the funnel of the reverse Vee formation amongst the ID, their fearless leader and fellow automaton.

Carl’s new gift frightened the men, and it cultivated a mystique around him that induced immediate respect. The man was a machine, driven in the exercises, and one only wondered how any terrorists would stand a chance in an actual combat scenario.

Carl was intense, totally without fear, and unrelenting. His platoon became a formidable force in a short period of time, and he counted the days until deployment to Afghanistan.

In the meantime, Major Lewis kept his end of the one-sided bargain, promoting Carl to the rank of Captain. He nervously granted whatever Carl asked for and was reluctantly impressed by what Carl had done with his platoon in such a brief period of time.

During it all, Carl attended sessions with Captain London. She, too, was impressed with his accomplishments, but she was also concerned with his singular focus on the program.

“You know, you’re different than your brother.”

“Easy, Fiona. Let’s not disrespect the dead.”

“Oh, by no means. Peter was a great man, a hero. Just an observation.”

He smiled at her sincerity. “Go on.”

“Peter also suffered a great deal of loss. He, too, was an only survivor.”

“Yeah, so?”

“Well, he was suffering with conflicting emotions. He was riddled with guilt. We call it ‘survivor’s guilt.’”

“Yes, I know what survivor’s guilt is.”

“But you, Carl, on the other hand, seem to have closed off all your emotions. With Peter, we were concerned about his sense of vengeance clouding his judgment. But you don’t even want revenge.”

“And this is a problem how?”

“It’s a problem because it is unnatural not to feel sadness or loss.”

“I did, at first, but…a switch inside me flipped. It’s not a defense mechanism, Fiona. Something’s changed.”

“What’s changed, Carl? Explain it to me.”

“I’m not repressing emotion. It’s just not practical now. I have no one, which I think makes me the perfect weapon. I have nothing to lose. My entire purpose is to devote myself to hunting terrorists.”

“But that’s not healthy.”

“What’s healthy, Fiona? Am I supposed to cry myself to sleep every night? Do you want me to wash out due to mental instability?”

“I fear you’ve been traumatized beyond what your defenses can handle.”

“Don’t you see? Fiona, I’ve been set free. We are at war with an adversary who doesn’t fear death, who has no regard for their own lives. We’ve never been able to combat that, or even fathom it for that matter. But I do now.”

“You almost sound suicidal.”

“I am suicidal like any soldier who goes into combat knowing full well that there’s a good chance he’s not coming back. I don’t want to die, but I don’t fear it either. Believe me, I want to stick around to hunt every last terrorist until I take my last breath.”

Fiona wanted to change the subject for the moment. “What about this…ability of yours?”

“What about it?”

“They tell me it’s like you control the ID, and they follow your every command.”

“It’s not like, Fiona, I really do.”

“But how? How does it work?”

Carl sighed and looked down at his hands on his knees for a moment, as if searching for the right answer. “To tell you the truth, I don’t know. I just can.”

“But it’s impossible.”

“Really? Because I’m doing it. If you don’t believe me you should come down to our exercises and observe some time. Or if you’d like, I could summon some ID up to your office for a demonstration.”

Captain London squirmed in her seat. “No, that won’t be necessary. I just want to know how.”

“How? That’s like asking someone how they reach out for a cup of coffee or pick up a pen to write their name. They just do it, they don’t know how.”

“Some think it’s because of the trauma you’ve experienced, all of the loss.”

“Other soldiers have experienced loss.”

“True, but then you talk about something snapping inside of you…”

“I never used the word snapped. That word implies that I have gone crazy. But on the contrary, I feel saner than I ever have in my life.”

“I don’t know if I’d call what you’re experiencing sane, Carl.”

“What is sane, Doc? Normal people walk around oblivious to the horrors of life. They buy houses with picket fences, go to their little jobs, and attend dinner parties. But when the harsh realities of this world intrude on their delicate little fantasies, their ‘assumptive world,’ as you shrinks would call it, is shaken. Then insecurity, paranoia, and fear creep in.”

“What are you trying to say, Carl? That you’re better than all of those people?”

“Not better. Just free. I know the horrors of evil. I’ve experienced pain and loss. But emotions like fear and sadness only make you succumb to terror.”

“So you’ve turned off your fear?”

“How does a tightrope walker in the circus walk the tightrope? He turns off the fear. How about in the early 1900’s, those pictures you see of men walking on steel girders stories up in the air with no safety harnesses. In those situations, fear is not practical. Come on, Fiona, what about Victory Tower?”

“In Basic Training?”

“Exactly. Surely, you remember Victory Tower. I don’t think anyone forgets it. You swallow your fear and run the course. That’s the purpose, right?”

“I guess.”

“Listen. Just because you don’t understand my state of mind does not make it dysfunctional.”

Fiona hesitated. She was waiting for the right moment to bring it up, but time was running out. “Carl, I’d like you to submit to some brain imaging. MRI’s of your brain.”

“Sure, I’ll do whatever you want. I don’t know what you expect to find though.”

She was surprised and relieved. “Thank you. I just want to make sure that this new ability of yours isn’t something detrimental to your health.”

“Do what you think is right, Doc. I won’t fight you.”

“And before you go, I wanted to briefly discuss your father.”

Carl pretended to look at his watch. “Boy, I’m really getting a bang for my buck this session. You’re not going to charge me double, are you?”

Captain London glared at him.

“Okay, okay. What about my father?”

“You said before that you had nothing left. But you still have your father. I want you to go home for a few days, and reconnect. See how he’s doing.”

“I don’t think now’s the best time. We’re almost functional, and…”

“And nothing, Carl. Just a few days. I think it’ll be good for you.”

“So I don’t lose my humanity?”

“I didn’t say that, but now that you mention it, yes. I think that you need to care for your father.”

“Doing what I do every day is caring for my father and every other American. True care is sacrifice, doing what needs to be done even to your own detriment.”

“Go home, Carl.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“I already arranged for a pass. Major Lewis approved it.”

“Thank you, Doctor.”

“And when you come back I want you to report to radiology for testing.”

“Can’t I have Kettle hold up a MR.UD to my head?”

“CARL.”

“Okay, okay.”

“Now get out of my office. Talking to you is exhausting.”

Carl stood up, saluted, and smirked. “Thank you, Fiona.”

“Scram.”

***

Carl walked up his front walk to his house and rang the doorbell. There was a period of silence, and just as he was about to scan and let himself in, he heard his dad shuffling to the door. The door opened.

“Hi, Dad.”

Carl was astounded when he saw the state of his father. It was 11:00 and the man was still in his robe, his hair jutting out to one side, at least a few days of whiskers on his face, and he reeked of body odor.

“Jesus, Dad. Are you okay?”

“Come on in,” his father said almost absent mindedly.

He followed his father into the living room, which contained waist high piles of garbage, laundry, and all other kinds of discarded things.

“Dad, what happened?”

“You, know Carl, I expected to hear the news about your brother from you, not some bureaucrat I don’t know.”

“Dad, there was no time.”

“Dammit, Carl, there’s always time.”

“We spoke over the com.”

“A quick call isn’t enough. It was hard enough losing your mother. But now, Peter too…”

“Dad, I was there, remember? I know what happened.”

Carl’s father got right in his face, his breath pungent. “Oh yeah? So what did happen, exactly? You gonna give me some bullshit about Peter being a hero in some vague combat situation. Shit, I don’t even know where you guys were!”

Carl thought for a minute. His father had received the “official version” of what happened, the runaround designed to make grieving parents feel proud without revealing any sensitive information.

“I’ll tell you, Dad. I’ll tell you everything.”

His father looked dumbfounded. He hadn’t quite expected that answer. “You wouldn’t. You can’t.”

“Technically you’re right, Dad, but you deserve the truth. But only under one condition.”

“Okay.”

“You must take it to your grave.”

“What?”

“It’s very classified, Dad. Not even all of the army knows about it.”

His father walked into the kitchen and cleared some garbage off of a chair. Carl came in and leaned on the kitchen counter like he and Peter always used to do.

“Dad, Pete and I were working on something very classified. Something very important. Something that might make us start to win against these terrorists.”

“Yeah, Carl, did you hear about the other attacks? The President is bombing Afghanistan, but those terrorists hide like rats in the caves. We can’t get to them.”

“Funny you should bring that up, Dad.”

And Carl began to tell him about the ID Program, the Labyrinth, and the training exercises. He told his father about Peter’s involvement in operations against the Navajas cartel in Mexico, what happened in Tijuana, and the botched mission in Xcaret that left his father with only one son.

At first, his father thought he was joking. But as Carl told the story and filled it in with such inexplicable detail, he began to realize that this was no tale. Carl was definitely breaking protocol by telling his father, but Major Lewis was in no position to do anything about it.

There was also the risk of the information leaking out to the public, but Carl trusted his father. Besides, once he got to Afghanistan and scorched the earth, the government would want to publicize their use of the Insidious Drones.

When Carl was done bringing his father up to date, his father just sat there staring at him.

“Well, that’s what has been happening.”

“And…you’re going to be leading these Insidious Drones?”

“Yup.”

“And you can control them…with your mind.”

“Exactly.”

His father let out a loud sigh. “Carl, don’t you think there’s been enough loss?”

“I-I don’t know what you mean, Dad.”

“You’re all I have left. These bastards took my wife and one of my sons. And now they’re going to finish the job with you.”

“Dad, I have to do it. No one else can, not like I can.”

“But why not someone else this time, Carl? You can come home, live here as long as you like. Maybe go back to school.”

School. Wow. Carl hadn’t thought about school in quite some time. At this moment, classes and homework seemed silly. Ridiculous even.

“Dad, there’s nothing for me here. School is pointless. There are no jobs. And what am I supposed to do? Go from hunting terrorists to sitting in a cubicle making copies all day?”

“You’d be safe.”

“Like Mom? No one’s safe, Dad. Don’t you see? Unless we do something about the evil that’s out there, there is no safe. There won’t be any companies or employees or colleges or students.”

His father put his palm gently on Carl’s face. “You used to be my little boy. You were so young, and smart, and full of life. Now I don’t recognize you. You are so hard, and full of scars.”

“I’m a man now, Dad. I’m no longer a boy. You raised me to do right, not play it safe. And I’m doing right. And believe me, once I get out there with the ID, nothing will be the same again.”

“I just wish it didn’t have to be you.”

“Dad, there will come the day when you will be proud it’s me. I know this is all hitting you at once, and it’s a lot for you to digest, and you don’t fully understand all of it. But trust me. Someday soon you will understand.”

His father threw his hands down at his sides and stood there resigned.

“And by the way,” Carl continued, changing the subject, “at what point did you start living like this? Pete didn’t tell me anything about this.”

Barry looked sheepish. “He didn’t want you to worry.”

“Come on, Dad. You’ve got to start taking better care of yourself. Let me help you clean up. Then we’re going to go out for lunch. My treat, of course.”

Carl began to help his father clean up the kitchen and then the living room. It was such a herculean task that Carl sent out for lunch, and they went out to dinner later that evening.

Carl recognized that Fiona was right. It did feel good to see his father. His dad needed him. He’d never understand what Carl had been through or why Peter died, but Carl needed to be a son to his father.

He’d have all the time in the world to be a fearless warrior on the battlefield. But being with his father reminded him of what he was doing it all for, and his resolve grew even stronger.

***

Somewhere in Mexico

A man sat alone in the dark, hands tightly bound behind his back, drenched with sweat, with a burlap sack over his head. He found it difficult to breathe, his hot, uneven breath hitting the inside of the burlap and bouncing back on his face, smothering him.

If the Navajas had wanted him dead, he would have been dead already. They were keeping him alive, but to what purpose he was not certain. He had been moved around, dragged in and out of vehicles blindly. There had been no contact since he had been taken, save for an occasional sip of water in the dark. But whatever it was, he was resolved not to cooperate, even if it meant his demise.

He heard a door open and footsteps in the dirt. He braced himself for whatever was coming. He was forcibly bent forward at the waist so that the person was able to grab him by his bindings and hoist him up. He rose to his feet with a grunt of pain and was shoved forward, stumbling as he went.

They left whatever structure he was being kept in, because sunlight began to penetrate the gaps in the burlap and he began to hear the ambient sounds of the outdoors. After a few minutes of being led blindly, his captor yanked him to a halt by his bindings, and he stood there waiting for whatever was in store for him. He whispered a silent prayer for the strength to resist whatever came next.

After standing for some indeterminate amount of time waiting, he heard multiple sets of footsteps approach. The burlap sack was yanked off of his head. As sunlight flooded his vision, he struggled to make out his surroundings.

He was correct in concluding that he was outside. He was in a sizable clearing, about the size of a football field, with lush vegetation surrounding it. There were men in tattered black outfits, approximately sixty of them, standing motionless at attention.

They looked like soldiers, but as his eyes adjusted he saw that they were not human, and they were not standing at attention…they were completely still. The commander of this outfit, a Navajas, approached him accompanied by a smaller man. The commander began to bark at him in Spanish. A heartbeat delayed, the smaller man began to translate.

“You will help us to use these monsters. You will teach us how to make them follow commands. You will teach us how to control them. You will teach us how to make them kill. If you do not, you will be tortured.”

Although the smaller man was translating, the prisoner never took his eyes off the Navajas commander. He hesitated, gathering saliva in his mouth, and spat on the ground, spraying the commander’s boots. The commander sneered, baring yellow teeth, and struck him hard on the side of his head, catching his ear. The ringing was so loud that he could not hear what the translator said next.

The translator apparently realized this and began to speak in hushed tones to the commander. The commander nodded. The man who dragged the prisoner out shoved him forward towards the decrepit men in black standing in rows.

The prisoner was guided right up to one in the front row and was shoved face-to-face with it. It had no breath, but a stench emanated from its mouth that nearly made him lose his lunch.

He was then pulled away, and again the commander barked at him. The smaller man translated. “You will teach us, or we will feed you to this one piece by piece, and you will watch as it feeds on your appendages.”

Shit, these guys weren’t playing around. The prisoner shrugged. “I don’t even know what these things are. How the hell am I supposed to teach you how to use them?”

The small man translated back to the commander, who shook his head in defiance. Then he got in his face and shouted, covering the man’s face with spittle.

“He says that you will teach his men, or he will start by feeding the monster your…manhood.”

Certainly not the way he wanted to go. He was thinking of something like a decapitation, or being shot in the back of the head. Maybe there was another way out of this, a way that if he was going to die he could take as many of these bastards with him.

He smiled wryly. “When do I start?”

The commander, upon hearing the translation, smiled triumphantly. He signaled to another man, who handed a small apparatus to the prisoner. The prisoner looked down and saw a remote control with a button. He held it up towards the monsters standing in rows and pressed the button. They began to move forward, reaching out for the commander and his little translator.

The translator shouted, “Stop!” The commander backed away behind his translator, training his gun on the prisoner and shouting in Spanish.

The prisoner smiled defiantly, “Go ahead and shoot me. You won’t escape.”

“We have someone important to you,” shouted the translator.

This got the prisoner’s attention. What did they have up their sleeves now? He had a feeling he knew, but he hoped he was wrong. “Prove it.”

The translator took out his Mini-com, activated the video feature, and tossed it to the prisoner. The prisoner looked down at the screen, and his face went white.

The monsters were closing in on the commander, who now had his handgun trained on them. The prisoner pressed the button, and the monsters came to a stop. He was furious as he looked down at the Mini-com screen. They weren’t bluffing.

“Do you see that monster standing over him in the wedding dress?” the translator gloated. “We will feed him to it, and you will watch.”

“And what makes me think you won’t harm him if I do what you ask?” the prisoner asked through gritted teeth.

“He will die quickly, senor…” the man looked at his rank on his uniform, “…Lieutenant. But if you don’t, his death will be slow and painful.”

Peter Birdsall looked down at the screen, as if one more look would reveal that the scene depicted was not real. He looked around to see if he could figure out where they were keeping Carl. They had him by the short hairs…for now.

“Okay, I’ll do it.”

The video was looped, which suggested that the footage was not current. Carl was probably dead. But he would bide his time and discover the truth of all of this. And then he would catch these bastards off guard and turn the drones on them. For some unknown reason God had given him nine lives, not that he felt he deserved it. But he’d keep on keeping on…for Carl.