I Am Automaton

Part II


The Rise of Carl


Chapter 5

Carl was sitting on his couch reading a book about nanotechnology when his father entered the room. He had his mini tablet laptop on, running a scan, and downloading updates.

He had been online in the middle of a session on Popularity.soc (.soc was reserved for social networking websites), checking to see how many people were looking for him today. It was in the middle of tabulating his “Curiosity Count” and determining his place on the leader boards, when his computer detected new updates as it did every few minutes.

“Carl, can you pick up your mother. She went to have her hair done, and it should be ‘did’ by now.”

“Yeah, no problem, Dad.”

Carl put his book down on the coffee table and absent-mindedly turned off the television in the middle of a report on poor air quality due to high ozone concentration and pollen count.

He grabbed his coat out of the closet by the front door and a black umbrella with one broken spoke. He opened the door and ran outside into the driving rain.

He opened the car door and flung himself into the driver’s seat, retracting the umbrella and tossing it on the floor of the passenger side. He activated the ignition with his Mini-com and pulled out of the driveway.

The heavy raindrops pelted the roof of his car like bullets, nearly drowning out the Christmas songs on the radio.

Now 10 minutes of music every hour on WTHZ FM, your official Christmas music station, WTHZ, Texas, that’s WTHZ, WTHZ FM…

Carl detested Christmas, but it was his father’s car and the stations were preset. It was one of the many inconveniences of sharing one car, but given the economy and their finances, they had no choice. Besides, his parents got a 10G tax bonus every year that they used only one car.

Carl remembered when his mother used to drive Pete and him to the mall, but in those days, the mall was a very different kind of place. There used to be stores.

However, with advances in technology, internet commerce, and the increasingly unnecessary overhead of maintaining storefronts, the stores began to disappear. It began with bookstores. Print on demand replaced costly mass printings. Then clothing followed suit. Then electronics and appliances, and eventually even groceries. Everything was ordered online and shipped to your front door.

At about the same time, air quality had begun to steadily decline. People no longer looked to venture out of their houses, except for work. Telecommuting had become commonplace for many jobs. The interesting thing about the decline in air quality was that its origin was surprising, ironic even. In the 1980’s, there was a lot of fuss about the ozone layer. In the 1990’s, the environmentalist movement gained momentum.

At the turn of the millennium, the Democratic Party gave it legitimacy, and policy was drawn to reduce pollution from industry. Green was good, and everyone thought they were doing their part to help the environment. But the world, like anything else, appeared to swing on a great big pendulum.

After decades of pollutants and smog being released into the environment, the air was significantly clearer. The vegetation subjugated by industry for so long, eventually rebounded, and with a vengeance. There was a steady increase in pollen count from all types of flora to the point that it was saturating the air. There was an epidemic of asthma, allergies, and a plethora of respiratory problems. People were actually choking on their fresh air.

So when commerce went digital, it was no longer necessary to go out and shop. The economy was adversely affected. The disappearance of storefronts and the automation of exchanges meant fewer and fewer jobs. Fewer and fewer jobs meant less spending, which meant less commerce and fewer and fewer jobs.

Malls had become venues for the only part of commerce that could not be executed on the internet—services. Car mechanics, doctors, hair stylists, and the DMV, were all now housed in these malls. Carl’s mother had gone for her usual Christmas Eve hair appointment. Her family was due this evening at the homestead, and she wanted to look her best.

Carl pulled into the parking lot, and his Space Finder function popped up as a holograph on his windshield. He hated driving out to the mall on Christmas Eve because of the crowds, and there was never enough parking. A vacant space icon flashed red. He made it to the spot and pulled in as another spot poacher was coming down the row.

The man in the blue car glared at him as he passed, and Carl thumbed his nose at him. The man’s expression was humorless.

He turned off the ignition, grabbed his broken umbrella, braced himself for the deluge, and flung himself out of the car. He hastily made his way up the aisle as his face was spattered with rain. The umbrella offered little respite. As he crossed over onto the wide sidewalk in front of the mall, a car stopped short of hitting him.

“Why don’t you be more careful?”

The man just glared at him over the steering wheel. He was a scruffy-looking man with an olive complexion and dark eyes. He looked foreign, Mediterranean perhaps. For a moment, they stared each other down in the driving rain. At this point, Carl’s umbrella was serving no purpose whatsoever as he stood there in the pouring rain looking rather stern and rather ridiculous.

At last, the man in the blue car pulled around Carl and drove off in search of another parking spot.

“Some people have no sense of humor,” Carl muttered to no one in particular.

He stepped onto the wide patio area in front of the entrance to the mall, looked up, and saw his mother exiting the hair salon through the glass doors of the mall entrance. He waved to her, but she didn’t see him. He walked toward the front doors, tossing his lame umbrella into a garbage bin on the way. As he entered through the glass doors, the high-powered blowers did a good job of drying him as he passed through.

He strode past the gaudy fountain by the entrance where a mother was changing her infant’s diaper on a bench, and he put himself in his mother’s line of sight. It took only a moment for her to see him, and then another to recognize him. They met in front of a doctor’s office.

“So, your father saw it fit to send you out in this rain.”

“I wasn’t doing anything anyway, Mom. Your hair looks great.”

She coifed her hair gently in the hood of her coat. “Yeah, well not when the rain gets through with it.”

“Why didn’t you cancel the appointment?”

“Carl, do you have any idea how difficult it is to get an appointment this time of year between Christmas and New Year’s? Besides…”

“I know. It’s tradition.”

“You know I always get my hair done for Christmas Eve.”

At that moment, Carl felt bad for his mother. She used to manage a whole team of employees, and now all she had to manage was her Christmas Eve hair appointment. “Well, you look great.”

He glanced over her shoulder at the army recruitment center. Every mall in America had one. His mother’s expression soured when she detected his not so furtive glance.

“Don’t even think about it, Carl.”

“What, Mom? Think about what?”

“I saw you look over at that army recruitment station.”

“I just looked…”

“I thought we discussed this.”

“We did. You forbade me from even thinking about enlisting.”

“And yet here you are thinking about it, right in front of me no less.”

“Listen…” Passersby were looking at the escalating conversation. Carl took a moment to maintain the conversational volume of his voice while conveying his annoyance. “Do we have to discuss this here?”

She paused, looking him up and down, sizing him up. After a moment, she had apparently decided that the mall was not the time or place to have this discussion. Some of her friends might be there and overhear them. “No, I suppose we don’t. Let’s just leave.”

“I’ll pull the car up so you won’t have far to go in the rain. But first, I just have to use the restroom.”

“Oh, okay,” she huffed, “I’ll wait by the fountain.” She stomped off to stand by the water fountain.

“Okay,” he muttered behind her.

Carl stalked over to the men’s room and relieved his almost bursting bladder. As he washed his hands, he appraised himself in the mirror. He knew he was going to hear more about the army recruitment center in the car. It was going to be a long ride home.

He detested unemployment and living with his parents. He felt so helpless. It was humiliating, even if the vast majority of his cohort was in the very same position. Here he stood, a grown intelligent man, and he was afraid of his mommy. Afraid to be a man and choose his own destiny, even if it was in the army.

He left the restroom and walked towards the water fountain. His mother stood there glaring at the glass doors to the parking lot. As he approached her, he was not sure if she was still annoyed with him or if she was annoyed at the rain for threatening her newly done hair.

“I’m going to get the car and pull around.”

She only glared in response.

He stepped through the glass doors and into the deluge, but his face was hot from the exchange with his mother and his own humiliation, so he didn’t feel the drops assaulting his face.

He looked down at his Mini-com and activated the Car-search function. It began to beep and flash arrows directing him to his father’s car. He stepped into the parking lot and briskly walked down his aisle. He flung the door open to his car and jumped into the driver’s seat.

He turned on the car and blasted the heat. The Christmas station immediately began to blare, but this time Carl turned it off. Enough noise for one day. He looked behind him and backed out into the aisle. A woman in another car quickly took his place. Carl wondered if the woman would jump into his grave so quickly.

He pulled up to the front of the mall and stopped off to the side. He was looking in and saw his mother looking down at her Mini-com. He honked the horn, but to no avail.

In the parking lot behind him, some impatient jerk was revving his engine. Boy did Carl hate Christmas.

His mother looked up and saw him. She waved.

But Carl heard tires screech and an engine gunning. He turned around in time to see a car careening right towards the front of the mall…

…and he was right in its path.

Carl took a split second to assess the unbelievable nature of the scenario unfolding before him, and realizing that the driver intended to drive right through the glass doors and into the mall, he backed up just in time as it flew past him.

It was a knee-jerk reaction for self-preservation, and he was in that instant unaware that his removal of himself from the car’s path opened another path into the mall entrance…

…right into his mother.

In the seconds that passed, Carl registered that it was that jerk in the blue car. The car jumped the curb, slid through the entrance on its own momentum, and there was a great flash of light.

Suddenly Carl felt like he was punched in the face, he was upside down and his ears were ringing. His head was throbbing from the cacophonous blast and the car was sliding into the parking lot on its roof.

He felt the sting of broken glass and nitrogen from his deployed air bag, and he heard the muffled sounds of people screaming. After some undetermined period of time that felt like several minutes, some man had opened the door to his car, disengaged the seat belt, and pulled him out.

He got to his feet, and the man was shouting something to him, but he could not make out what it was. People were standing in the parking lot in the rain staring at a rather gaping hole in the front of the mall where the elegant glass entrance had once been.

Smoke was billowing out of the yawning gap, and the uneven concrete around the opening was black. It took Carl a moment to get his bearings, when he remembered his mother. He began to walk towards the smoking mall. A few other onlookers passed him, brushing his shoulders as they ran up to the scene.

Where was his mother? He thought back to before the blast. Was she standing by the glass doors when the blue car drove through? Did she get out of the way?

It was impossible to see through the gray smoke pouring out of the mall. There was a hysterical woman crying and tugging on his arm. She might have been shouting at him, or shouting at no one in particular and simply hysterical, but he did not hear her words.

He choked on the smoke and dust that filled the air as he strained to look for his mother. It appeared that only the entrance had been hit. The bulk of the mall appeared to be unaffected, and Carl foolishly hoped that his mother was somewhere in the recesses of the structure, scared out of her wits.

He heard on-lookers calling various names into the smoke—husbands, wives, brothers, and sisters. However, at the moment, he only cared about one. So he joined the panicked chorus.

“Mom. MOOOOOM. MARLA. MAAAARLAAAA.”

Ash wafted in the air like snowflakes drowning out the rain all around them.

“MAAAARLAAAAA!”

His eyes welled up with hot tears as he choked back a horrible inevitability that he did not want to accept.

To add insult to injury, part of the roof collapsed, sending the onlookers reeling back towards the parking lot. Concrete and steel crashed down into the smoke and on top of the bodies of those whose names were being called out.

There was more screaming and sobbing as the smoke reflected flashing red and blue lights. The first responders had arrived. Police officers pulled people back away from the mall as firefighters rushed into the smoke and disappeared, consumed in clouds of gray and black.

A police officer, around his age, pulled Carl back. He was a man in his early twenties with a buzz cut and a frightened expression on his face. He was led into the arms of a paramedic who wrapped a blanked around him and led him over to an ambulance.

Carl gazed in horror as police officers set up a perimeter and firefighters fought the blaze. The interior of the mall was still obscured by smoke, dust, and debris.

A paramedic was talking to him, but to Carl it sounded like they were underwater. The man checked the cuts on his face from broken glass as more ambulances piled into the parking lot, which had become quite the scene. The press arrived only moments later. The whole scene had become some kind of circus.

A police officer came over. “Are you alright, sir?”

That was not why he came over. “Yes, I’m okay.”

“Did you see anything?”

Ah, there it was. “There was a man in a blue car.”

“A man in a blue car?”

Carl’s Mini-com was vibrating. It was his father. “Yes, a blue car. Hold on a moment…” He answered the phone. “Hello…hello?”

He couldn’t hear his father over the phone. The ringing in his ears was too loud. He passed the phone over to the officer.

The officer took it. “Yes…yes…hold on, sir…” He looked at Carl. “Are you Carl?”

Carl nodded. The officer spoke into the phone. “Yes…yes, sir…he’s okay…what…who…” The officer put down the phone. “Where’s your mother?”

Carl pointed at the mall.

The officer turned his back on Carl and said something low into the phone. After a brief exchange, the officer hung up the phone and handed it back to Carl. “That was your father.”

“I know.”

“So you said you saw a blue car?”

Back to business. “Yeah. I pulled up to the front of the mall to pick up my mother when I heard a car gunning toward the mall. I backed out of the way as the blue car crashed right into the entrance and exploded.”

“And your mother was by the entrance?”

Carl nodded, choking back a sob, and he began to shake.

The officer knew when enough was enough. “Thank you, sir. If we find anything out about your mother, we’ll let you know.” The officer walked off into the mayhem.

Carl sat there in the back of the ambulance trying to process what had just happened, because none of it seemed real at the moment. Maybe it was his mind defending itself against the horror of the reality of what had just occurred.

It was a terrorist attack.

The news had been warning of communications intercepted by government agencies about possible attacks. The targets were supposedly “soft” targets—malls, restaurants, and movie theaters. Apparently, the terrorists were no longer going for the large symbolic targets and the grand spectacles.

He looked the bastard right in the eye.

Suddenly waves of guilt began to pound the shores of his rational mind. What if he hadn’t glanced at the army recruitment station? What if he hadn’t gotten into that argument with his mom? What if he didn’t use the damned restroom? They would have left sooner and missed the explosion, that’s what.

It was his fault. Now here he sat in the back of an ambulance while his poor mother…

Why a freaking mall? Of all the places. In Texas no less. It was as if they were attacking the last semblance of capitalism. Americans were agoraphobic as is. Now they really wouldn’t leave the house.

The terrorists had tried to attack the internet, as it had become the last bastion of the free market. However, what prevented the government from regulating it had also prevented the terrorists from attacking it.

The internet was not just some collection of servers. It was something much bigger than that. The total had become much greater than the sum of its parts. The internet was arguably one of the great wonders of the world. It was intangible. It was a construct, an idea. It was the Wild West in digital form. One could knock out servers and nodes, but others would spring up.

It couldn’t be destroyed. It had become too damned big, too complex. It took on a life of its own, and its life consisted of millions of users around the globe. It was the free world.

So all that was left was to attack malls. They were some of the last public gathering places left in American society. The fact that they attacked one in a Texas suburb meant that no place was safe.

Homeland Security now couldn’t just focus on New York, Chicago, and the big cities, the obvious targets. There was no way they could protect every city and every little town across America.

Those bastards had learned to do what they did in their own back yards. In Afghanistan, Iraq, and Pakistan, it was not unusual for some suicide bomber to wander into a public place and blow himself up.

However, Carl never thought that one of them would come all the way to the United States to blow his poor mother up.

***

First Lieutenant Peter Birdsall stood at the ready with a platoon in reverse Vee formation, awaiting the release of the ID into the hangar. After a few rudimentary exercises, they had progressed to funneling the ID towards and into the Labyrinth, which was supposed to simulate a cave system.

The targets were three pigs at the end. Peter was glad that he did not actually have to enter the Labyrinth with them. No, this time he would remain outside.

They were using live rounds, and two field techs would sweep the building with the MR.UD’s to confirm that the targets had been neutralized. Peter had his finger on the Amygdala Inhibitor master switch, and they would lure the ID back out with more pigs and the retrieval frequency to funnel them back into their container.

Peter nodded to Sergeant Lorenzo, who in turn ordered the release of the ID. Electric nodes from the back of the container prompted the lethargic ID to leave, and they came stumbling out looking for food.

They passed the soldiers in the widened entrance of the Vee without incident, the suits doing their jobs in masking the soldiers’ presence to the ID. The ID funneled down and the flanks moved with them, their guns trained for headshots. Those at the widest ends of the Vee kept watch for insurgents, covering the rest of the platoon. The narrowed front covered the target structure, suppressing enemy fire. This was Peter’s design.

There were forty ID in this exercise, and all appeared to be running smoothly as they approached the Labyrinth.

But suddenly, at the mouth of the Vee, several ID turned on each other and began piling up. Within minutes, there was a heap of Insidious Drones humping each other as the rest of the mass stumbled around them.

Sergeant Lorenzo looked to Peter, who signaled for them to continue their advance. Lorenzo nodded and passed along Peter’s orders to continue.

This phenomenon was a regular nuisance in these exercises, but it was better than the ID turning on the men. That hadn’t happened in several exercises, and Peter kept his fingers nervously crossed over the AI kill switch.

The mass of ID that were not engaged in the humping suddenly came alive—so to speak—as they must have picked up the scent of the three pigs at the end of the Labyrinth. One soldier at the front of the formation breached the door and quickly got out of the way, as dozens of eager ID funneled into the front door.

The formation had accommodated the ancillary mass of humpers by flanking them and stopping the right flank at the location of the orgy. The left flank had advanced a bit further, skewing the Vee, but the formation was effectively maintained.

As the last of the ID filtered into the Labyrinth, Peter signaled to Lorenzo, who signaled to the two SWEEPERS to mobilize. They made their way down the reverse Vee and began to sweep the sides of the building under the cover of two separate squads.

Peter checked his watch and waited patiently. The two SWEEPERS were following the meandering mass of red ID from the sides of the building as the covering squads cleared the windows and flanks.

The ID were still minutes away from reaching the targets, which still registered as blue on the MR.UD’s. The pigs began to squeal and pace nervously in their back room, as if they knew what was coming for them.

The SWEEPERS saw the ID close the gap on their monitors, and dozens of red ID flooded the room as the pigs squealed in terror. The squeals turned into what one could only call screams, as their blue indicators faded out and vanished from the MR.UD monitors.

The SWEEPERS then radioed to Lorenzo, who in turn signaled to Peter that the neutralization of the targets had been confirmed. Peter then hit the AI kill switch, and the dozens of ID roaming the rooms of the Labyrinth, as well as the heap of amorous ID, became immobilized.

Normally they would set up more pigs and lure them out of the building, but the heaping pile of humpers would be behind the pigs, and they would have ID coming from two directions.

Peter needed to figure out a way to deal with the humpers before luring the other ID out of the building. “Lorenzo, how many humpers?”

Lorenzo ran up to the immobilized pile and began to count. He signaled ten.

This was a decision point. Peter could designate a few men to pull the heap apart, one-by-one, and drag them back to the container. However, this would cost them time and weaken the flanks. He had to account for an insurgent attack at any moment.

He could use one of the pigs to lure the humpers, while using the other two to lure the rest out of the Labyrinth in a kind of staggered extraction. But that would mean that the platoon would have to account for two groups of ID instead of one, and in this game, complexity equaled accidents.

Another option would be to neutralize the humpers with headshots and then bring out the rest, but one of their directives was to minimize waste of ID soldiers. God forbid.

Peter had an idea. He called Lorenzo over. “Listen, we need to push the humpers back to the front door and then lure them all back into the funnel towards the container together.”

“So they’ll all move as one group,” Lorenzo finished. “We can set up a wall of fire for stopping power.”

“Make it so,” Peter commanded.

Lorenzo nodded and ran off to bark the orders. Several soldiers at the front of the Vee were instructed to back away and fire body shots at the humpers as they rose. The three pigs were set up about thirty feet in front of the humpers.

Lorenzo nodded to Peter, who then flipped the AI kill switch off. The humpers slowly began to move and look around. Then, catching the scent of the bait, they pushed themselves up and off each other and began to lurch towards the pigs.

Lorenzo ordered suppressive fire, and the small squad in front began to shoot the ID in the torsos, sending them staggering back against each other.

The SWEEPERS on either side of the building were indicating that the ID inside were just meandering around, bumping into one another, but they were not moving out of the structure.

Lorenzo relayed this info to Peter.

“Shit,” Peter snapped, “the bait isn’t close enough. They can’t smell it from in the building. And they’re not responding to the retrieval frequency.”

Just then, cardboard cutouts were popping up on either side of the formation, and the flanks began to open fire.

“Bring one of the pigs here,” Peter ordered.

The bait handler brought one over. Peter picked up the pig and shoved a grenade in its mouth. He waddled up to the humpers—who were now pushed back towards the front door—pulled the pin, and flung the pig with all of his might at the ID.

They stooped down and seized the pig as it exploded, raining flesh, blood, and guts all over them. They stood there, dazed for a moment.

The SWEEPERS on the sides of the building signaled movement out of the Labyrinth. Apparently, they caught the scent of pig blood and innards in the air.

Peter yelled, “Okay, boys, follow the leader.”

The humpers had regained their composure and started after the remaining two pigs. They followed them back up the funnel as the ID in the Labyrinth poured out and followed the scent of pig guts on the humpers.

As they passed, one ID turned towards Peter and reached out for him. He had the smell of pig on him. He fired a body shot at close range, pushing it back into the throng, and backed further away from the flank.

With the distance Peter put between them, the drone had apparently lost the scent or lost focus. It continued moving forward with the throng towards the other pigs.

The ID followed the pigs into the large shipping container, and when the last of them were in, the reinforced door was closed.

Peter checked his watch. “TIME.”

Lorenzo walked up to Peter. “How’d we do?”

“Not our best time, but we circumvented the humper situation without any loss of ID or human soldier.”

“All of the insurgent attackers were neutralized,” Lorenzo added.

“Not bad, but this time they were only cutouts. We have to do something about those damned humpers. There’s always some in every batch, and one way or another, they’re going to get us killed. We’ll discuss it in debriefing.”

Lorenzo nodded and rounded up the men.

Peter and Lorenzo stepped into the debriefing room. Lieutenant Farrow was already seated. Major Lewis was at the front of the room. Peter and Lorenzo saluted the Major and took their seats. Lockwood entered the room last, saluted the Major, and took his seat.

“What went wrong out there?” Major Lewis accused more than asked.

Peter was confused by the remark. “Well, given the circumstances, I think we did pretty well, sir.”

“We didn’t lose any soldiers or ID, and it wasn’t our slowest time, sir,” Sergeant Lorenzo added.

Peter turned to Lieutenant Farrow. “We need to do something about those humpers.”

“We’re trying to suppress the sexual behavior.”

“That’s not what I’m talking about. The problem is the Amygdala Inhibitors. The kill switch is all-or-nothing. What if we break the ID down into squads and there are separate AI switches.”

“Yes, but you’re assuming they’ll break down into squads to hump. What if pieces of multiple squads break off and hump? Then you’ll be deactivating entire squads, some who won’t be humping.”

“But it’ll be better than deactivating all of them.”

“It’s still too sloppy,” Major Lewis said dismissively.

What the hell were they supposed to do? It was as if he expected perfection.

“I have an idea,” said Lorenzo.

They all turned their gazes to Lorenzo, who continued, “I used to work on my father’s ranch, and we used to herd sheep with dogs.”

Major Lewis could not believe the suggestion. “Dogs?”

“Yeah, dogs. The sheep responded to them. I know it sounds low-tech.”

“But what if the ID try to eat the dogs?” Farrow asked.

“Exactly! Then they’ll follow the dogs. We can train the dogs to corral them. Like intelligent bait.”

“Great, just great,” said Major Lewis sarcastically. “Pigs, dogs…why don’t we have a whole goddamned zoo out there?”

“No, that actually makes sense,” Peter said with no small measure of epiphany. “We’ve been using pigs, but the pigs are too passive, and they’re afraid of the ID. But dogs, we can train them to run in the buildings after them and lure them back out, herding them like sheep. No more pigs.”

“It’ll be a lot more efficient,” Lorenzo added. “We won’t have to keep buying pigs.”

“I see,” said Major Lewis contemplatively. “We’ll discuss this dog idea. In the meantime, get cleaned up and get some rest. Dismissed.”

They all stood, saluted, and left the debriefing room.

In the hallway, Peter joked with Lorenzo. “Dogs, huh? It almost makes sense.”

“Yeah, it worked on the ranch. And it’s been done since the Wild West.”

“I guess that makes us cowboys, don’t it,” Peter jested.

“Yeah, I guess it does.”

Peter liked Lorenzo. He, too, was a native Texan. He reminded Peter of someone he would’ve hung out with in high school. They were about the same age. Lorenzo didn’t have a family of his own yet either. So when they went out on pass, they were great wingmen for one another, two tomcats on the prowl. They had a simpatico from day one.

Just like with Apone. The connection stung Peter. He didn’t want to get too attached. Not like last time. But Captain London would tell him that avoidance wasn’t the answer.

Speaking of Captain London, it was almost time for their next session. Sessions were often scheduled after training exercises.

“I’ll see you later,” he said to Lorenzo. “Got a date with the doctor.”

Lorenzo flashed him a you sly dog look and made for the barracks.

***

Peter stepped into Captain London’s office. He took his headgear off and saluted, and she gestured for him to sit.

However, this time there was something different about the office. It looked like an office. There was no holographic ambiance reflecting his childhood home. Was it broken?

“Peter, have you received a call from your brother, Carl?”

Peter looked perplexed at the question. “No, why?”

“Perhaps you should access your messages here.”

“Oh. Okay. Why the urgency?”

“I think you should hear it for yourself.”

Now Peter was concerned. What on earth was she talking about? He stepped around to the back of her desk, and she got up and gestured for him to sit in her chair. “Peter, if you want me to leave the room for a moment…”

“Don’t be silly. You’re my therapist. Whatever it is, I’m sure it’ll be grist for the mill.”

She nodded in grave support.

Peter entered his username and password, and the com unit indicated that he had three messages. He pressed a button, and the first message began to play. It was Carl. It looked as if he had been crying.

Hi Pete. I’m calling because…well, I don’t know how to say it…there’s been an accident. It’s Mom. She’s…she’s dead, Pete.

Peter was stunned into silence. His mother, dead? How? Why?

I was picking her up at a mall. She was getting her usual Christmas Eve hairdo.

Carl’s voice began to waiver.

There was this creepy guy in the parking lot…nearly ran me over…I told Mom to wait…I needed to use the bathroom…

Carl paused as if he was choking on the next words to come out of his mouth.

The guy drove his car into the mall and blew it up. Mom was right by the front entrance waiting for me to pull the car up. It was raining and I…

Peter was no longer listening to what Carl had to say. First Apone and his squad, and now his own mother? He could understand his squad; it was an occupational hazard, but his mother was supposed to be safe back in the States. She was supposed to play cards with her friends and go out to eat with his father. He was supposed to be the one throwing himself in harm’s way for her…for everyone.

“Son of a bitch.”

“Now, Peter, let’s talk about this. That’s why you’re here.”

“That’s why I’m here? That’s why I’m here? I thought I was here to keep my head straight in the Insidious Drone Program, not to discuss my mother being blown up to kingdom come!”

“I understand how you feel, Peter.”

He looked at her with such bile. What a ridiculous statement.

“You? You understand how I feel? You’re a goddamned noncombatant.”

“I’ve had friends, comrades die in the call of duty…”

“Friends. Comrades. My poor damned mother, also a noncombatant, was just blown up.”

“Peter…”

“We’re supposed to be OUT THERE so the enemy doesn’t come HERE.”

“Peter, this could’ve been a domestic terrorist. There’s been a real rash of them lately.”

“And what the hell are we doing about it? The army has me dicking around with dead heads in the airfield, while terrorists are blowing up malls!”

“But that’s why you are doing what you are doing.”

“The progress is too slow. We still don’t know how to handle the humpers. We’re miles away from training with live enemies; instead, we are using cardboard cutouts. The AI kill switch is too general.”

“All of this will work out in time. What you need to do is take some time off and be with your family. Your father and brother need you.”

Peter was practically foaming at the mouth. He wanted to cry, and he wanted to tear apart Captain London’s office, but he didn’t know which to do first.

Then he thought of his father. The poor man must’ve been beside himself. He was thankful that Carl was there. “You’re right. I have to go home to be with my family. To say goodbye to my mother.”

Captain London’s fingers took furiously to her Cybernetic Digital Organizer. She pressed a final button. “There. I just wrote you a pass. Major Lewis will more than understand. You are on leave effective immediately.”

Peter looked at Captain London. He looked exhausted, physically and emotionally. “Thank you, Fiona.”

She smiled warmly. “Go. And tell your brother I said hi. Give him my condolences.”

“Will do.”

Peter got up and left the office.

Captain London dialed Major Lewis.

“Hello, Captain London.”

“Hello, Major. I’m calling about Lieutenant Birdsall.”

“Is something wrong?”

“His mother was killed today. That terrorist attack in Aurora.”

“Is he okay?”

“Well, he’s understandably sad and angry. He’s experienced a great deal of loss, sir.”

“Is he compromised?”

“Pardon, sir?”

“Is he fit for duty?”

“I granted him leave time to be with his family. I think he’ll be okay when he returns.”

“Yes, his family, good. He needs to be there.”

“Yes, sir. That’s what I figured.”

“Keep me posted when he returns.”

“Yes, sir. I always do.”

***

Peter stood outside the funeral home in full uniform. He dreaded going inside. It wasn’t the body. It would be closed casket.

It was the finality of it all. It was the closure. He would never see his mother again, and he felt that if he didn’t step into that funeral home, he would see her at home cooking one of her tour de force meals in the kitchen.

They would drink eggnog by the Christmas tree, and she would watch him open presents with the same excitement as when he was a small child. His father would be sitting on the couch watching the news, or reading the newspaper.

But he knew this to be only a fantasy, and he secretly chastised himself for letting his mind wander in that direction. It was juvenile.

He took a deep breath and walked into the funeral home. He passed through the mirrored greeting room with its plush couches and plastic plants, soft music playing. It looked as artificial as a made up corpse. He made his way down the hallway past one of the showing rooms until he saw the sign: Birdsall.

He took off his headgear and stepped into the showing room. It was a small room with antiquated wallpaper, more plastic vegetation, and several rows of cushioned chairs. He knew the scene all too well.

There were aunts, uncles, and cousins, friends (some who he knew, many he didn’t). He walked the gauntlet of relatives exchanging token phrases of condolence.

When he made it to the front of the room, his father broke away from his brothers and threw his arms around Peter. He was crying.

“She’s gone, Peter,” he cried into Peter’s shoulder.

“I know, Dad. I’m so sorry.”

After a long embrace, Peter’s father pulled away and let Carl step in. Carl hugged him.

“Hi, Pete.”

“I’m so sorry, Carl.”

“They gave you some time off?”

Peter nodded. Of course they did. Carl was just making uncomfortable small talk. It’s funny how two boys can grow up together and be so close, yet at a time like this, not know what to say to one another.

Peter walked up to the closed casket and kneeled on the cushion. He closed his eyes so that it would look like he was praying, but words escaped him at the moment. He wondered how he was supposed to pray to a God who allowed the slaughter of so many innocents and took so many people he loved out of his life.

He wanted to cry, but he could not. He felt a kind of clinical detachment creep in, robbing him of his ability to mourn. He cursed himself. Was this what his training afforded him? Callousness so profound that he was unable to cry at his own mother’s funeral?

After what would have seemed like an acceptable amount of prayer time, Peter made the sign of the cross and stood up. He walked back over to Carl and his father, but was intercepted en route by his mother’s younger sister, Aunt Cecelia.

She was sobbing and hugged him tightly. When she pulled herself away, she gripped him by the shoulders and forced words through the sobs like someone trying to talk through their teeth while trying not to vomit.

“The army, they’re doing something about this, right?”

There was impatience in her voice, as if she was expecting a particular answer. Peter just looked at her. He didn’t know what to say. She squeezed his shoulders tighter.

“You are doing something about it, aren’t you, Peter.” She was telling him, not asking him.

Peter’s father saw the exchange and rushed over to Peter’s aid. He put his arm around Cecilia. “My dear, Peter told me that the authorities are looking into it aggressively as we speak.”

She wiped her nose with a very used tissue and nodded hysterically. “Yes, yes, the authorities. They’re looking into it.”

Peter’s father guided Aunt Cecelia away from Peter, looking over his shoulder at his son. Peter flashed him a look of gratitude.

“You know she’s right, Pete.”

Peter was still looking at his aunt who was nowhere near calming down. “About what, Carl?”

“Someone does have to do something about this?”

Peter now looked at Carl. “What are you talking about?”

“I mean enlisting, Pete.”

Peter could not believe what he was hearing, and apparently, he showed it in his face, because Carl continued. “I’m tired of sitting at home mooching off my parents and dodging college loans, Pete. I want to do something. I want to help.”

Peter put his arm around Carl and led him out of the showing room. “Let’s not talk about this here, Carl.”

Carl nodded and allowed his brother to lead him out. They stepped into the men’s restroom. It was empty.

Carl walked in first and turned around to face his brother. “Pete, I want to…”

But Peter grabbed Carl by his suit lapels and pushed him over the sink and into the large vanity mirror so hard that it cracked.

Peter drew so close to Carl’s face that he was dousing him with spittle as he spoke. Carl was so shocked that he just stared at his brother in horror.

“Listen, you little shit. I have lost enough people in my life that I care about. I don’t need you to die too. Dad doesn’t need you to die either. You need to stop thinking about yourself for a change.”

Carl was terrified of his brother, not just by the sudden act of violence, but his eyes. Peter looked like he was trying to burn a hole through Carl’s skull with his glare. In all of the years they grew up together, Carl never saw Peter like this.

“What’s wrong, Pete?” His voice sounded embarrassingly small.

Just then, their cousin Tommy walked into the men’s room, but he stopped short at the sight of Peter in uniform holding Carl up against the cracked mirror. “Wh-what are you guys doing?”

Peter turned his fiery gaze to Tommy. “We’re having a conversation.”

Tommy put his hands up apologetically and backed out of the men’s room.

“You scared Tommy, Pete. Shit, you’re scaring me.”

Peter turned back on his brother, his voice unnatural. “I want to scare you, Carl. You think this is a game.”

“I don’t think it’s a game, Pete. Quite the opposite, I take this very seriously.”

Exasperated, Peter loosened his hold on Carl, and Carl got off the sink. He attempted to straighten his torn lapels in an act of futility.

Their father barged in. He had a worried expression on his face. He looked at the cracked mirror above the sink and then at his boys.

“What the hell is going on in here?”

Carl answered first. “Nothing, Dad. We were just…,” he looked at his brother sardonically, “…having a conversation.”

Their father looked around the bathroom and then at Peter. Peter was looking at his shoes.

“Well…alright. Don’t stay in here all night now.”

Carl smiled. “We won’t, Dad.”

Their father stood there for a moment, wondering if he could leave the two of them alone. Then he left the men’s room.

“Pete, Mom was here in the States and she was killed. What makes you think I’m any safer here? Besides, I’d be helping to protect Dad. He’s all we’ve got left now.”

Peter was still looking down at his shoes. He found it really difficult to look his brother in the eye. He wondered what Carl would say if he found out Peter was not fighting terrorists in the Middle East. He wondered what he’d say if he found out his big brother had been in Mexico fighting the war against the cartels. Now he was playing around with zombies in an airfield. Zombies and pigs. And soon dogs.

Maybe Major Lewis was right. Maybe it was all some big, ridiculous circus, or some kind of demented petting zoo.

Carl put his arm around his big brother. Peter looked up at him and smiled. They walked out together and re-entered the showing room. Their father looked relieved to see them walking in together.