I Am Automaton

Chapter 8

Captain Fiona London was sitting in her office listening to the complaints of yet another soldier in the ID Program. His name was Sergeant Michael Lorenzo. He reported directly to Lieutenant Birdsall.

“Captain…”

“Fiona.”

“Sorry. Fiona, I just don’t know how I feel about this anymore. I mean, something about it just feels wrong, using dead bodies like this.”

The truth was that she was not quite sure how she felt about it herself, but as a psychologist, her values were unimportant. It was essential that she help her patients sort through their values in an objective and supportive manner.

“I mean, it feels like slavery. I know they’re not alive, and they don’t have any souls, but it still feels wrong. I mean, where do we get these bodies from anyway?”

The honest truth was that she did not know herself. Not specifically, anyway. “Michael, just think of them as total organ donors.”

“Yeah, but organ donors choose to donate their organs. Did these folks even have a choice?”

“I’m not privy to that information.”

“Well then, who the hell is? I’m getting nightmares, real nasty ones.”

“Can you describe some of them?”

“Well, where do I start? There’s this one where I’m at a funeral, and right in the middle of the mass in the church for all to see, the body pushes the coffin open, sits up, climbs out, and staggers over to me.”

“And then what happens?”

“It stops right in front of me. And everyone in the church is staring at me, even the priest.”

“Whose funeral is it?”

“I don’t know. Somebody’s. You can’t tell in the dream.”

“Okay, so it stops right in front of you. Then what?”

“It salutes me.”

“It salutes you.”

“Yeah, and then I wake up.”

“There’s definitely an element of embarrassment or shame. That’s why everyone’s looking at you, and it’s making you uncomfortable in the dream.”

“There are other dreams, too. There’s one where I’m in combat, and a couple of comrades are shot next to me. As I’m shooting at the enemy, they rise up and attack me.”

“Really.”

“And that’s not the worst one. There’s one I get every once in a while where I’m holding this baby, and it’s crying in my arms. There are monsters all around us trying to get at the baby. But there’s a staircase in the middle of nowhere, so I climb the stairs and take the baby away from the monsters.”

“Is the baby safe?”

“Yes.”

“Well, that doesn’t sound so bad.”

“But that’s not all. Here’s the kicker. I walk down the steps and start walking amongst the monsters. Only, they don’t bother me. It’s like they recognize me.”

“And you find that disturbing.”

“Yes, I do. What does it all mean?”

“I think that you are very conflicted about what you are doing. Part of you is very ashamed about it. You definitely don’t trust the ID, as you shouldn’t. To them, we are all just food. But there’s a positive.”

“Really? And what would that be?”

“The baby. It represents life. You place life above all of this death, hence you placing the baby up above the monsters.”

“Yeah, I guess. But it really bothers me that when I come down the stairs in the dream, they don’t attack me. I’m walking with them.”

“You are afraid you have become one of them—a monster.”

“Yeah. It’s freaking me out.”

“This is all like the stem cell debates at the turn of the millennium. Everyone knew that stem cells held tremendous, even miraculous potential to cure disease, correct injuries and deformities, so on and so forth.”

“Yeah, that’s a no brainer.”

“Well, it wasn’t back then. The application of stem cells was not what was being questioned. It was the source. In the beginning, a significant portion of stem cells were coming from aborted fetuses, and some found this to be morally reprehensible and any positive outcomes to be tainted.”

“So what happened? I mean, we obviously use stem cells today.”

“Well, there was much debate. The scientific and medical community thought the benefits outweighed any moral questions about where the stem cells came from. To them, their capabilities to heal were everything. Then there were others who thought that if any amount were harvested from aborted fetuses, they should not be used at all. The scientists believed that they were throwing out the baby with the bathwater.”

“I see. So although I recognize that the use of ID is perfect for hunting terrorists in inaccessible landscapes, like in Afghanistan…”

“And their use would save the lives of American soldiers,” Captain London added.

“…yeah…I’m questioning the source. So am I throwing out the baby with the bathwater?”

Fiona hesitated, allowing Lorenzo to draw his own conclusion.

Lorenzo hesitated, mulling it over. “I would like to smoke those bastards out of the caves.”

“Michael, they’ve been hiding, using the terrain, for decades, popping out momentarily to cause trouble, staging attacks in the West. Until now, we’ve been unable to get to them. For the first time, we have a chance to hunt them down and eliminate them.”

Lorenzo nodded uncertainly like a child complying with a parent without yet fully grasping the parent’s rationale. She continued.

“Think of the lives that will be saved. The lives of our soldiers who won’t have to be sent into foreign cave systems and mountains. Think of the victims that will be spared random terrorist attacks.”

“I guess it’s better than nukes. In this politically correct world, we would never be allowed to use nukes,” he mused.

“Nukes would prevent reconstruction,” Fiona added, “because the land will be rendered useless. But with the ID, once the targets are eliminated, we can begin to rebuild. We can instill democracy in a chaotic world.”

“And profit off the reconstruction,” he added cynically.

“That, of course, is part of it. These wars don’t pay for themselves.”

“Thanks, Fiona. I think I’ll be alright.”

She smiled at him. “I think so, too. I mean, really, it’s like stem cell research. In the beginning, it was thought by some to be morbid and unnatural. But we use it all the time now, and even the religious groups and Conservatives now recognize its value. Imagine if we let our squeamishness get the better of us back then.”

“I guess you’re right.”

Captain London looked at her desk clock. “Same time next week?”

Lorenzo nodded.

“Great. See you then.”

Lorenzo stood up, put on his headgear, and saluted. Then he left.

As Captain London activated her Cybernetic Digital Organizer to enter the session note, she became lost in thought. She was sure she believed in the Insidious Drone technology.

At one point, stem cells were just considered discarded tissue, not just aborted fetus tissue. At one time, placental tissue was considered the body’s detritus, jettisoned as waste. Boy was that view wrong.

However, the greater American public was still unaware of the existence of the Insidious Drones. The technology was still being developed, and it had not yet been applied in an actual combat situation.

The public didn’t hear much about a drug until it had passed clinical trials and obtained FDA approval. Until then it was rumor at the most. She figured this was no different. Or was that just a rationalization?

Captain London had her hands full. It was a full-time job to manage the soldiers’ doubts and anxieties. A few had washed out entirely from abject terror. After sorting those with weak constitutions out, the remaining crew was solid.

However, they needed her help, even more than Major Lewis comprehended. She sometimes thought his expectations for the men were too high and his timelines for results too ambitious. She would do her balancing act of running interference for the men while keeping them sane enough to meet Major Lewis’ objectives.

She touched the screen of her Cybernetic Digital Organizer and began her entry on Sergeant Michael Lorenzo.

***

Carl Birdsall found himself fifty feet above the ground clinging on for dear life as he climbed rope ladders and traversed rope bridges in an exercise called Victory Tower.

He had not realized how afraid he was of heights until this moment, but Sergeant Maddox didn’t tolerate any lollygagging. As a result, Carl and the rest of his squad careened over the heads of the rest of his platoon to reach the end.

The rest would have their turn at it squad by squad. But at the moment, he was just trying not to fall to his death.

A private in front of him stumbled on the bridge and fell through, his groin stopping him from total free fall. In the process, he shook the whole bridge, causing Carl and the three men behind him to fall off the side.

They all held on.

Carl struggled to regain footing, but the recruit in front of him kept shaking the whole bridge. Carl called out to him. “Mendoza.”

The terrified recruit was not listening. He clung to the rope, frozen.

“MENDOZA.”

He looked at Carl, eyes wide as platters. The other recruits were cursing at him for shaking the bridge.

“Mendoza, look at me. Don’t listen to them.”

Mendoza just stared at Carl in horror. Then he nodded like a terrified child to a parent trying to explain that there is nothing to fear in the dark.

“Mendoza, you’re okay. You’re not going to fall.”

“He’s going to make us all fall,” Koontz shouted from behind Carl.

Carl looked over his shoulder. “Shut up, Koontz. You’re not helping.” Then he turned back to Mendoza. “Mendoza, just look at me. You’re fine.”

Mendoza nodded. “I can’t move, Carl.”

“Listen, Jeremy,” Carl used his first name, “I want you to pull yourself up with your arms, slowly.”

Mendoza nodded and began to pull himself up slowly.

“Great,” Carl coached, “now swing your leg around and put your foot against the rope.”

Mendoza did as Carl said and then awaited further instructions.

“Great. Now pull yourself up to a kneeling position and wait for me.”

Mendoza pulled himself up and knelt, clinging to the rope railing of the bridge, but he was still shaking, preventing the others from regaining their footing.

“Mendoza, keep looking at me, and stay still. I’m coming to get you.”

Mendoza stared at Carl so intensely that he almost forgot to blink. Carl pulled himself up and regained his footing. The others behind him followed suit.

Carl began to inch his way, hand-over-hand, to where Mendoza was clinging to the railing. “Okay, Jeremy. I want you to stand up slowly and hold onto me.”

“Just pass him, Birdsall. We don’t have time,” Koontz jeered.

“Goddammit, shut up, Koontz,” Carl reprimanded, “or I’ll knock you off the bridge myself.” He turned back to Mendoza. “Okay, Jeremy. I got you.”

Mendoza pulled himself up slowly, grabbing onto Carl. Carl tensed his body so that they wouldn’t rock the rope bridge.

“Okay, now I’ll be right behind you. We have to make it to the zip line.”

Mendoza’s voice was trembling. “I can’t…”

“I’m right behind you, Jeremy. Now MOVE.”

He jabbed Mendoza in the ribs with his index and middle finger together, and Mendoza sprung forward. Carl made sure he was right behind him, jabbing him and speaking tough encouragement in his ear.

They made it to the zip line.

“Okay, Jeremy. Grab the handles.”

Mendoza was feeling better now that he was off the rope bridge.

“You can do it, Jeremy, just grab the handles.”

Mendoza nodded, his face screwed up in determination. He grabbed the handles, and Carl pushed him off the platform.

Carl watched him slide down, legs dangling, and then took the handlebars on the zip chord to the left. He pushed off the platform and sailed above the rest of his platoon and Sergeant Maddox.

He met Mendoza on the platform on the other side. They were at the worst part. They had to repel down a fifty-foot wall backwards.

“Okay, Jeremy. We’ll do it together.”

Mendoza nodded.

They each grabbed the thick rope in their hands and turned, putting their backs to the drop.

Carl braced himself. “MOVE IT, MENDOZA.”

They both pushed off backwards. Carl landed with his feet to the wall. Mendoza was not so graceful. He slammed his body against the wall, but he regained his composure and pressed his feet against the wall. Carl nodded and they repelled down together, swinging out almost in unison until they reached the ground. Carl slapped Mendoza on the back supportively, and they backed away allowing the rest of their squad to follow.

When the last of their squad, Fromm, hit the ground, Maddox clicked his stopwatch. “God almighty that was the worst time I’ve ever seen. You ladies move slower than a group of pregnant cows.”

He looked at Carl. “Birdsall, step forward.”

Carl did as he was told.

“Explain to me what went wrong up there.”

Carl cleared his throat. “One of the squad lost his footing on the bridge, sir. We couldn’t pass until we helped him back up.”

“You could’ve passed him at any time.”

“Yes, sir, I suppose we could have.”

Maddox got right in Carl’s face. “So you’re telling me that you let one soldier interfere with your mission? Is that what you’re telling me, Birdsall?”

“I’m saying we leave no man behind, sir. And we completed the mission.”

Maddox smiled venomously in Carl’s face. Then he whirled around and addressed the rest of the platoon. “Do you see what we have here? Do you know what this is called?”

They all stared at Maddox silently, knowing the question was rhetorical. Carl swallowed hard. His throat was dry as a bone.

“This is called leadership. I expect this out of each and every one of you.”

Maddox then turned to Carl’s squad. “Fifty laps around the airfield. Now.”

They groaned from exhaustion, but they started to jog off.

“Not you, Birdsall.”

Carl turned around. “Pardon me, sir, but I believe my place is with my squad.”

Maddox smiled widely. “Good man, Birdsall. Good man.”

He nodded, and Carl ran off to catch up with his squad. He was weary from the exercise, but he felt good doing laps with his squad.

It just felt right. As they ran, Koontz glanced over at him. Carl expected some kind of wisecrack, but Koontz only smiled. Mendoza flashed him a brief look of gratitude.

They completed their laps together, as a unit, feeding off each other’s strength and company. Carl was beginning to understand what Basic Training was all about.

***

Peter was jogging along with his platoon in reverse Vee formation as thunder rumbled in the distance. The airfield was dark from cloud cover, and the air was damp.

Lockwood arranged an obstacle course with barriers of varying heights. Their objective was to corral the ID through the course. It was supposed to simulate difficult terrain.

The ID were not known for their speed or their agility, but they had to coax them through the course, improving on the time from previous iterations.

The dogs raced along the insides of the V, prodding the ID along while managing to stay out of arms reach. As they hit each obstacle, the ID in front tripped and fell, and the ones behind piled on top and crawled over.

It was messy and barely coordinated, but that was the nature of the ID. They progressed through the course slowly but surely, surmounting obstacle after obstacle. A few ID began to pile on and hump in front of a particularly tall obstacle, but Peter waited as the others climbed over them and over the obstacle.

When all the ID made it over, Peter sent the dogs back to coax the humpers apart. After a few minutes, when he saw they were ignoring the dogs, Peter signaled to Lorenzo to send the dogs back up with the other ID to keep them moving forward.

When the dogs were clear, he triggered the Amygdala Inhibitors for the humpers. As a result, two of the three were immobilized. The one that was apparently not a member of the deactivated squad kept going.

Peter signaled Lorenzo to continue with the group, and Peter shot the remaining humper in the head. He then left the other two immobilized and rejoined the formation.

They progressed through the course, losing one or two ID who had to be put down while immobilizing a couple of more squads. When they reached the end of the course, Peter immobilized the rest and they waited while Lockwood counted the ID that made it through.

“Eighty-four percent.”

Major Lewis strode up to address Peter and Lorenzo. “We need to do better.”

Peter nodded.

They had broken the ID into squads, and each squad now had their own Amygdala Inhibitor switch. But the humpers didn’t necessarily break down by squad.

It was an improvement, but far from perfect. Not only did they have to plug a few in the head, but they also had to immobilize several others, thus eliminating them from the exercise.

They were now fighting attrition, and something had to be done about the humpers. It was the rare exercise where there weren’t any, and it was holding them back from reaching what Major Lewis considered acceptable levels of attrition.

In debriefing, Peter voiced his frustration. “Permission to speak freely, sir.”

Major Lewis nodded.

“We need to do something about these humpers.”

“Well, I thought the squad specific Amygdala Inhibitors would help.”

“They do, sir,” Lorenzo said, “but there’s still an ID or two that need to be put down.”

Major Lewis put up his hands in exasperation. “Well, any ideas?”

“What about electromagnets? Opposite polarities would force them apart,” Peter suggested.

“No,” Farrow responded, “it won’t work. Some ID would repel each other, but others would be attracted, making matters worse.”

“What about electroshock as a deterrent?” Lorenzo speculated.

“No, that won’t work either,” said Farrow. “They don’t feel pain.”

Peter remembered the ID he struck repeatedly and how it just stood there taking each blow. It didn’t even flinch.

“The dogs didn’t even have an effect on the humpers,” Peter added.

They all sat there thinking of a way around the problem. Finally, Peter’s eyes lit up with epiphany. “What if we hit the AI kill switch and then immediately restarted them.”

“You mean like a reset?” Farrow asked.

“Yeah, like hitting the reset button. All this time, we assumed that once we hit the kill switch, those AI were out of the exercise,” Peter said excitedly.

“And because we’ll only be switching them off and then on again, any of those with the main group who are affected will only be halted for a brief moment,” Farrow added in understanding.

“This just might work,” said Lorenzo, obviously impressed by the suggestion.

“It’s definitely worth a shot,” Peter coaxed.

Major Lewis was all poker face as usual. “Okay, we’ll try it next exercise. Lieutenant Farrow, make it so.”

“Yes, sir. I’ll get right on it.”

“In the meantime,” Lewis continued, “you’re all due for a pass. Take some R&R and report back in three days.”

This was music to everyone’s ears. Major Lewis sensed that the men were burning out. They were working hard, and if he pushed them too much, it would be counterproductive.

They were dismissed from debriefing, and Lorenzo approached Peter in the locker room. “Hey, Pete, what are you gonna do with your pass?”

Peter was putting on deodorant. “I was actually going to go home and check in on my dad. Why?”

“Well, I’ve got no plans as of now. I was wondering if I could tag along.”

Peter and Mike had become friends since the ID outfit was put together. Mike, like Peter, was young and unattached.

“You don’t want to visit your family?” Peter asked.

“They’re on a cruise somewhere in the Caribbean.”

“Poor them. Sure, you can tag along.”

Lorenzo closed his locker. “Great. When do we leave?”

“As soon as we get back to the barracks. We’ll pack and go.”

“Awesome. It’ll be great to see where the fearless Lieutenant Peter Birdsall grew up.”

“It’s a simple place, Mike. Nothing too impressive. I think you’ll be disappointed.”

Lorenzo put his hand on Peter’s shoulder. “Beats the hell out of Fort Bliss.”

“Amen to that.”

Peter and Mike were packing a few changes of clothes into their duffel bags. Peter turned on his com unit and called Carl. Carl picked up.

“Oh, hey, Pete.”

“Carl, you look exhausted. Rough day in Basic?”

“Two words: Victory Tower.”

Peter couldn’t help but smile. “Ah, yes, the Victory Tower. I remember that. How’d you do?”

“I did fine. One of the other recruits lost it on the rope bridge and almost took the rest of us with him. But I was able to talk him through it.”

“Was the drill sergeant impressed?”

“Yeah, and I got fifty laps out of it.”

“Yeah, sounds like Basic. No good deed goes unpunished. But it all makes you tougher.”

“I know, Pete. How are things with you?”

“Got a pass for three days. I’m going home to visit Dad, see how he’s doing.”

“That’s good. I wish I could be there.”

“Eight more weeks, Carl.”

“I know. I know.”

“I warned you it wouldn’t be easy.”

“Hey, did I say I was quitting?”

Carl sounded defensive. Peter always enjoyed getting a rise out of him. What were big brothers for?

“Relax, bro. I wasn’t saying you couldn’t hack it.”

“Well, it sure sounded like it.”

Peter changed the subject. “Your girlfriend was asking about you the other day.”

Carl’s face lit up on the monitor, but he played dumb. “My girlfriend? Who?”

“Oh come off it, Carl. Captain London.”

“Really? She asked about me?”

“No, but look how excited you got.”

“Screw you, Pete.”

“Good bye, Carl.”

“Say hi to Dad. And don’t tell him I’m screwing up or anything. He’s got enough to worry about.”

“Okay, Carl. Take care.”

Carl hung up.

“Pete, you ready to go?” Lorenzo was standing behind him.

Peter turned around. “Yeah, just gave my little brother a call.”

“He doesn’t look so little anymore.”

Peter laughed at this. He noticed it too. Carl was toughening up. It was only a couple of weeks, but Basic changes a man. It makes him hard.

“Let’s get out of here.”

Peter and Mike Lorenzo left the barracks to catch their ride to Peter’s homestead.