Chapter 22 - The Divine Wind

 “It was pretty dramatic, actually,” Jim said, dripping in sweat, as they hustled through the workshop to the debriefing room. “I'm just glad you found us when you did. I'm at like 35% metabolic. Speaking of which, do you have an energy bar? I could eat a boot.”

“Yes,” Carol replied as she pulled a grey-white bar wrapped in clear cellophane from her fatigue's cargo pocket. She slammed her hands on the push bars and the doors swung wide on their hinges. Jim and Marion flopped into the front row of the theater. “Now, tell me what happened.”

“Well,” Jim mumbled around a huge bite of energy bar, “It's like this...”
“Don't eat with your mouth full,” Marion held a flat hand in front of his face. “Standish knew we were coming. He jumped us on the cliffside in Siddhartha. We didn't have time to react. I barely got out our distress signal.”

“Marched us to the transport ship,” Jim interjected after a hard swallow.

“And he tortured you, right?” Carol nodded her head, pleading the answer.

“Right,” Marion said, shifting uncomfortably in her seat.

“Good. I'll let you get back to the base, just tell me the truth,” she pulled a chair up and sat across from them, folding her hands in her lap and sitting ram-rod straight. “What did he make you tell him?”

“He didn't make us say...” Jim started.

“Everything,” Marion cut him off.

“You can tell me. It'll all be over once you tell me. He made you divulge our plans, right?” Her tone was stern and unyielding, her face set in stone.

“Yes,” Jim nodded nervously. “Can we go?” he shifted uncomfortably, himself.

“He made you tell him about our plans to storm the Windforce and dismantle his Lunar Base, right?” Her gaze was unrelenting. Burning.

“Yes,” Marion replied almost drone-like, unease setting across her entire posture.

“As I suspected,” she stood up and leaned over them slightly, arms crossed over her chest. “Thank you for telling me the truth.” She leaned over them a bit more, blocking the light from behind her, casting harsh shadows against her forehead and nose.

“I'm sorry,” Jim squeaked, squirming under her looming visage.

“It's alright. I knew this would happen,” She shifted again, turning her back on them and folding her hands behind her. “Which is why I gave you all false information. We don't need to ambush the Windforce. They will be fighting on our side. We needed to lure him there and I knew he'd be expecting us to make a move against him after the Siddhartha stunt. I'm sorry,” she turned, her eyebrows arched at the bridge of her nose, pulled down at the corner, a look of genuine sympathy creasing her hardened features. “I'm so sorry, my children,” she ran up and wrapped an arm around each of their necks, squeezing tight. “I didn't mean to put you in harm's way, but it was necessary. I feel so mean. Can you forgive me for betraying your trust?” She pulled back, a hand on each of their shoulders, her face wrought with what appeared to be genuine moral anguish.

“It's alright,” Marion met her gaze with open sympathy, “we understand. We know how tough that must have been for you, Commander. We're sorry you had to go through that.”

“Thank you,” she nodded her head at them, a single tear rolling down her cheek. She sniffled and wiped it away. “You guys are so important to me. It would ruin me if I lost you.”

“It's alright, Commander Cecilia, you don't have to worry,” Marion pulled the corner of her mouth to the side and nodded warmly.

“Thank you,” she stood up and folded her hands in front of her. “Thank you,” she pulled a strained smile. “You're dismissed, now. You can return to Base.”

Jim and Marion quietly got up and made a bow before exiting the room. They made their way to one of the jeeps silently. It was dark out.

“Does she do that to you, too?” Jim asked “That...thing.”

“Yeah,” Marion shifted uncomfortably. “I dunno how she does it. You just...I don't know. Do you really believe them? Any of this?”
“No. Yes? I don't know,” Jim shook his head. The head lights and the roof lamps lining the roll bar lit up the dirt path in front of them.

“Why do you keep going, then?” Marion was holding onto the roll cage, one knee up, the other extended to the bottom of the footwell. “Why do you keep doing this?”
“Molly,” Jim shrugged. Life doesn't feel right without you.

“Yeah, but, you don't know if you'll last,” Marion squinted and pulled the corners of her mouth back.

“Eh,” Jim shrugged again. “What else have I got? Standish and Carol keep explaining all of this geopolitical stuff, but I honestly have no idea what's going on, I just take orders. Gaming is a reflex-sport that operates on the margin. I've already aged out. I have my dad, but he and I never really got on and still don't, really. Molly's all I have right now. I don't care if it doesn't last.”

“So, it's not that you believe them or not, it just doesn't matter?” Marion furrowed her brow.

“I mean, yeah?” Jim shrugged again. “At this point I don't know what I believe anymore. I thought I had everything understood, but then you get promoted and Tomah takes your place over me. I thought I knew who the enemy was, but then we get some former DPRC goon on our team and she's just a normal person. Pleasant. Wonderful, even.” Jim locked into the middle distance, steering almost by reflex. “I thought the program was going great, and then it gets nixed by NRI and sold off to the IA military. I thought I could trust Standish,” Jim paused a second, swallowing the lump in his throat. “I thought I could trust him, and then he bailed. I thought I could trust Carol, and then this. Molly is all I have left, even if we did get in a fight.”

“But can't you find something else?” Marion replied.

“Probably,” yet another shrug. “But she's a known quantity. I could lose Molly, side with Carol, and meet the greatest woman of my life. Become a hero and lauded through history. Fame, glory, celebrity,” Jim scrunched his nose and tilted his head. “But we could also be blasted to bits. Whole planet goes up in smoking craters again. They kicked us out of the underground bunker. If shit goes tits-up, we're not getting saved.”

“So what do you think is going on, Mr. Conspiracy Theory?” She mirrored my gaze, fixing into the middle distance.

“Like I said, for once, I have no idea,” Jim continued to shrug, a welcome autonomic smirk creasing his cheek. “But if I had to guess? I think they're both barmy. I think the Augs have finally got to Standish and that Terry and Dyman are trying to reset the planet for their richie-rich friends in NRI. You heard them with all that Utopia shit. I bet the entire planet is in on the gig. IA, DPRC, you name it. Everyone's got their important people in their bunkers. They say the Great Collapse was thousands of years ago, but I bet they do this every couple of centuries. Weed out the weaklings.”

“I like it,” Marion released a sharp exhale through her nose that shook her whole body. “Corporate megalomaniacs and eugenic despots trying to genocide the planet.”

“Yep,” Jim clucked his tongue. “And all you have to do is sell our soul to the devil, literally, and you get a cushy seat in the doomsday bunker to ride it out.”

“Exposed, all because some rich aristocrat's daughter fell in love with a soldier from the wrong side of the tracks,” Marion finished. “That's some serious tragic romance, star-crossed lovers shit.”

“I know, you're telling me. All that 'wherefore art thou' bullshit” Jim pulled the jeep into the base. “We're here.”

“Drop me off at the garrison,” Marion pointed to a low-slung Quonset hut at the back of the base. “I bet that's where the boys are. You wanna come in?”

“Nah,” Jim replied as he pulled the jeep parallel to the front of the hut. “I've got some thinking to do.”

“Don't think too much, man” She said as she vaulted out of the vehicle. “Life's too short.”

“I'll remember that,” Jim pulled a smirk. “Also, thank Tomah. Tell him I finally figured it out,” he winked.

“Get some rest, man. It's been a hell of a day,” Marion tapped the hood of the jeep before Jim drove off.

***********************************************************************************

“What's the plan, boss?” Blaize kicked back and rested his feet on the card table, throwing down a Queen of Hearts.

“You asshole,” Tomah threw down his Jack of Hearts.

“And that should be the last Trump,” Blaize smirked as he claimed the trick.

“The plan,” Marion said with a grin as she lead a Two of Spades, “is to play along with the Commander until we get onto the Windforce.”

“Yeah?” Tomah threw down an Eight of Spades. “Then what?”

“Oh this is juicy,” Blaize pulled his feet off the table the legs of his folding chair banging down on the floor of the Containerized Housing Unit. He flicked a card. It glided across the table in 3 elegant twists before landing dead on the pile of, the Ace of Spades. “Thank you, sacrificial lamb. The plan is to beat back the bastards and secure our freedom.” He said as he kicked his feet back up again, locking his hands behind his head with a self-satisfied grin.

“You fucker,” Tomah slammed down his hand on the table. “Take it. Take it, alright?”

“Heh heh,” Marion and Jim pushed their cards into the center as Blaize laughed and swept the cards together, straightening them out and flipping the cards into a shuffle with a fwerp.

“Nice,” Jim high-fived Blaize, who started dealing out a new hand. “Standish is going to send in the drone army he secured from the DPRC,” Jim chuckled, “you know, before the whole theft thing. Once they've thinned out the IA fleet, we pull a turn-coat, and pincer them from the inside-out.” Jim pulled in his hand and started organizing it as Blaize fed them all cards, “Then, once we've either cleared the area or pushed them back, jump up to the Luna base and ride out the transfer.”

“Or, get merc'ed as Standish and the DPRC ambush us,” Tomah looked up and scanned the others quickly. “One-Clubs, by the way,” he pulled in his last card and announced.

“Always an option,” Marion shuffled some cards around in her hand. “Two-Clubs,” she said, making firm eye contact with Blaize.

“And then nuke the whole planet to kingdom-come,” Jim rifled through his hand. Long in Diamonds, no clubs. A smattering of face cards. “Three-Diamonds, also,” Jim quickly batted his eyes at Tomah, but then looked back at his hand just as quick, trying not to let the others read his table talk.

“Woah,” Blaize pulled his chin into his neck. “How about,” he held for a second as he reshuffled his cards through his hand, “Five-Spades.”

“Uh,” Tomah and Jim met eyes. “Yeah. Pass.” he folded his cards into his hand and grabbed his beer from the table, taking a long drought. “Also, thanks for smuggling these on base,” he held a toast up.

“Pass, too” Marion smirked. “And, not a problem. Gotta keep my troops' morale high,” she winked as she picked up her own and clinked her can into his.

“Here-here,” Jim crowned his can as well. Blaize begrudgingly joined as they all took a long slug. “Ah,” he intoned. “I'll pass, too.”

“Perfect,” Blaize said as he spun a card out on the table. “Let's hope lightning strikes twice!” he said excitedly as the Ace of Spades landed dead center.

Tomah wordlessly threw in what Jim was sure to be his only spade, the Jack.

“I think you may have killed us,” Marion threw in the King of Spades.

“Ouch,” Jim scrunched his nose with a smirk and glanced side-eyed at Blaize as he sloughed off one of his low spades, a Four.

“Shit,” Blaize sat staring dumbfounded at the trick.

***********************************************************************************

“CentCom says combatants are about 3 clicks out,” Marion came over the official comm. “Do you read, Tiger-three?”

“We have a visual, Gold-one,” Tomah replied to Marion. “Are we also ready?” he said over the private comm.

“Roger,” the other 4 replied in round.

“You're all briefed?” Jim asked over the comm, as well.

“Bull-five and Bull-three are briefed, Bull-one,” Adrian replied.

“Roger that,” Toni came through as well.”

“Good. Remember,” Jim replied, “Keep it cool while Gold-one, Tiger-three, and Tiger-five are engaging Alpha-one, roger?”

“Bull-five, Roger,” Adrian replied

“Bull-three, Roger,” Toni came over as well.

“Perfect. Tiger-five, what is your position?” Jim addressed to the official channel.

“I am tracking Alpha-one as we speak,” Blaize came through, his voice a bit strained.

“Acknowledged,” the Commander's voice interrupted all of theirs. “Keep an eye on Alpha-one. Do not, I repeat, do not let him escape your vision, no matter what the cost, do you read?”

“Copy that,” Blaize replied, “do not let Alpha-one go untracked, full-force authorized.”

“Roger that,” the Commander replied, “but do be careful. I would hate to lose any of you.”

Jim wheeled Vishnu to the bow of the Windforce. The massive carrier had half a dozen giant Mobile-10's on the deck, all aimed starboard at Standish's northern vector, where he would emerge from the river network he had been “secretly” navigating and out into the gulf. The Windforce ran vanguard for about twenty drone warships, or rather, twenty drones were hiding behind the gargantuan floating island.

“We have a visual on Beta-one,” Blaize updated. “I count seven carriers hybrids, and about 300 airborne.”

“Three hundred!” the Commander exclaimed. “That's twice as much as we anticipated. Keep an eye on them, Tiger-three, we're updating our battle plans.”

“Roger that,” Blaize replied. “Also, the reconnaissance drone is saying there is a massive fleet approaching from the southern flank, behind the flotilla.”

“What? I want a full status,” the Commander demanded. Her voice was audibly surprised.

“I tried hailing on all frequencies, no reply,” Tomah replied, himself taken by surprise. “They are scrambling our visual and radar detectors. Judging by the wake pattern, however, I am tentatively estimating approximately fifty large vessels, or some combination of smaller and larger vessels adding up to as much.”

“There aren't any mercenary groups with that many vessels. They couldn't even join up with several groups and get close to that, at least not without evading intel,” the Commander sounded frantic. “That's a nation-sized fleet.”

“Alpha-one has cleared the woods,” Blaize came over. Standish's limping warship emerged from the delta. “Drones are aweigh,” he followed up. No sooner had the words left his mouth than did a blot of black appear in the sky above him. The fleet of sleek, triangle-shaped planes hummed silently across the sky, blotting out the sun behind them. They broke out into a scatter fleet and immediately started skiffing around the outside of the warships' killzones, completely encircling the fleet.

“You didn't think I'd fall for that, now did you really, sweetheart?” Standish's voice cracked over the CentCom channel.

“I mean, maybe a little?” Carol snarked back. “You've never been the sharpest tool in the shed.”

“I'm hurt, darling. Deep wounds,” Standish's voice was dripping in sarcasm, evident even through the difficult static. “You can call off your little shadow squad, too.”

“My 'shadow squad?' I thought they were your 'shadow squad,'” the Commander scoffed back.

“They are still too far away for me to be sure,” Toni replied in her usual crisp, over-corrected tone. “But they appear to me to be the combination of several fleets from the Homeland.”

“Shit,” Standish cursed into the comm. “I think they want Siddhartha back.”

“You absolute asshole,” the Commander replied.

Standish pulled his warship out deeper into the gulf, just skirting the killzone of the Windforce. Behind him, his several carriers began to emerge from the delta as well. “You were wrong, by the way,” his tone cocky, “there are way more than fifty big ships,” his black fleet scrambled and headed full-speed at the DPRC fleet. “I'm seeing like, just, so many ships, you guys.”

“Well, what do we do now,” Marion inquired on the CentComm channel.

Their conversation was interrupted as an explosion run out near the incoming fleet. “Oops!” Standish came over. “I might have just dropped a bomb on one of their corvettes.”

Without any hesitation, more explosions began to ring out as Standish's black drone fleet began to deftly dart in, drop a charge, and then dart away. The DPRC fleet, unhappy to be attacked, scrambled their own drone fleet, their battle cruisers training their mass drivers and laser turrets on the fleet. But, with skillful mastery, Standish danced the planes in for an offensive, and then returned them to their scramble pattern on the perimeter of the ships' effective ranges, ducking in and out of drone dogfights.

“This is not good,” Blaize came over. “I finally have an accurate visual,” he said with dread, “I'm counting two dozen small vessels, at least twenty warships, half a dozen battleships, and fifteen carriers.”

“I hope you've been drilling in frogman fighting,” Standish emerged from his warship in Siddhartha. Built much like Vishnu, the contouring on his sensor stalk gave his “face,” in as much that humans find a “face” on anything, a very placid look. The garb he wore, however, more resembled Cúchulainn's toga than Vishnu's vest and dhoti, the exception being the long piece of cloth slung over its shoulder. With a prodigious leap, Standish vaulted Siddhartha into the sky, and with a thunderous crash, slammed down on the deck of the Windforce. Before anyone could react, he'd vaulted yet again into the sky, slamming down this time on the deck of a fast-approaching frigate. The ship swayed and rocked with the massive impact, Siddhartha being nearly a third its size. He removed a massive energy hammer from his back, and, with a flick, the handle telescoping to almost the entire length of Siddhartha. With a mighty downward swing, knees bending into a squat for added force, Siddhartha slammed the hammerhead clear through the deck, nearly cleaving the ship in half lengthwise. “Mmm,” Standish cooed into the comm, “nothing like the smell of destruction to perk you up.” He slammed the hammer down again, this pivoting to hit the other side, the littoral frigate completely shattered.

“Change of plans,” the Commander came in, “Simo, Annie, you're on anti-air duty. Defend the Windforce at all costs!”

“Roger that,” Adrian and Toni replied in unison. Both of quickly strided from the port side, facing Standish, to the Starboard side, facing the DPRC fleet, and flopped down prone, adjusting their laser rifles. With quick burst, they began picking off DPRC, the large black drones spiraling down into the gulf.

“Cúchulainn, Musashi, you keep the shore fleet at bey,” the Commander orders were crisp calm.

“Roger that,” Marion and Tomah both replied in unison as well. They jumped off the battleships they were resting on, at the far flank of the flotilla behind the Windforce, and began leapfrogging to oncoming ships that were now engaging the droneship fleet.

“Ehecatl, now is your time to shine,” the Commander's voice was skeptical.

“I got this,” Blaize came through confidently. “I've been training for, like, ever. I'm ready,” his voice switched from confidence to determination.

“Alright,” she still sounded skeptical, “Ehecatl, I want you to airdrop into the rear fleet and start working your way toward Cúchulainn and Musashi. Vishnu, I want you to swim underwater to Ehecatl's position and assist the rear pincer. Keep an eye out for for submarines, I'm positive they're there.”

“Roger,” Blaize replied. Jim looked up and watched a tiny black dot of a drone helicopter drop below the cloud-line at the rear of the DPRC fleet. Another tiny black dot started falling away from the little black dot before landing on one of the smaller dreadnoughts slowly making its way up the flank, rocking visibly at the impact. “Man,” Blaize said with an exasperated sigh, “I'm not used to actually being in combat,” Jim watched an explosion burst out of the top of the ship as Blaize lit up one of the dreadnought's turret nests. “I almost feel like I'm betraying Enlil.” The dreadnought began to swerve back and forth as Blaize made quick work of the turrets and began peppering the command helm.

“Deploying now,” Jim responded to the commander after shaking his head, freeing his mind of the distraction. With a swan-dive, Jim leapt Vishnu off of the Windforce's deck and into the turbulent, battle-chopped sea beneath it. “Chart me?” Jim said outloud.

“I have shown you the way,” Vishnu replied, a blue mission line appearing, floating in the inky blackness. Though close in the context of naval warfare, the ships were actually quite distant from each other, everyone trying to keep clear of eachother's effective killzones. The mission line said Jim had several minutes of underwater travel before reaching the rear flank. Jim looked up at the erratic, battletorn surface, watching the prows of ships dart back and forth, the droneship flotilla in full scramble. Occasionally, in the far distance, Jim could see ravaged drone planes and broken warships plunge through the waterline and slowly descend into the seemingly-infinite depth below. “I hear something,” Vishnu eventually broke the silence of travel.

Jim looked at his mini-map, the sonar detector spotting a loud acoustic disruption. “What is it?” Jim inquired.

“Missile!” Adrian bellowed into the comm. A shower of fragments rained into the depths ahead.

“Good hit,” Marion replied.

“Vishnu, upload the coordinates,” Jim said into the comm channel.

“They have been informed, ” Vishnu replied cryptically.

“I am seeing several submarines,” the Commander replied almost instantly. “Droneship flotilla is at 80%,” she followed up. “They are using X4 torpedoes, not X3's. Updating our battle plan.”

“Hey!” Standish yelled into the mic, more debris and flotsam falling into the sea above Jim as he near-silently skiffed beneath the turmoil above. “Watch it, some of those are my drones!”

“Sorry,” Toni responded. “They are scrambling our signature detection. My targeting computer could not tell the difference.”

“The Valiant is en route,” the Commander piped through. “ETA twenty and counting. Windforce primary cannon is online.”

“Alpha-twelve is the best target,” Marion said, her comm channel unable to filter out the destruction around her. “My scanners show it has twice as much ordinance as the other cruisers.”

“It's also the most fortified,” Blaize replied, his voice strained and stressed. “I can't get close.”

“Roger,” the Commander confirmed. A huge ripple broke the surface above him, creating a massive line of wake.

“Alpha-nine down,” Blaize replied. Just up ahead a massive cruiser had been rent in half and began descending into the abyss, enveloped in a curtain of bubbles and fire.

“Approaching the flank,” Jim updated as his mission line finally terminated and brought him to the surface. He kicked on his afterburners and turned Vishnu vertical, rocketing him out of the water and onto the deck at the very rear of a gigantic carrier. Even considering Vishnu was the size of a small skyscraper, Jim felt dwarfed by the humongous control deck at the bow of the ship. He began slowly walking his way up the airstrip that ran down the center of the deck, pivoting at the him and unloading a flurry of laser blasts at the turret nests lining the sides, each blowing up in rapid succession as they unloaded a torrent of mass rounds, keeping the drones at bey outside it's killzone. The ship was not prepared for a landing party, allowing Jim to make quick work of the turret nests and march up the air deck. Jim collapsed his laser rifle and withdrew his mass driver, withdrawing a Javelin round from his hip compartment and loading it into the breach. With a quick sighting, his aiming computer locked onto the deck. The round sped out of the muzzle and slammed into the control deck, a violent shockwave propagating visibly as the gigantic control deck collapsed in on itself. Jim withdrew a magazine from his hip compartment, clipped it into the mass driver, and lept into the air as hard and high as his jump jets would allow. The smoking wreckage of the ship beneath him slowly receded as he gained elevation. “”Target the munitions,” Jim said aloud.

“I can see their evil,” Vishnu replied. “Unleash your retribution and I shall guide your hand.”

With a few quick trigger pulls, the mass driver rounds slammed into the deck and burrowed into the ordinance stores. With a massive shockwave, the protections breached and the carrier split at the center with a gigantic rocket of smoke. The force was so strong it knocked Vishnu out of its ballistic trajectory, causing him to slam into the water, missing the guard frigate he was attempting to vault onto. Upon breaking the surface of the water, a flurry of alarms began sounding and an immense pressure began to shoot through Jim's hips and knees.

“We have collided with a submarine,” Vishnu came replied calmly. “I am severely damaged.” The screens flashed red in Jim's face, sirens blaring in his rig, the plug constricting Jim's legs into immobility. Jim flexed his legs against the mildly painful pressure. Vishnu's legs began to respond slowly as he rolled off of the submarine's hull. He had breached it, thankfully, and the sub was rapidly descending into the lightless expanse below, followed quickly by Jim, unable to get his legs below him and activate his jets. “Mobility is at 65%. My left leg is damaged up to the Core joint.”

Slowly, the pressure in the right leg began to subside and Jim was able to get a foot beneath him, firing the impulse jet, allowing him to begin ascending instead of descending. The pressure, however, did not relieve from his left leg, which very slowly moved into place. Jim could feel the actuator and joint grind as he forced the leg beneath himself. The jump jet was still functional, and relieved some of the burden from his right leg, but motion was all but paralyzed.

“Vishnu, please respond,” the Commander's strained voice Jim was finally able to notice over the incessant sirens, near tears. “Please respond, Jim.”

“I'm alright,” Jim replied with a sigh. “My left leg is shot. I need to retreat.”

“Affirmative,” the Commander responded with a breath of relief. “You had me worried. Please return to the Windforce.”

“We need you,” Toni replied.

“Roger,” Jim replied. He surveyed the battlefield quickly before submerging back underwater. The DPRC fleet was considerably smaller than previous, but so was theirs. Standish's drone fleet looked to be less than half the size he'd started with. The droneship flotilla was all but wiped out. Standish was missing at least two carriers, and the frigate fleet had advanced inside the Windforce killzone and were trading a continuous volley of munitions with it. Marion, Tomah, and Blaize were in still in the back ranks with Standish wiping out their heavy fleet, but were now coalesced into a single party, Ehecatl in the center, and were slowly making their way back to the Windforce.

“We're on our way back, too” Blaize updated as Jim rapidly traversed the underwater path back to the ship. “I took a hit, my sensor stalk is gone, I'm flying by smell,” a term that meant he was leeching the other core's sensor data to navigate.

“No,” the Commander replied, “do not retreat. I repeat, do not fall back. I need you to disable all of the carriers before you can return. There are only two left. If we can take out the carriers, they will have no choice but to retreat once the Valiant arrives.”

“Commander,” Blaize replied indignantly, “with all due respect, I am flying blind. I have no sensors.”

“Do not fall back!” the Commander yelled. “That is a direct order. Take out those carriers at all costs, Soldier. If you must, activate the Vortex Drive.”

“Commander,” Blaize replied fearfully, “You know that isn't fully operational. You also know I've never successfully controlled it in the simulators.”

“Do it!” The commander yelled again. “It's our only chance. We need to play our Ace, we need to play our Trump card. Tomah, stay close, and keep eyes on. Feed your sensor data to Blaize's Augs.”

“Um, I hate to up the tension,” Standish interjected, “but we have a bigger problem. My team on Luna is saying that there are DPRC and PIR cores storming the nuclear base. Defenses are holding, but probably not for long.”

“What!” the Commander gasped. “When? How?”

“The DPRC and the PIR have been collaborating together for a while now,” Standish replied. He and the party had finished destroying another dreadnought and were almost to the first of the two remaining carriers. “If you had been paying attention, you'd know that they don't like the IA controlling all the nukes.”

“We're protecting them! We can't let them fall into the murderous hands of the DPRC!” the Commander screamed into the comm, livid.

“And most of the international theater,” Standish replied calmly, “sees the IA as the murderous thugs. They played you Carol,” Standish said a they began to decimate the carrier they had landed on. “They played me, too, the witty bastards. This was a diversion to ensure the cores were grounded so they could intervene on Luna. They sacrificed their queen so they could checkmate the King.”

“Everyone except Ehecatl and Cúchulainn,” the Commander said through what sounded like gritted teeth, “pull back to the Windforce. We'll launch you from the impulsor cannon. This is check, not mate. We're just trading Queens.”

Jim emerged onto the deck of the Windforce just as the away team was jumping onto the last carrier. He limped over to the deck elevator, lowering Vishnu into the hold. “I'm staying,” Marion replied. “We need Cúchulainn on Luna, I can handle sensor duty for Ehecatl. Everyone, Standish, fall back, now. That's an order.”
“But,” Tomah replied, paused and then replied “yes, sir,” deflatedly. Everyone dove into the ocean and begin their return. Marion and Blaize began unloading on the carrier.

“Engage the Vortex Drive,” the Commander said in her sternest voice. “Now,” her tone was finite.

“But,” Blaize replied, his voice surrounded by heavy gunfire. The dreadnoughts and battleships had finally entered into range and they were unloading on the carrier as well, now a sacrificial lamb. “Marion,” he said over the private comm softly. “I have a drone feed right now. Fall back.”

“I won't,” Marion replied her voice breaking. “I can't leave you.”
“Blaize,” Tomah replied as well, a wetness in his voice, “you know what that means.”

“I do,” he replied softly again. “My mind is made up.”

“I can't save you,” Standish replied, his usual braggadocio vacant from his tone. “If you burn out now, I can't save you. I only get one shot at the transfer before Tessa figures out what's going on. I can't tip my hand now.”

“It's fine,” Blaize replied, resigned. The carrier was taking a beating, Blaize at the center of it in Ehecatl.

“Flight Lieutenant,” the tech said to Jim once he'd lowered into the bay, “The leg itself is not that badly damaged. The fall just knocked the actuators out of alignment. There's a little damage from you moving it, but Vishnu will be ready in time to launch to Luna with about 85% mobility once we get everything back in place.”

“Vishnu,” Jim said to himself, ignoring the tech. “Give me eyes on Blaize.” Jim's heart was pumping. His ears were ringing, he tried to shake his head, but the plug resisted.

“I will give you vision from on high,” Vishnu replied.

Jim saw Ehecatl standing on the carrier, now completely surrounded by the all that remained of the DPRC fleet. From the rear of his vision, Jim watched a brilliant flash of light burst off of the Windforce.

“I am away,” Toni said into the comm. “I will be at Nav point Tau on the Luna surface shortly,” her tone was flat, her usual sing-songy lilt completely absent.

“Valiant has arrived and is in position,” the Commander said over the Comm, “Activate Vortex Drive at will,” her tone still was flat and stern, but lacking her former enthusiasm.

“Activating Vortex Drive,” Blaize said, his voice sullen, but laden with determination. Ehecatl wore a tubular skirt sort of like Cúchulainn's, but without the pleats, aside from that he was a very plain-looking core, save for his dragon-like sensor stalk. However, upon activation of the Vortex Drive, a wreath of feathers rendered in a pure blue plume of energy spiked out of his crown, a blue-energy beard of arrowheads appearing around his neck. He began to levitate just then, a wreath of wind spinning around him as he floated into the air, sucking in ocean spray and flotsam from the ships, creating a lashing tornado of smoke-white wind around him. Uncontrollably, the vortex grew and grew in size. “Vortex Drive at 40% capacity. Energy reserves at 38%. Twelve seconds of vortex remaining.”

“Valiant is scattering drones now,” the Commander replied. “We're on our way to retrieve you Blaize. Just stay strong.”

Another flash of light blinked across Jim's periphery. “I am away,” Adrian announced.

“We're aboard,” Marion came across the comm.

“You're up next, Cúchulainn,” the Commander responded. The vortex had grown to twice its size, and was now sucking up the smaller corvette ships, tumbling them up the length of the tornado before spitting them out the top, where they fell down, only to be consumed by the upforce winds yet again. The frigates were resisting the draw, riding the prodigious vertical wave surrounding the base of the behemoth spout. Soon, however, the vortex grew yet bigger, swallowing them up in violent turmoil.

“Vortex, 80%. Reserves, 12%, 4 seconds remaining,” Blaize reported, a bit of optimism creeping into his voice, “I'm holding it!”

“Good job,” Standish said, “You've got this Blaize. You have this,” he sounded like a dad his child's sports game. The vortex expanded farther out, swallowing up the battleships and dreadnoughts, flinging them into the air. The sound in Jim's headset had automatically adjusted to attenuate the noise, but was still at a near-deafening howl.

“Shit,” Blaize quickly interjected into the Comm. “Vortex 100% and falling, Reserves 4%. Vortex is in decline. 24 seconds to settle. Energy reserves are failing. They won't make it.”

“We have drones,” the Commander was frantic. “Just hold it. You're doing so well, Blaize, you're doing so great. Just hold, we'll be there shortly.”

“I am away,” Tomah said calmly into the comm as a flash streaked across Jim's lower field of vision. “I will see you in the heavens.”

“Don't say that!” Marion shrieked. “You've got this Blaize. Be strong!”

“I...” Blaize trailed off. “I'm just so tired.”

“His metabolic rates are tanking,” Adrian replied. “He's exhausting. Focus, Blaize!”

“Vortex, 50%. Reserves, 2%. Switching to emergency life support,” Blaize sounded hollow. “Thank's guys.”

“His comm is dark,” the Commander muttered. The Vortex was slowly burning out, the rapid white giving way to the crisp blueness of the sky behind it. The water slowly unchurning as huge breakers gave way into tall swells, which themselves gave way to wide undulating ripples. Once the vortex had subsided, the damage could be assessed. All DPRC ships were totaled, some floating upside down as they sunk into the choppy waters, the carrier itself was turned up on an end, the deck bent at an angle, barely keeping it afloat as it took on water.

“No!” Marion yelled into the comm as another streak flew past.

“No sign of Ehecatl yet” the Commander said after a long pause. “Drones are searching. Vishnu, report to the impulsor once repairs are complete.”

Chapter 21 - Descent Into Madness

Dear Jim,

I miss you. Life is so lonely without you. I wake up in my bed, and when you're not next to me, I cry. My dad misses you. He talks about you a lot. It's hard living in this big, dark house without you. I don't leave my room much. I wish you would come home to me. I've missed you for a long time, and you coming home means we could start fresh. I still want you in my life. I miss your touch. I miss feeling you spoon me before bed. I need you, Jim. Life doesn't feel right without you. Please, come back.

Love, always,

Molly.

**********************************************************************************

Jim woke to the trumpeting of a bugle. He made his bed as quickly as he could, corners on the mattress laser-straight, no wrinkles in the sheets. Every wrinkle was 5 push-ups. He straightened his uniform, pulled on his familiar combat boots, and tucked his pristine, scratchy white tee-shirt into his thick khaki fatigues. Base-life was hard, rigid, and boring, but there was something to the austerity and regiment that was deeply comforting. He pulled out his primitive handheld communicator device from the cargo pocket on his leg and leafed through his messages. Molly's name jumped out at him, stopping him dead in his tracks.

“Sir!” two privates almost ran headlong into him but stopped and snapped to attention with a salute.

“At ease,” he could barely mumble as he skip-stepped and briskly made his way to the garage.

“Jim,” he shook his head and looked up from his communicator to see Tomah about to climb into a jeep. “I'll drive, you seem distracted.”

“Oh,” he shook his head again, his brain still just as foggy as it had been for weeks. “Yeah, thanks, I need to reply to this,” he shook his phone.

“Oh, that's fine,” he climbed into the driver's seat. Jim hopped the door and vaulted into shotgun.

“You'll never understand why I have to do what I have to do,” Jim typed out. “You're the only thing on this planet that I care about, and why I wake up every morning and endure this nightmare. I have to save us from this insanity. Put an end to this so we can be together forever. Afterward, we can be together. I will never leave your side, again. But until then, I have to put a stop to this madness.”

“You've been very absorbed in something deeply troubling to you,” Tomah said after he noticed Jim drop his phone slightly.

“It's just...” he trailed off and shook his head again, brain still hazy, rereading the email.

“You're out of balance,” he said again. His voice was much softer and distant than he remembered.

“Balance?” Jim looked up from his phone and met his penetrating green-white eyes.

“I am not a man of spirit,” he looked at him square, the jeep eating up field and forest with alacrity. “But everyone, within them, has battles. The forces of your soul are out of balance. One side has too much power.”

Jim furrowed his brow, “Battles?”

“Battles. Self-perpetuation versus morality. Pride versus hubris. Passion versus logic,” he gripped his ponytail and flipped it to a side, the thick black locks spilling down over his immense shoulder. “We all face battles. If you are not conflicted, then you are not pondering a topic deeply enough, or you lack enough empathy to understand that with which you battle.”

“So, you're conflicted?” Jim gazed upon his placid face, neutral, but warm.

“I am constantly in conflict,” a peaceful smile pulled deep furrows into the smooth skin around his eyes. “I will often spend days in meditation trying to become enlightened on a subject only to find myself farther away from understanding than I was when I started.”

“So, how do you carry on? If you're so conflicted, how do you get anything done?” Jim was transfixed on the tranquility of his face, his eyes seeming to ignore him completely, fixated on the road ahead.

“What is productivity? It is nothing but an illusion,” he furrowed his brow slightly, head unturned. “Life, all of this is an illusion.”

“Wait, like a computer program?” Jim furrowed his brow and gazed skeptically.

“Maybe, that's a fair analogy. 'Brain in a vat' Theory, as it's called, but not exactly what I meant,” he turned his head and smiled briefly. “No, I mean that the future has not yet happened and the past has already happened. We toil under this delusion of productivity because we make the false prediction that our future will be better if we are productive because we were productive at some point in the distant past and it paid off in the near past. The truth, however, is that we bumble from one random experience to the next, and our previous experience has little bearing on our ability to predict the future.”

“I don't think I agree,” Jim furrowed his brow again, and pulled his mouth to the side, both hands still on his communicator, dropped in his lap. He locked his eyes in the middle distance and gently let the images of the trees flow by him. “When I was a kid, I grabbed the stem of a rose my dad had brought home for my mom. One of the thorns stabbed me in the hand. I think I can make a fairly safe prediction that if I grab another rose by the stem, it will stab my hand.”

“Ah, perfectly logical,” Tomah took a hand off the wheel and pointed at Jim with a nod, “and also completely wrong. Did you know that there are, in fact, many species of rose that do not have thorns? Let me simplify it farther. I have just flipped a coin and received 10 ups in a row. If you were a gambling man, what would you say the odds of me flipping a downs is?”

“I'd say,” Jim touched a finger to his chin contemplatively, “that a ten-run of ups is extremely rare, and an 11 would be pretty preposterous. I'd day that without doubt, the next flip would be a downs.”

“And, yet again, you would be wrong,” Tomah smiled and pointed again. “You see, each flip is a discrete flip. So, there is equal chance that I will flip an up or a down. As with the rose, each attempt you make at grabbing the stem of a rose will net you an equivalent chance that it will or will not be thorned.”

“So, I should just go ahead and grab the stem, and accept that a certain portion of the time I'll get stabbed?” Jim pulled his chin into his neck and scrunched his nose indignantly.

“No, you miss the point,” Tomah frowned a bit. “It is not about using the past as a means to predict the future, but instead to use the past experience to inform our ability to more accurately predict the outcomes of choices we make in the present.”

“So, instead of just grabbing the rose, I should check the stem to make sure there aren't any thorns, first,” Jim pinched his mouth tight and raised his eyebrows.

“Exactly!” Tomah drove a finger into the air in front of him and then elbow-checked Jim in the shoulder. “Now you get it! Each moment of our existence is a discrete flip of the coin. We cannot predict the outcome, and sometimes, despite our best information gathering, we may grab the stem and still get stabbed.”

“I think I get it,” Jim shook his head, a little bit of fog clearing away. “But, let's say I were presented with a very tough decision. One is highly predictable, but the potential fallout of such a choice would devastate me. The other path is highly questionable, but cogent enough, and the potential payout of following it up could be immense.”

“That's not an answer I can give you, Jim,” Tomah maintained his sagely gaze. “You must use your past and assess the outcomes. My only recommendation is that you make the choice for who's fallout you could most easily deal with should things not go as planned.”

“So, it's less about which has the better outcome, and more about which one wouldn't ruin me?” Jim pulled his eyebrows down and cocked his head quizzically.

Tomah just patted a single finger to the tip of his nose. “You and I are just machines, Jim. All humans are. We take information in, process it through the complex computational machine of our brain, and then spit out a result,” his yellow-white eyes shimmered. “You, as you exist, as a self-aware entity, are only a part of that complex computational engine. Many things are fighting within you to control this piece of meat you call a body. Your self-awareness is just one of those things. It's why we drill relentlessly. It's why our Augs work the way they do” he tapped his finger to his temple. “One of those 'things,' arguably the most important of them all, is self-preservation. Do not attempt to control your body. Influence it. Do not fight your mind. Accept it. Do not fear choice. Decide.”

“You make it sound so easy,” Jim curled his lips against his teeth in and furrowed his brow.

“It is not,” Tomah shrugged effortlessly. “It is indeed the most difficult thing to do. To overcome the obsession with the self, to ignore the screams of society, to deny the impulses of instinct. To transcend the chains of this corporeal, imperfect existence and achieve a state of enlightened awareness, a state beyond our mortal suffering. It is what everyone seeks, and so few ever attain.”

“How do you know so much?” Jim sat in awe, eyes wide.

“We're here, Jim” Tomah leaned his head forward. His eye twitched, in what might have been a wink, cheek creased with a wry smile. “I need to continue my research on the DPRC's Diety-core, Siddhartha, with Toni. If you get a chance, you're doing live drills today, yes? You should ask Vishnu about him. It would be most instructive.”

***********************************************************************************

“This rudimentary form of communication is stifling,” Vishnu came through. Jim jumped over a large rock oucropping into a barrel roll and then began climbing a steep mountain face. “When shall we again be able to commune minds?”

“Soon,” Jim said aloud, “Magister Rinolado said I can't re-Aug until he can be certain there will be no negative effects from it.”

“It severely hinders my teaching,” Vishnu replied, his voice now coming to Jim's ears and not his head.

“About Siddhartha,” Jim carried on. He reached the peak of the cliff and pulled himself into the lush jungle. Over his shoulder he could hear Annie Oakley in tow.

“He is I,” Vishnu replied.

“No, I mean, the Core. The one in DPRC's posession,” Jim reached out and helped Annie Oakley over the ledge.

“He is I,” Vishnu repeated. “He is an incarnation of me.”

“So you were built from the same platform?” Jim questioned. He pulled out his rifle. He was feeling exhausted from the exertion. His sync ratios had yet to recover from the de-Augging.

“If that is the easiest way for your mortal mind to comprehend,” Vishnu sounded dismissive. “I manifested myself into Siddhartha, instilling him with my Divinity.”

“What is he capable of, should I have to fight him?” Jim trained his automatic laser rifle forward and signaled to Annie Oakley to follow.”

“He is not much for doing harm,” Vishnu scoffed. “His power lies in his pacifism.”

“So, he doesn't fight much?” Jim and Annie Oakley wended their massive bodies uphill through the tall trees of the Wild. He felt the fatigue start to set in, each footfall slowly sapping his strength.

“Quite the contrary,” Vishnu scoffed again. “he is, as I am, a Preserver. Sometimes, great harm must be done in the short-term to ensure no harm is done in the long term. His mind is disciplined, his body trained, and his technique martialed. The warrior-monks inspired by him were legend, feared far and wide, assuming the aspects of animal savageness. One would be quite unlucky to find themselves on his bad side.”

“Good to know,” Jim pointed his rifle at a patch of tree outlined in blue on his HUD. “I'll pass that along to Tomah. Now, what am I looking for, again? The Commander said to 'attain the objective when you reach the waypoint,' but never gave us an Objective.”

“I can see no reason why the indicated position is special,” Vishnu replied.

“That's because this is my show,” Marion said as she wheeled Annie Oakley into position, cutting back the growth to reveal a clear view across the strait.

“This isn't a drill, is it?” Jim tried to make a face.

“That would be correct,” She laid supine and extended the feet of her mass driver, facing over the cliff, toward the Central Straits, extending as far as the eye can see.

“And who, then, are we jumping?” Jim took a knee and pointed his assault weapon at the ocean in the same direction as Marion.

“Who do you think?” She stated matter-of-factly. “Standish jumped a DPRC transport ship. It had some pretty precious cargo.”

“What's a DPRC transport doing in IA waters?” Jim tried to make a face again.

“Training exercises in the Northern Frontier,” she replied. “In other words, they got Siddhartha up and running and were stretching its legs.”

“And now Standish has Siddhartha?” Jim sounded a bit afraid. “But I thought Standish was working with the DPRC? Isn't that where you recovered me from the torture.”

“We never recovered you,” Marion's voice was hard. “Sixth Legion did. It was a whole campaign, apparently. None of us were even aware. Apparently Kumal tortured you or something, but I don't know the whole story. If I'm honest the whole thing is kind of a blur at this point. Carol kept us in the dark, mostly. Put us in a huge campaign in the Wilds while it was all going on.”

“Wait, who tortured me?” Jim paused a second.

“Standish. Did I stutter?” Marion replied with rushed hostility.

“Where's our backup? Why is she having us do this alone? Do you work for Tessa? What's going on!” Jim pointed his rifle at Marion.

“Woah, woah, woah,” she shot up and put her hands in the air. “Jim, wait, I can explain,” she waved her hands and backed away.

“Vishnu,” Jim said both into his com and aloud, “I want you to engage the hyperspeed field on my mark.”

“Just hold on!” Marion shouted into the comm. “I'm not on anyone's 'side'” She pulled her elbows down to her hips and kept her hands up, shaking them frantically. “I don't have any idea what's going on with them. They filled me in about everything when they promoted me. I'm a digital like you.”

“Keep talking,” Jim didn't lower his guard.

“I don't know much,” she held her hands still. “They told me about the whole computer simulation thing when Carol or Tessa or whoever got pulled away and I took over for her. I just know that they think this is some big defense project and that we're not real. Sounded like some cult shit at the time and I just nodded my head. I still don't know if I believe them, but I think I might be starting to with all that's going on.”

“So, what are we doing out here, then?” Jim kept his rifle trained right on center mass.

“Jumping Kumal. Standish. Fuck, I don't know!” She was desperate. “I'm supposed to drive two rounds through the transport ship as it crosses the strait. A javelin to disable it and a tracker so Carol-slash-Tessa can send the Third in and recover Siddhartha.”

“I mean, that's the plan,” Standish came over, putting sarcastic emphasis on “plan.” The bow of his boat just crossing into view along the strait.

“Standish!” Marion gasped and dropped down, training her rifle on the boat.

Jim did not flinch. He kicked the rifle to the side and pressed the weapon to the joint where the Plug screwed into the Core. “What did I just fucking say, Marion? Don't fucking move!”

“Attaboy Jim!” Standish came over, enthusiasm in his voice.

“You shut the fuck up, too,” Jim pulled the carbine mass driver off his back, loaded a round, and lobbed it at the boat. It clipped a part of the hull just above the deck, a twisted metal hole left in its wake.

“Hey man!” Standish freaked out. “Who's side are you on!”

“I'm fucking thinking!” Jim yelled into his comm. An alert klaxon was blaring in his HUD, red flashing on the cartoonified version of the core.

“That was not a wise move,” Vishnu spake clearly. “You did not engage the kinetic sync. That shoulder joint is in poor condition. You have ruptured the air cushion in the hydraulic actuator. Functionality is severely diminished. I have engaged the kinetic sync, should you choose to take another foolish shot.”

“Alright,” Jim said after shaking his head. “Here's what's going to happen. Standish, what are you doing here?”

“Baiting you out, duh,” he sounded nonplussed. “I sent Vishnu with you, and honestly, I kinda grew to like the self-righteous bastard. And, well, you hung up on me last time and we still need to talk.”

“Marion, up,” Jump signaled with his weapon. “We're clipping in and abseiling down. Standish, pick us up.”

“Wait, what the hell are you doing,” Marion stood Annie Oakley slowly, hands open by her chest again.

“Send over the main frequency that Standish anticipated us and he's taking us hostage,” Jim took the weapons off of Annie Oakley and lobbed them over the cliff. They made a dull, thudding crash into the rocky surf below.

“Hey, wait,” Standish replied, “only one of those things is true.”

“Right, because I'm taking her hostage and we're both going with you,” the compartment at Jim's thigh opened with a mechanical hiss. He withdrew his abseil line and pressed the long spike against the ground and slammed his fist onto the top. It tapped deep into the ground. He threw the rope tail over the cliff. It didn't go all the way to the surf but cut out about a hundred yards from the waterline. “Marion, clip in.”

“Alright, but I don't like this,” she said through the comm. “Base, this is Gold-one. Mission is a fail. Bogey had intel, we are in his charge. Repeat. Mission is a fail, we are apprehended by the Bogey.”

“Perfect,” Jim grabbed the line and let it slip through his hands and ran it under his butt, and then grabbed the rope again, sitting into the coil like a makeshift harness. He felt the simulated feel of rope in his palms. “Alright, let's go. I'll explain everything when we get to the ship, Marion, you just have to trust me.”

“You just had your gun at my neck,” she said deadpan.

“Because I thought you betrayed me. But I decided to trust you instead. I need you to do the same,” He flung himself over the edge, the coil sliding fast through his fingers. As he reached the crest of his arc and started swinging back toward the cliff face, he carefully tightened his grip, gently, so as to not let the immense friction burn his palm, but also firmly enough to slow his decent as his feet planted on the wall. After a short pause, Marion met him parallel, feet planted perpendicular to the sheer face.

“You better know what you're doing,” Marion came through. “You trashed my weapons.”

“Call it a 'leap of faith,'” Jim chuckled.

“If this doesn't get us killed, I'm going to kill you,” she retorted as they began the slow, arduous descent.

Once they reached the bottom, Standish had wheeled the transport as closely to them as he could. “You'll have to leap, if you can,” he came over.

“Vishnu?” Jim pulled up the trajectory computer.

“My omnipotence shall guide us. Jump at your discretion and I shall ensure our safe landing,” he replied. With a strong bound, Jim jumped backward arms out in a cross, body postured arched against the force. After what felt like seconds suspended like this, he pulled his knees to his chest, and flipped several times. At the last moment, he gainer'd into a front-flip, landed on the deck on his upper shoulders, summer-saulted, vaulting to his feet and carrying that momentum into a front-flip before landing square, arms in a Y-shape to the sky.

“That was some fancy force-vectoring, but I give it an 8.5, max,” Marion came through. Jim turned to look up at her on the cliff. She pushed away with a mighty thrusty, keeping her body flat through several twisting whip-backs, arms tucked against her chest. She planted hard, pushing against the landing into an incredibly high whip-back, pulling her knees in at the apex for several tight, rapid flips, before planting square and extending her arms up into the Y-shape.

“Very impressive,” Jim had Vishnu golf-clap. “Definitely a 9. I don't know how you planted without a roll on the landing and didn't blow out your kinetic syncs.”

“99.1% on landing,” she made a bow. “The computer actually predicted 101%, but it overestimates a few percentage points because of my sync ratio.”

“Vishnu underestimates a few points because of my sync ratios,” he half-replied to Marion. “I always end up blowing out my syncs.”

“If you were more controlled, you would not cause so much damage,” Vishnu replied.

“Thanks, Dad,” Jim snarked.

“If you're done, there are several other slips in the cargo hold,” Standish replied. “I can tech you out.”

***********************************************************************************

“I want all of us to switch,” Jim folded his hands on the table in black and white slate map room. “Not just me.”

“Define 'all of us,'” Terry O'Callaghan sneered, his gold teeth looking like void-spots in the dim light.

“Me and the team,” Jim hitched a thumb at Marion, who was sitting next to him.

“And do what with them, exactly?” he scrunched his nose and raised his hands to the sides. “They're all career soldiers. They're not like you, they were bred on the War server. All they know is conflict. They don't know how to operate in the regular world,” he scoffed.

“No man left behind,” Jim folded his arms across his chest and leaned back. “I want to go, to be with your daughter, Molly, the girl I love. I want to be with her forever. But I can't leave my family behind.”

“Ugh,” he threw his hands into the air, shot out of his seat, and turned his back to them, folding his hands behind his back and pacing.

“This is what you get,” Dyman picked up, pulling back the corner of his mouth back. “Spoken like a true soldier,” he chuckled wryly.

“I mean,” Standish cocked an eyebrow and pulled the corner of his mouth down, “it's not like it's any more difficult than extracting Jim. I'll just pull them onto the blade, too, and inject them into the simulation, too.

“That's not the point!” he leaned down on the table, the harsh overhead light drawing deep shadows in the furrows of his face. “They don't fit any of the templates on the Utopia server. They'll throw off the whole simulation!” He threw his hands up again and continued to pace.

“I won't let my friends get nuked,” Jim sat resolute.

“What would you have me do, hmm?” Terry shot around the table faster than Jim could track, his scowl inches from Jim's face. His breath was smelt of spearmint.

“Give them a chance at a normal life.” Jim furrowed his brow and met his gaze.

“What, you think that her,” he shot up bolt straight and held a hand to Marion, “this intelligence that was hardened in a world of conflict and knows only killing and following orders, you think she can ever carry on as a banker? A Lyceum teacher? You think she can just give this life up so easily?”

“Yes,” Marion said deadpan. “Yes, I can, sir.”

“What?” Terry recoiled.

“I would like that, yes, sir.” Marion calmly folded her hands in her lap. “My dad was a lecturer. I joined up to piss him off. I stayed in to piss off my hippy Ex. Now, I fight because I don't know what else to do. If I had a way out? I'd take that in a second, sir.” She stared Terry dead in the eye, her dark skin glowing slightly with sweat, her hair pulled back, her deeply furrowed scowl on full display.

“What would all be?” Dyman inserted calmly, drawing everyone's attention to him.

“Tomah wants a farm out in the countryside, growing real crops. Adrian wants to be a gaming journalist. Blaize thinks he has the stock market cornered, like some Bridge game,” she chuckled softly to herself, “wants to run a hedge fund. Toni wants to get into custom printing. Thinks she has a killer idea for a new communicator design.”

“But what do you want?” Dyman emphasized the “you” and drilled a finger at her.

“I just want to retire, sir,” she shrugged. “Kick back on some SU beach and meet a pretty half-Wild wife who barely speaks Common. Raise kids. Do some surfing. Read a lot. Think. Maybe write a book.”

“I'm touched,” Standish put his hands over his heart and cocked his head to the side.

“Shut up,” Dyman scowled. “That's beautiful, Marion. We'll do whatever we can to make that a reality for you.”

“What are you saying, Blake?” Terry's jaw went slack and his eyes wide.

“You heard me,” Dyman's face was jagged, not even the comically gaudy jewelry softening its intensity. “I think it will be good for the simulation.”

“No!” He threw his hands up. “You've seen these guys in our world. They lose their minds! They drink all day, flashback to combat, and pick kids off from a water tower! Or, failing that, blow their brains out for their children to find. They're time bombs just waiting to go off!”

“I don't know about all that,” Standish pulled one arm across his body and rested his elbow on it, flopping his hand back and forth and resting it next to his chin, eyes wide, the corners of his mouth pulled down hard.

“Listen to yourself, Terry!” Blake slammed a hand on the table.

“Look,” Terry took his seat and leaned across the table, arm extended past the halfway point pleading, “I respect everything that you do. Truly. You're the lifeblood that protects the freedom of decent people, or at least that's what everyone tells you. And that's great! It's truly respectable. But you don't 'just' integrate back into peaceful society. It's a different world and your kind doesn't handle it well.”

“With all due respect, sir,” Marion replied, “stank” heavy on the “sir.” “We don't 'integrate back into peaceful society' well because people like you keep treating us like this. Yeah, I've known a couple of guys who got out of service after doing a tour through the Wilds and were never quite right afterward. But that's because your, quite frankly, fucked medical system threw them to the wolves without any support. It's because your 'decent people' treat us like pariahs. Like we're not 'of them.' You ignore every single successfully-reintegrated soldier and focus only on the random one-offs who you let slip through the cracks. Sir.”

“Ohhh shit,” Standish leaned his chair back hard, putting a balled up hand in front of his mouth and pulling a knee to his chest.”Check and mate, bro. I think she wins.”

“So do we have a deal?” Jim, arms still folded, leaning back in his chair, cocked his head forward, a slight smirk creasing his cheeks.

Terry pulled back, dropping his arms to his sides, deflated. “Yeah,” he twirled a finger in the air and let it drop back lifelessly to his side, “they can come, too.”

Greyhat: Issue 2 - The Scurillous Affair

“Asshole,” her voice whispered in my ear. I loved it when she called me that. “Wake the fuck up you dense motherfucker.”

            “Huh?” I stirred from my slumber. I’m a pretty heavy sleeper. My mouth tasted like weed, scotch, and stale pussy. My head felt like I had an icepick lodged in my forehead and my eyes were crusted over with sweat and bodily fluids that were definitely not my own. So, all and all, the remnants of what must have been a pretty amazing night.

            “Open your eyes you idiot,” she spoke louder this time, but not toward me.

            I did as I was told and was greeted by the black snub of a Glock pistol. It was being pointed at me by a very naked Grace. “If we’re going to be doing BDSM, aren’t I supposed to be chained to the bed?” I find the best thing to do in life or death situations is to crack jokes. It makes them wonder why you’re not shitting yourself in fear and gives you a few seconds to figure out a plan of action.

            “Hardeck sends his regards,” she smirked and wiggled her hips. Probably because of how hard it is to balance on the waterbed. I know. I’ve had to stand on it many a time. Except I usually have a riding crop, not a .45 caliber pistol.

            “Is this business or revenge?” I pulled the covers down and propped myself up on my elbows.

            “Business,” she jumped off the bed and put the gun to my temple. “Wait,” she looked me up and down and then recoiled and cringed. “Are you hard right now?”

            I looked down at my Johnson and saw the mighty bastard twitching like an ADHD eight year old off his Adderall. “It’s a fear boner, I promise. Now, I already registered the exploit and you guys have the rights. If this isn’t revenge, then to what do I owe the pleasure?” I swung my legs over the edge of the bed and pushed myself up off the edge of the bed. We were in my room, mercifully, so I walked over to my dresser and pulled open my underwear drawer, and was promptly greeted with a pistol nose to the back of my skull.

            “What the fuck do you think you’re doing, asshole?” She pushed the gun harder against the back of my neck.

            “Slow down there, Annie Oakley,” I raised my arms to the sides of my ears. “I’m just trying to sheath the battle axe,” I gingerly reached down, and with two fingers, plucked out a pair of underwear. She pushed the gun harder again, forcing my head forward and down. I used the same hand to carefully push the drawer closed and then pulled on the underwear, raising my hands back up. She took a few steps back and I turned to face her. “See? My virility is now contained, your ovaries are safe again.” I looked over to the bed. “You ok?”

            “Wonderful, asshole,” she scrunched her nose. She had the covers wrapped around her, mousy and helpless as ever. “Hell of a buzz in the room, wouldn’t you say?” She winked at me.

            “I know my head is buzzing. Not sure if it was the orgy or this bitch’s stinger, please.” I made a thumb gesture at Grace and winked.

            “Will you two shut the fuck up with the banter? Now, Hardeck wants his money transf…augghh” she collapsed to the floor before she could finish the sentence, revealing a near-silent quad-copter drone painted like a bumblebee hovering in the doorway.

            “Amateur,” I said as I kicked the gun away from her hand. I pulled open the bottom drawer and grabbed a pair of handcuffs and duct tape. “Good thing I had planned on using these on you anyway. Just, you know, under different circumstances.” I cuffed her and taped her up. I looked to the bed and gave a smirk and a shrug.

            “Dumb cunt,” she replied as she got up, revealing her pristine nakedness, and glided over to her panties on the floor.

            “Hey, no c-word,” I scowled at her as she pulled her pink cottons up. “Also, have you been working out? I think I blacked out halfway through the movie.”

            “That’s the fifth time you’ve asked tonight,” she pulled on my button-down, did it up a few, and then came over to squat next to me as I pulled the dart out of Grace’s back. “Yes, I have been.”

            “Oh, well, you’re looking mighty trim,” I stood up and started looking for my phone. “Was the sex good?”

            “Meh,” she shrugged as she walked over to the dresser and picked up a half-smoked joint from the ashtray. “Grace eats lousy pussy.” She picked up a lighter and took a long hit. “You’re getting better, though.” She offered me the joint.

            “Oh? I took a go at you?” I guided her hand to my lips, took a beastly drag, and went back to rummaging through the pile of clothes for my phone.

            “You were missionary on Grace and I was playing with myself,” She shrugged and took another drag. “You kept insisting and I was close. Heat of the moment.”

            “Bummer,” I said through a cloud of exhaled smoke. I can’t dragon with a joint but it was still respectable.  “Now I’m pissed I blacked out, it sounded like a hot night.” I finally felt my phone in my waistcoat pocket. I pulled it out and stood up. “I’ll have to watch a replay on the security cams.”

            “Still can’t believe that twat didn’t think we had a security system,” she sauntered over next Grace and scowled down at her. She offered me the joint before squatting next to her, rolling her on her back, and running her fingers along her curves. “At least she was pretty.”

            “Hey, hands off,” I shot her a glance. “No touchy the unconscious chick. That’ll land you in the clink lickity-split.” I shot her another glance and smirked exaggeratedly.

            “Ugh,” she sighed and stood, though I’m not sure if from my absolutely amazing pun or the fact that she really wanted to indulge her creepy side. “So, we gonna do this, or what?”

            “Yeah, sure, gimme a sec,” I unlocked my phone and pecked out a message: Bern, have an incident, please advise.

***

            I turned the chair around when I heard the door handle jiggle. “Mr. Hosmick” I said, ankle over my knee, fingers steepled in front of my chest. “So happy to see you.”

            “It’s Hardeck,” he said, closing the door behind him, a look of bewilderment as he froze in spot. “What are you doing in my office?”

            “Mfmmfmfm,” Grace mumbled something, but I couldn’t make out what she said through the duck tape.

            Hardeck snapped his head to the side, made eye contact with her, and then snapped back to me, “Shit.”

            “Quite the pickle you seem to be in,” I tapped my index fingers to my lower lip. Everything was going perfectly to plan.

            “You didn’t answer my question,” his face was unmoving. “How did you get into my office?”

            “Oh that,” I spun the chair in a full circle and stopped myself by slamming my hands flat on his desk. “You have a Secu-Tex system. My client has an exploit currently awaiting arbitration for their new BCZ-01 system, which, Oh! You coincidentally seem to use,” I re-steepled my hands and pointed my fingers at him. “Oh wait, don’t you own Secu-Tex? Anyway, we’ll talk about that a little later. Moving along,” I slammed my hands on my knees and shot up, startling Hardeck. This was working brilliantly. “Now, shall we discuss the assassin you sent to steal the money you paid my client?” I folded my arms and tapped my index finger to my lip.

            “You have no evidence of that,” Hardeck made a stiff, hurried march to his desk, where he sat and folded his hands in front of him, chest pushed up against the front edge tightly. “

            I held up my phone, tapped a button, and then displayed the screen to him. “Hardeck sends his regards,” Grace’s voice said from the security footage repeated. “Mfffhmfhm,” the real Grace mumbled as she struggled against the duct tape holding her in the chair.

            “Circumstantial,” Hardeck laid his hands on his desk and shook his head. “You’ve got nothing pinning me…”
            “Now, Hardeck wants his money…” the security footage continued. Grace stopped struggling and exhaled feebly. “Mffff.”

            “I see, ‘Conspiracy to Commit Murder,’ ‘Conspiracy to Commit Felony Larceny,’ and ‘False Imprisonment of a Hostage,’ to name a few,” I turned to face Hardeck and then to Grace, who I was now standing next to. “Or, rather, I don’t see that, Bern Wallace, my counsel, sees that.”

            “You held me and my company hostage!” He exclaimed

            “I want,” I uncrossed my arms and shoved my hands in my pockets. “A million dollars,” with a pause for dramatic effect, “for the Secu-Tex exploit. In exchange, I walk out of here, and I don’t press charges.”

            “A million dollars for a bug that size is unheard of!” Hardeck gasped. “This is extortion!”

            “Actually, according to Bern, and his friend down at the DA’s office, if,” I slowly kicked my way over to standing in front of the door, “something like this were to happen, hypothetically, of course, we have a pretty strong case that ‘this,’” I made swirls with my fingers and returned them to my pockets, “could be construed as me accepting hush money, which carries a misdemeanor charge and could easily have the one year jail term commuted, all things considered.” I stood with my feet shoulder-width apart and leaned in slightly. Power poses. They work. “Oh, and I’ll be keeping the security footage in escrow with Bern in case you try to send a less amateurish mook,” I made a thumb gesture to Grace, “to try and pick up where she left off.”

            Hardeck stared at me unflinchingly for a while, and then shook his head, “Well? Can I say no? How do you want to do this, Mister…”

            I reached into my blazer’s breast pocket and pulled out a small tablet. I held it up in front of my face, walked a few paces forward, and then leaned over, gently set it down, and pushed it toward him. So predictable, I amaze myself sometimes. “Just enter your bank information, give it the ole’ John Hancock, and we’re square.”

            “This will be all over the news, you know,” Hardeck took the tablet and started tapping away at it.

            “Great!” I smiled widely, visualizing a giant bowl of shit to eat just waiting for me on the desk. “Talk about publicity for my client. And your firm! You’ll be the talk of the security community.”

            “My share prices will tank. The board will have my head,” he said as he slid the tablet back to me.

            “Well,” I leaned over, grabbed the tablet, and stuffed it back in my interior breast pocket, “next time, don’t provoke me. I’ll have Bern’s office send over all the appropriate paperwork to transfer the exploit rights.” I took a few steps back, pressed my palms together and took a small bow. “Since we’re done here, it was a pleasure doing business with you. And you,” I turned to Grace, “thank you for a fantastic evening. It was, enlightening,” I winked and pulled the tape off her mouth.

            “You make me sick,” she glared daggers at me. I held my fingers up to my head in the shape of a phone and mouthed call me. She spat on my shoe. My very expensive shoe. I open-hand slapped her, made a text gesture, then pointed from my eye to hers and winked. She smiled wickedly and licked the blood from the corner of her mouth.

            “Well, it’s been fun,” I reached behind me and pushed the door open. I rolled my hand in front of me and bowed deeply, “but now I must bid you adieu. Good luck!” I side-stepped back and out of the door, closing it quickly in front of me, and bolted as fast as I could down the stairs and across the lobby to the front door.  My car was already waiting for me.

            “How’d it go?” she said after kicking away from the car and pulling open the door.

            I dove straight into the car without answering her. She piled in after me and once I had got situated and adjusted my suit, I pulled my phone out and shot off a quick text message: Bern, they bought the Secu-Tex exploit. Hit Hans for payment, as is customary. “Million, minus Bern’s cut.” I stuffed the phone back into my breast pocket, pulled out the tablet from the other pocket, and passed it to her.

            “You devious bastard,” the tablet illuminated her face as she stared hungrily at the transfer confirmation. “Everything go according to plan?” she passed the tablet back.

            “Hook, line, and sinker, mija,” I took the tablet and stuffed it in the door pocket of the ‘Cedes. My phone buzzed and I pulled it out. Great. Swing by. Need to talk about SB exploit. “Bern needs us to swing by,” I pushed my phone in my pocket. “Bern’s office, please.” A beep acknowledged the change in course, and the screen at the front of the cabin showed the reroute and updated the estimated arrival time.

            “We should take a vacation,” she said as she leaned back in her seat, crossed her arms, and put her ankle on her knee. “I was thinking Thailand or Brazil, if you catch my drift.” She made a duck face and gave me an exaggerated wink.

            I pulled a pill bottle out of the cubby next to my seat and popped a modafinil. This was going to be a long day. “As much as the prospect of a harem of ladyboy hookers in a tropical country with questionable age-of-consent laws and lax police enforcement makes my pecker burst out of my pants, I was thinking maybe we could use this windfall for a bit more practical purposes.”

            “I was talking about the luxury casinos, but now that you mention hookers…” she trailed off and quirked an eyebrow up.

            I furrowed my brow and tilted my head at her.

            “Ok, maybe I was talking about the hookers,” she re-crossed her arms and harrumphed.

            “Thank you,” I smiled and leaned back in my seat. “Now, I was thinking we could finally pull the trigger on some of those remodels we were talking about.”

            “Which ones? The BDSM dungeon?” She leaned forward excitedly.

            “No,” I sighed. “Well, yes actually, but not just the BDSM dungeon.” I pulled my phone out and opened up my notes list. “Number one, ’Upgrade security system to Secu-Tex BCZ-01 system,’ Ok maybe not that one.”
            “Actually, if they patch that bug I found the ST system will be pretty much impenetrable, so I still think we should upgrade,” she pulled her phone out and started tapping at it.

            “Alright, well, all things considered,” I’ve been saying that a lot to day, “I think updating the security system should stay first on our list. Number two, ‘Convert spare room to boudoir.’”

            “See? That’s pretty high-priority, I’d say,” she looked up and made eye contact with me.

            “Alright, fine, we’ll do up the guest room. Again, all things considered,” there it is again! “I think having a sex room that isn’t my bedroom would be good. “

            “Yesssss,” she wiggled her body, then went back to her phone, then looked back up at me. “Do you think we talk about sex too much? I feel like that’s all we ever talk about.”

            “Is that a bad thing?” I pulled an eyebrow down and cocked my head to the side.

            “Absolutely not,” she sighed in relief. “I just wanted to make sure you didn’t care. Because, if you wanted to talk about other things, we can talk about other things.”

            “Don’t be silly,” I flopped my wrist at her. “Now, I think a sex-swing is too much, but what about ceiling mirrors?” I held up my phone to show her a picture.

            “You read my mind,” she said as she jumped across the cabin to sit next to me and cuddle against my arm as I scrolled through the search images. “Oooh, look at that. Who doesn’t love a King Edward’s chair?”

***

Chapter 5 - Steel Giants

 Steel giants. The Cores stood like steel giants in the hangar. The machines were familiar. Two legs, jointed forward, with foot-like structures at the bottom. 2 arms, jointed in the center, with hand-like structures at the end. A central power plant, similar to a torso; a sensor stalk at the top, similar to a head. A skin of sleek super-metal. Plating and stylistic flourishes like armor and clothes. The plating was thicker in certain areas, giving it a sort of physique. They looked, at first blush, like people.

“Impressive, aren't they?” Standish gestured with the brim of his hat to the monoliths. He had moved off to the side of the entrance, and was leaning against the wall, arms crossed, face wrought with a awe-filled grin. “They get me every time. I've set foot on the surface of Luna. Been on exploratory missions in The Wilds, visited the Carved Cities, and seen all 131 Great Craters in the world. And still, nothing puts my hair on end like these guys.”

“They're amazing,” Jim's mouth was agape. “How come there are so few? Why don't we just make our own?” Jim turned to look at Standish, and furrowed his brow in scrutiny. “Also, you've been to the colonies? And The Wilds? And the Craters?” That information seemed almost more interesting than the Cores.

“Don't, Jim,” the Commander said, with a stern leer. “Not now.”

Jim looked at the Commander, then at Standish. “Who are you? What are you?”

“I'm Eli Standish and that's all you need to know, for now,” He turned his attention to Jim, a wicked grin creasing his cheeks. “Let's show you around.” He bucked away from the wall and gestured for them to follow him to the stairs. Carol prodded Jim with the palm of her hand, and they both followed in tow.

After a few dozen steps, they were on a steel scaffolding running along the walls of the large open room. “This also used to be a growing room, but not as big as the farming facilities. We've retrofitted it to serve as a hangar,” the Commander gestured around the large open space. “As of now, the International Alliance has nine Core units, but only five are fully operational. We know, currently, that our three militarized international 'allies,'” the Commander used air-quotes, “have at least six units amongst them, though we don't know who and in what concentrations. The best intelligence we have suggests that the Democratic Pan-Regional Council has at least two, and the People's Island Republic has at least one unit. As for the Southern Union, the way international population treaties are set up, they potentially have enough 'physical capital,'” again with the air-quotes, “to be militarized, but we don't know if they have the resources to maintain a standing regiment. It's possible that some of our non-militarized partners have units, but that would probably be in only a research capacity.”

“So, that leaves three unaccounted for?” Jim questioned, still gaping at the behemoths while they paced the outer edge of the wall on their way to what looked like a small outpost in middle of the scaffolding.

“Correct. And we have no idea where they are, just that they were discovered by nomads, and that at one point they were trafficked through the PIR. The IA is unequivocally the strongest nation in the Great Union with the most population treaties and top-3 in everything from academics to economy, but we're definitely not the most liked. There has been stable peace for generations, short of a few power-struggles here and there, but politicians have been letting population treaties inflate on the back of military spending. The IA is equally to blame, though we are a very peaceful nation. The PIR, on the other hand, has been expanding rapidly and isn't quite content with their lack of standing in the Union. Diplomacy has kept them well in hand, as have a relative lack of military power, but if they can acquire a significant portion of the Core population, it is possible they may attempt to assert their power with force...”

“Carol,” Standish cut her off. “Enough politics. It's boring. You're going to make the boy's head explode.” They had all stopped in front of the outpost's door. Standish opened it and led the two inside. The room was very small, despite seeming quite large on the outside, and was crammed with computer terminals, work benches and a few chairs. “This is the machine shop, Jim. Behind that door is the warehouse. Back there we have a collection of in-demand parts,” Standish gestured to the back room, “the bulk, however, we keep in the Styx. We perform the repair work needed to keep those suckers running here. The major systems on the core are all self-healing, thankfully, but not everything is quick to repair. 50-foot bomb-proof metal giants aren't easy to patch up, either.” Standish gestured to one of the work-benches. An eighteen-foot arm was running across its entire length, splayed open with wires, hydraulics, coolant arteries, and other such mechanical bits exposed and dangling. “The meta-materials were too badly damaged during training. They would fix themselves, eventually, but we don't have months to wait, so Tim and his boys have to fix it up.”

“How Human,” Jim commented as he surveyed the arm, unconsciously having wandering over toward it.

“Don't you even think of touching that,” a burly bearded man said as he came out from the door in the back, forcing Jim to retract an also-unconsciously extending arm. “Thought I heard someone say my name. New recruit?” Tim had on tan coveralls and was coated thick in sweat and wreaked of chemicals. His long brown curls were tied behind his head in a thick pony tail, and his thick bushy beard was recently trimmed. It was obvious that at one point in the day it had been neatly combed too, however that time appears to have long passed.

“I'm Jim,” he shook his head to bring him back to the present. He extended his hand toward Tim instead, who shook it warmly with a solidness rivaling granite.

“Our ancestors used human physiology as a template when making those guys,” Tim gestured with his head to the Cores outside, “durability and energy expenditure are some of the biggest reasons humans stayed as small as they did during our initial evolutionary process a hundred sixty-five thousand or so years ago. Scientific advance overcame those with compact high-output energy sources, ultra-durable meta-materials, and advanced mechanical engineering techniques. So, they applied the best of both worlds and came up with the Cores. Me and the other guys act as mechanical surgeons and keep those things running. So, be careful with them, will ya? My job is hard enough as it is without you kids taking a direct hit from a mass-driver in the arm.”

“I-I'll remember that,” Jim was still enrapt as he inspected the metal arm. “How, exactly do they work?” He shifted his focus back to Tim.

“Well, there's a cockpit in the center. We attach a bunch of sensors to your head that read the electrical signals in your brain. Then, you think about how you want to move. The robot you're inside reads that and does what you thought. About that simple. The robot itself is modeled pretty heavily on human physiology, as you can see,” Tim gestured at the arm. “The machine itself is composed of some pretty advanced stuff. Meta-materials that act like muscle tissue. Wires and hydraulics that act like tendons and ligaments. Capillaries that carry fluids and electrical signals throughout the matrices.” Tim pointed up to a few posters on the walls that Jim had missed when looking at the arm. They were elaborate wiring diagrams and images of musculature splayed open, almost like a doctor's anatomical diagram. “When I said 'mechanical surgeon,' I wasn't being facetious. This stuff is intricate, complicated, highly interconnected, and we still have a pretty poor understanding of the big picture.”

“It's just so beautiful,” Jim went from poster to poster, studying the rich complexity and beautiful artistry of each one. They looked more like DaVinci diagrams than anything you'd find in a school textbook.

“You busy?” Standish had his arms crossed and was standing near the door. He gestured to Tim with an upward tick of his head.

“Davis is out in the Styx collecting some parts so I have a few minutes, yeah.” Tim, who's arms were also folded, shifted weight to his back foot and kicked his hip out.

“We should take him over to meet Vishnu. He's going to pilot him, after all,” a huge, white-toothed grin creased Standish's eyes as a look of confusion and fear crept into Tim's face.

“Vishnu? Seriously? Why would you do such a thing, are you trying to kill the boy?!” Tim dragged a rugged palm over his forehead and along his hair until he gripped his ponytail. His other hand planted on his hip and his voice sounded strained and afraid.

Jim tensed uneasily. “What's he talking about?” Jim darted his glances between Tim and Standish. Standish stood resolute in his grin. Commander Cecilia remained silent and unmoved.

“Vishnu is a scary piece of work,” Tim started. He settled back into his cross-armed stance and shifted his focus to Jim. “He's the most recently uncovered Core, and he's not like anything we've ever seen. He's composed of material we've only begun to start analyzing. His computer system is loaded with insanely intricate coding structures, and we have no idea what all of his functions and subroutines are capable of. There are big black-box structures all over him that we can't crack open and none of our imaging technology can see what's inside. We've already mapped some of the pilots to him, but we have other functioning robots so we don't really take him out.”

“Dyman sent down the command to have a dedicated pilot on Vishnu ASAP. That's why we called in Mr. James Ross here to take him out for a run,” Standish pulled an open palm away from his elbow to gesture at Jim.

“Wait...Dyman is pulling in the Big Gun?” Tim's eyes grew wide as he locked his stare on Jim.

“That's enough, gentlemen. Let's introduce Jim to his newest best friend, shall we?” General Cecilia interjected with a calm voice and a hand raised in a flat-palmed “stop” gesture.

“Carol's right. Lead the way, Mr. Rothgur.” Standish turned his body to the side and swept his hand out signaling Tim to lead the way.

“Alright, follow me, then,” Tim lurched forward, an uneasy expression creeping into his already-alarmed face. He led them out of the building and along the back scaffold of the room. They walked past a series of slips, each lined with their own towering scaffolds ensconcing the Cores. Each Core they passed had slightly unique features about them. Some were burlier, with thicker armor and more dynamic physiques. Others were more slender with lankier builds. The cores were sometimes outfitted in fabric, as well, it seemed.

“Is that a skirt?” Jim pointed at one of the Cores they were walking past.

“Kilt. It's an ancient Scottish garb. The clothes they wear help insulate the metamaterials, reducing heating and cooling loads, just like your clothes. They also help differentiate who's who on the battlefield. The materials they're made out of also offer armoring to areas that you can't plate over because they need flexibility, like joints and sensor stacks,” Tim pointed the Core they were walking by. It had on the kilt, as well as sleeves over it's elbows and wrists, leg-warmers over it's ankles and a scarf-like collar over it's neck. It's “chest,” however, was openly exposed, as were its thighs and to a lesser extent its knees, though the kilt was long enough to hang down over them. “Cúchulainn is a Barbarian-class Core, one of the first we discovered. He still remains one of our most powerful Cores, as well. Heimdall, across the way, is his partner.” Tim pointed at a similarly-dressed Core across from Cúchulainn on the other side of the room. The covering and styling were slightly different, but the physique was almost identical.

Tim pointed to a very slender-looking core that was covered in a tight, form-fitting black jumper. It had more feminine flourishes. “That's Annie Oakley. She's a Cowboy-class Core. It has a lower center of gravity, is much more flexible than the others, and can put a phase round through a coin from miles away. The jumpsuit is actually made of Chameleon Cloth, as well. Essentially, she'll go invisible when it's activated. And to answer your question, yes, our ancestors were pretty sexist, but there are good anatomical reasons why the female archetype is more suited for her task.”

“How many classes are there?” Jim swiveled his head around as they walked. It looked like they were able to fit 12 slips in the hangar, but only 9 of which were full. Some of them were shrouded, flashes of light and noise periodically emerging from behind the screens.

“Right now we have 4 primary Core types. Barbarians, Cowboys, Hermes, and Deities There are various cross-over designs, but those are essentially it. Hermes Cores are light and agile...”

“Scouts,” Jim Interrupted. “Soldiers, archers, scouts and equalizers. Just like in my strategy games. Barbarians are beefier front-line soldiers, but at the expense of agility and sensory advantages. Scouts are fast and agile with strong sensory output, but low in combat skill. Archers are ranged, but lack any direct combat power. Equalizers are ace-in-the-hole types that are strong in all relevant combat strengths, but require a large investment of resources and strategic protection because of their comparatively high value.”

“You got it,” Tim affirmed, a modicum of impression leaking into his face. He craned his neck and addressed the commanders, “Smart kid. Dyman has good taste.”

“Who is this Dyman guy?” Jim craned his own neck to address the three.

“General-at-Arms Tyler Dyman. He's the overseer for the outfit and the liaison between the Alliance and New Roman Industries,” Tim began.

“Tim, please. That's more than enough,” Carol chimed in.

“Why do you keep interrupting him, Commander?” Jim inquired. He was beginning to get frustrated with all the secretiveness and half-information.

“You'll find out in time, Jim. It's just a bunch of politics. And, more than you need to know right now. We want you focusing on your training. I already feel like we're overburdening you with information. The last thing we need is you getting confused about what's going on and what you're here for,” the commander rested a hand on Jim's shoulder mid-stride. “You're a solder now. You need to trust that we have your best interests in our intentions.”

“I trust you professor, It's just all so confusing,” Jim turned his neck to look at the the commander.

“I understand, Jim,” Carol smiled warmly. “It's for your own good, though. I promise.

“Here we are,” Standish interjected, breaking the moment. Jim returned his attention to the hangars and focused on the Core where Tim had stopped.

“This is Vishnu,” Tim raised a hand upward. Everyone's eyes followed in suit. “He's a Deity-class, obviously. He and Jupiter are the only known Cores of this type to exist. The DPRC has the other one, and they're pretty tight-lipped about it. We'd love to know if Jupiter has the same sort of black boxes and code weirdness.”

“He's magnificent,” Jim gawped. Vishnu didn't have the sharp physique or slenderness of the other Cores, but still maintained a visage of power and grace all the same. He wore a dhoti-style piece of fabric around his legs, a stole-like piece of fabric wrapped around his shoulder-sockets and hung loosely down his torso and a long thick piece of tubing ran around his neck and down almost to his groin area. “What's the pipe do?” Jim pointed to the necklace-like structure.

“Don't know. One of those black-boxes we were talking about,” Tim shrugged. “Best we can tell is that it contains a ferrofluid that circulates around and generates a very strong electromagnetic field. We haven't tested him much as we don't really know what all he's capable of, but when we did, imaging showed pretty intense electromagnetic fields emitting from it. Our best guess is it's a defense mechanism. Radar scrambling, laser deflection, something like that.”

“We're all pretty excited to see what interesting details you can tease out of his system,” Standish had his hands in his pockets and he rolled onto his toes as he thrust his pelvis forward and then rolled back onto his heels as he pulled his pelvis backward. “A keen and penetrating mind such as yours, Jim, is a rare commodity. We foresee great things.”

“That's a lot of pressure, sir. If my mind were so 'keen and penetrating,' you'd imagine I'dve done better in school,” Jim glanced uneasily at Standish.

“I never realized how much I hate being called, 'Sir.' How do you deal with it, Carol?” Standish winked at Jim. “You'll do fine, Jim. When you get to where I am, you learn a thing or two about spotting talent.”
“And 'where are you,' exactly?” Jim pursed his lips and pulled his nose and lips to a side as his brow scowled.

“I'm a problem-solver, Jim. I bring the right resources to the right people to get things done,” Standish flicked the brim of his fedora with his index finger, and flashed another toothy grin at Jim.

“Is he going to be Processed?” Tim interjected. “I really don't think anyone should go in dry on Vishnu.”

“Neither do I,” Standish replied.

“He hasn't decided, yet,” the commander scowled. “He hasn't even been on base for more than a few hours.”

“It'd be a waste of potential, is all. Tomah's stats went through the roof when he made the switch. And when we put Marion on test in Vishnu dry, she could barely get him to walk,” Tim glanced back at Jim but maintained focus on Carol and Standish.

“Just give him time. We have some other things to show Jim. Do you need to get back to the shop, Tim?” Commander Cecilia made an implicative face and nodded her head and body forward.

“Yes, right. I should get back to the shop, yes. Thanks for reminding me,” Tim turned to Jim and extended a hand. “I'm sure we'll see a lot of each other in the future. It was a pleasure meeting you,” A warm smile crept across Tim's face as they shook hands. Tim then turned and walked back the way they had come and made his way back to the shop.

Jim shifted his weight back and forth uneasily as he compulsively crossed and uncrossed his arms, “What have I got myself into...” he uttered to himself.

“You'll be fine, Jim. Really. Just don't think about it too much. It's not as crazy as it sounds,” Carol put a reassuring hand on Jim's shoulder. She could feel his muscles relax under her palm.

“Touching,” Standish said dryly. “That's the end of my tour folks. You are released from my custody,” Standish spread his arms wide and grinned from ear to ear.

“You're such a prick, Eli,” Carol snarled at the fedora-ed man.

“It's not my job to be nice,” he quipped back.

“But it wouldn't kill you to show some compassion now and again,” Carol glanced off wistfully, a glassy sheen twinkling in her eyes.

The barb caused a visible shift in Standish's face, “Jim. Just be calm and try your hardest. Ignore the pressure, ignore the consequences, shut out the world, and focus on the tasks at hand. Pay attention to the objectives, and strive to achieve your goals. We'll take care of the rest,” Standish put a hand on Jim's shoulder to soothe him, his face visibly softened at Carols prod.

Old wounds, Jim thought. A troubled expression crept into his brow as his mind returned to everything around him. “Is it normally this jarring for everyone?” Jim glanced up at the Commander. The twinkle had faded from her eyes and her expression had returned to its normal, warm but enclosed visage.

“We don't normally introduce you everyone quickly, no. The others were all recruited from already-established military service, and had orientation classes beforehand so they knew what they were getting into. I wanted to take it slower with you, but Standish,” the Commander batted her eyes up in acknowledgment, “and the High Command insisted we get you briefed and combat-ready as quickly as possible.”

“Why the rush?” Jim looked over at Standish, who put his hands up, flat palms facing Jim, as he shook his head back and forth.

“I haven't the foggiest what Dyman is thinking. I was pretty adamant about trying to get you through the standard channels, but he insisted Carol and I pulled you straight in as soon as possible. With school out and your team in a solid position for the Digital Championships, we decided to get you here ASAP. Our command team said they'd give you a quick and condensed BASIC so you can be certified through the military, and I agreed to take on your 'education' needs, with the help of Commander Cecilia, of course,” Standish smirked and mockingly acknowledged Carol with a glance.

“Don't you guys have other important things to do? Like recruiting and 'fixing things,' or whatever?” Jim was batting his head between the Commander and Standish.

“Absolutely,” the Commander said, as Jim rested his gaze on her. “But, an order is an order and if High Command and Dyman think that superseding the standard channels and getting you into the squad as soon as humanly possible is the right call, then that takes precedent.”

“Great,” Standish pulled the brim of his fedora down and began wandering away from them, “Now that we have that out of the way, I have other things to attend to. I think the Professor has something else she wants to show you,” Standish flashed his blue-white eyes at Carol, an implicative glare permeating his expression, “I, however, have need to update Dyman and take care of some other matters. With that, I shall bid you two adieu.” Standish turned his back on them and made his way back to where they came in.

“What was that about?” Jim inquired, referencing the unspoken conversation the commander shared with Standish through their glance.

“You know Standish,” the commander stuttered, appearing somewhat shaken. “The man has a flare for the dramatic.”

“Everyone around here seems to,” Jim smirked at the Commander.

“Indeed. Being able to see through the theater is a real talent, Jim. So much of what goes on in life is bloviation and grandstanding, that sometimes people lose site of the world past the end of their nose. All of the trouble we're seeing in the Islands are so much theater, but when your job is to keep people safe, you have to take it seriously. And, sometimes, the less cognizant forget it really is just an act and start taking things a little too seriously. When that tension runs too high, and you've got too much time and too many tools at your disposal, people of less cool temperament start trying to fix things that aren't broken.” the Professor paused and folded her hands in front of her.

“You mean the DPRC?” Jim cocked his head to the side, the pieces finally starting to fall into place.

“The economic expansion of the last few decades has been fueled by defense spending,” The Commander started slowly, taking special care to choose her words. “The economic expansion has allowed population treaties to expand. The population expansion has lead to a need for more land. However, development permits have not grown, and the Global Initiative has no intent of issuing new ones. That means Real Capital, things like people, property, and goods, are starting to get more expensive. That's leading to a lot of inequity in trade, especially considering the relative goldmine of RC that we in the IA are sitting on. As a consequence, some of the disadvantaged nations are trying to create a climate of fear in an effort to balance the trade equations. 'You wouldn't want to raise prices on goods, now would you, what with our finger on the button and all,' as it would go.”

“So, now you have a bunch of rich, power-hungry countries sitting on huge troves of weapons and itchy trigger fingers, motivated by over-dramatized diplomatic theater, and everyone's gaze trained at the asymmetrically-powerful IA expecting them to kowtow to aggression in the interest of peace,” the puzzle pieces falling into alignment as Jim shook his head and knocked them into place.

“You got it,” the Professor exclaimed with a finger-point.

“And we need to get Vishnu operational as a fiat accompli, in order to silence the saber-rattling of the other nations, who'd be far too afraid too go up against such a potent force,” Jim continued to train his focus at the floor as the epiphany struck. “But why now?” he shook his head again and broke his trance to train his eyes on the Commander's.

“There are only three military powers in the Global Initiative. There are, however, a lot of nations who feed those powers via research, manufacturing, and physical goods. If we were to break into conflict, there would be a massive market destabilization. Some industries would sky-rocket in value, some more peaceful endeavor would see their value plummet. People with a lot of skin in the game, New Roman Industries as an example, would prefer that the status quo be maintained.”

“So a business man is pulling the strings that determine the fate of the world?” Jim sounded almost indignant.

“When has that ever not been the case? Dyman has consinderable influence over the High Command and he himself is heavily invested in the well-being of NRI, if you catch my drift. If a guy like him is ruffled enough to sick dogs like Standish on the scent, than things are a lot more serious than they appear,” the commander was unable to hide the worried tone that crept into her voice.

“And what is Standish, anyway?” Jim thought he'd try again.

“New Roman Industries was at the head of the Aug program. When Standish became patient number 1, he and Dyman got tight. Dyman is a senior member of NRI and started getting Standish involved in some serious black-ops stuff, which is when we started growing apart. When I refused to Aug, Standish got very vocal about it. That's when I left him,” Carol looked very troubled, the glassy twinkle sparkling in her eyes again.

“Why didn't you Aug?” Jim furrowed his brow in inquisition.

“I knew my limits,” she mused as she blinked away the glint. “Anyway, I have one last stop I need to show you before I'm done with you. She grabbed Jim by the hand and tugged him out of his reverie. “This way.”

Jim shook his head as the professor let his hand slip out of hers from the lead. With a skip, he start his momentum and fell in step.

Chapter 4 - Hail, The Gang's All Here

 Saying his dorm was “big” would be a dramatic understatement. It was much larger than any room he'd ever had the luxury of calling his own, combined. It was 6 rooms in total, all splendidly appointed. Rich, soft, leather sofas could be found in every room. The king-sized bed was bedecked in sheets softer than even the downy fur of an ermine. There was lots of oak and mahogany and maple, all stained darker than coffee. The kitchen was full of granite and steel-colored appliances and cast-iron black flourishes. There was a study with floor-to-ceiling book cases that had ladders to get to the upper shelves complete with real wood-pulp books. Books! Ladders! The digital lounge felt almost anachronistic. An island of modernity in this sea of retro-classic style. Screens and digital chalkboards and desks and any manner of interface devices studded the command-room-like compartment, dim blue lighting and black slate floor with white grout gave the scene an eerie feel, further enhancing the out-of-place-ness of the room.

“This facility used to be the capital of the underground network all those centuries ago,” the professor had explained to him upon arrival. “Between colonies like these, and people who found nuclear-shielded caverns and the like, it's estimated that only a few tens of thousands of people survived the Great Collapse. This specific facility housed about two thousand people. This wing, called 'The Ritz' in historic records, is where some of the most affluent and influential people of their time called home. Your training is going to be extraordinarily stressful, Jim. We all decided that the pilots should have these chambers. Enjoy it, as they may become your only sanctuary from your new way of life.”

When he arrived in the room, his various trunks and suitcases were waiting for him. There were lots of open shelves and book cases for his various trinkets. Closets and wardrobes for his clothes. The rest was in their rightful place amongst the cabinets, closets, and shelves of the flat. The room would be maintained by a cleaning staff every few weeks, as well. The professor had instructed Jim to locate his uniforms, change quickly, and meet her at the front of the dorm for his tour of the facilities. He found his uniforms in a wardrobe in a small changing room attached to the sleeping chamber. Very bland affair. Tan-colored cargo pants tucked into black mid-calf boots, a black canvas belt with pewter clasp, a tucked-in, rough, white, collared shirt with black buttons, a pewter analog watch with black canvas band, and a tan military-style brimmed hat.

When Jim arrived back in the dorm lobby, also magnificently appointed in rich red tapestry and velvet couches, more wood and glass, more retro-classic stylings, the professor was waiting for him, diligently studying a datapad in a high-backed chair near an old-oak coffee table. There were even canvas-and-paint pictures in thick golden frames along the walls, something, until now, Jim had only thought existed in museums and private antique collections.

“General,” Jim began, as he approached the obviously enrapt professor.

“Jim, yes,” the General slowly lowered her datapad from her eyes and stood up to greet Jim. “I wanted to show you around the facility before your training tomorrow. Was your room satisfactory?”

“It was more than I could have ever dreamed of, professor,” Jim looked her straight in the eyes, unsure if more gratitude could ever exist in him.

“That's good. I'm glad the facilities are to your liking. Also, now that we're on base, it might be best to get in the habit of calling me 'Commander' or 'sir.' Anyway, shall we go? There's a lot to show you here. Right now, as you know, we're at the farthest-east corner of the facility, known as the Ritz. In its heyday, this was where the rich and powerful secured their future. As time went on and generations iterated through, the nature and socioeconomic structure of the enclave shifted, and this eventually became a sort of headquarters for the enclave's Politburo. There are roughly 30 or so dorms equivalent to yours, and a few dozen lesser dorms for support staff. Then as now, it has become our base of operations, as well.”

“So, you're telling me this place is a few thousand years old?” Jim glanced around again. The masonry around the walls was pristine. The book cases looked aged, but not decrepit. The couches and tapestry and paintings were pristine, untarnished by the millennia.

“Yes, these are all pre-Collapse genuine artifacts. Before the Great Wars that lead up to the Collapse, our forefathers were some of the craftiest minds around. While developing awe-inspiring ways to destroy one another, they also created some of the most fantastic inventions to ever have existed. We're getting better every day, and ramping up fast, but they reached an inflection point known as 'the Singularity,' a place in time where technological innovation builds on itself and advances so fast, that it begins to scale exponentially, and not linearly. Scientists and great minds the world over toil day in and day out to decode and disentangle the legacy they left behind. These specific artifacts, the ones in this room, have all been treated with, for lack of a better way to state it, 'magic chemicals' that more or less negate the effects of time on their structure. So, while still vulnerable to wear-and-tear, they are impervious to aging alone. That's how we've been able to recover so much information about our past. They truly were the modern-day equivalent of wizards and sorcerers,” the awe and reverence in the professor's voice was palpable. You could feel her passion and empathy for the Old Times.

“Magic? Wizards? Socerers? ...Commander?” The words were so foreign from the professor, Jim was a little shocked.

“What is magic, Jim?” the professor asked rhetorically. “It's the violation of the natural order as you know it through trickery and mastery of the world around you, harnessing unseen forces and laws. So, yes Jim, until we can find a way to explain how they work, it might as well be magic. When Standish turned the lights off in that train, didn't you, for an instant, imagine he might be a wizard?”

“I guess. I just never thought of it like that. I always thought of magic as a way to hand-wave what you don't understand. I just thought Standish had done something that I couldn't quite explain, yet.” Jim looked at his shoes. He'd never had to think of something like that before. He wasn't really sure what he thought in that moment. If Standish had said he was a wizard, would he have believed him?

“That's a good way to think, Jim. Always question what you see. Just remember to always keep an open mind, because the wonders of the world are not limited to what you know. Anything in the world is possible, Jim, the only limitation is finding a way to trick the laws that govern our world into letting you do it. Anyway, we have a lot to go over, so we should get moving.” the Commander started walking through the hallway adjacent to the lobby where they were standing. The whole cavern was lined with stone walls and wood paneling, much like a castle. At the end of the hallway, they arrived at a large circular arena. In the center was a large fountain and reflection pool full of colorful fish and various plantlife covering it's bare stone floor. “The water pushes up through the geyser-cum-fountain in the center, forming this natural aquifer. The rock and sediment filter out the toxins, so we're left with clean water. This pool actually provides the majority of water for the facility. It may not look it, but at it's deepest, this lake extends down to about 25 feet.”

“And the trees?” A series of rings radiated out from the central fountain and pool, Jim pointed at the inner-most circle, an arboretum full of vegetation and flora.

“For hundreds of years, this was the only home anyone had ever know. That arboretum would have been the only forest anyone would have ever seen, this lake the only body of water. The people who built this facility knew that and so they did whatever they could to preserve the outside world in here.” The professor guided Jim down the circular walkway that encircled the perimeter of the cavernous expanse. Unlike the Ritz, the cavern was almost entirely exposed rock, save for the ceiling, which was lined in metal plates, no doubt to protect against cave-ins. A bit down the walkway they came to a staircase, which they ascended. It brought them to another ring, this one, however, was a moving walkway that moved around the entire perimeter in either direction. At interval were stairs up to the arboretum, or stairs down to a lower ring which served as a tram station to the other underground cities.

“This place is pretty incredible,” Jim gaped in awe around the place, dumbstruck by the sheer feat of engineering involved in making such a place reality. They mounted the moving walkway. It moved faster than a brisk walk, but slower than a run. It was transparent as well, so you could see the still, crystal-clear water beneath it as the fish leapt and splashed in their pool. Wide archways studded the outer wall of the geofront.

“That hallway takes you down into what was commonly referred to as 'The Styx.'”

The professor pointed to the archway to their right as they passed by it. “That would have been where the 'average citizen'” would lived. It's comprised of roughly a thousand mostly identical dorms. The wing, as of now, is mostly uninhabited, though we do use a few cells to store supplies and have repurposed others into research labs. No one lives there, though.” They passed on by the arch and carried on around the ring. “The ring completes a full revolution every half hour. The outer-most ring was designed to take a full one to walk. A lot of people like to run the ring, too. Current record is just under fifteen minutes.”

“Down that way is the mall,” the general gestured to the next hallway on the path. “What we're doing is very top-secret, Jim. There isn't a lot of coming and going. We have a fully staffed cafeteria and commissary in the mall, and some of the staff have set up little shops and recreational areas as well. It's a pretty safe bet that if you're looking for someone, that's where they are. I'll have the cadets give you a tour after I'm done with you.” The general shifted weight on her feet and recrossed her arms. They continued walking along as the ring crept ever forward. “Here we go, Jim, this is the hallway we want to go down.” The general pushed gently on Jim's shoulder as she guided him to the side of the walkway. The transition from moving to stationary was slightly jarring. Jim shook his head back into place. “Down this hall is training facility. Everyone should be there.”

The hallway was a large steel-lined affair. Large circular floodlights lined the ceiling and created large circles of light on the ground and large triangles of darkness on the walls. Jim was reminded of the long hallways that led from the locker room to the stadium floors during the world competitions. The professor led at a fast clip, arms swinging, boot-heels thudding against the cement floor. Ahead, in one of the dark spaces, a shape started to form. It was a person, one leg outstretched, knee locked to support their weight, the other foot flat against the wall, same as their back, head and hat lowered, staring sidelong at them with folded arms, casually disinterested at their presence.

“I prefer the fedora,” the familiar voice said from the shadowed darkness. “But you do look pretty good in uniform.” Standish kicked off the wall and followed stride from behind. He was wearing a suit, as usual – a grey, Italian-cut, double-breasted affair with a black mandarin-collared shirt, tie replaced with a large ebony button.

“How'd you get out of wearing uniform?” Jim shifted uncomfortably in his military garb. It felt heavy and overly-official.

“Being who I am and what I am comes with a few perks, Jim.” Standish winked as Jim glanced back.

“Who are you and what are you, then?”

“Jim,” the commander's voice was stern and finite.

“Yes, Commander,” Jim acknowledged, letting the subject drop.

The three walked in silence for a while. The pressed-leather heels of Standish made a loud clicking sound, in contrast to the vulcanized rubber of the commander and Jim's more functional uniform boots. At length, the hall terminated into a small red door.

“That door should be painted black,” Jim pointed.

“What?” the commander turned around to face him.

“Nothing,” Jim shook his head again to collect his thoughts.

“Anyway, the training facility is through this door,” the commander pulled her sleeve back to look at her watch, “They should be in the middle of calisthenics right now. You have a few days to get adjusted to everything before you have to start BASIC, but for now, I want you to meet the pilots.” The commander gestured to Jim to go through the door.

Jim pushed the door open. Inside was a large bank of computers, rows and rows. It looked like the old command centers from Ancient History class, like the old NASA and Cosmonaut control facilities. There were dozens of people seated at the computer monitors, numbers and figures and shapes flashing across the screens. The command center was relatively small with a door on either side, a large window filling the entire front wall. The window looked out into a huge, open expanse. Dozens of stories high, and as many yards long, the dome-shaped expanse was lined with large steel arches and crowned with gigantic, terawatt lighting fixtures, simulated suns.

“This used to be the farm facility, back when this was a shelter. We've converted it into a combat training center. The entire facility is climate-and inertial-controlled,” the commander pointed at the rows of monitors. “Everything and everyone is watched. Heart rate, mental state, exhaustion levels, thirst and hunger states. In the coming days, you'll receive a few implants. After they're calibrated, we'll be able to tell just about everything your body can tell us.”

“Those ones aren't optional,” Standish said with a wry smile.

“So, those read-outs on FPS aren't fake?” Jim noticed one of the monitors, on it was a cartoonified body flanked by dozens of numbers, percentages, and progress bars.

“Not anymore, no. Reality has a way of mimicking fantasy. Some of the best ideas we can conceive start out as elements of a story,” the commander walked over to one of the doors. “This way Jim.”

He followed dutifully. The push-bar double-doors swung open to another hallway. It was lit by diffuse yellowish lights, the floor lined in cream synthetic tiles, the rest painted a calming pastel yellow. The hall terminated onto another set of manual-open doors. “I never understood why all these shelters have mechanical doors when they were so technologically advanced. If you have the technology to print physical objects, integrate nanomachines into flesh, and build weapons so powerful they can level the world and render it uninhabitable for thousands of years, don't you think they could just automate everything? It just all feels so anachronistic.”

“One of the first things these shelters teach you about the Old World is an adage our ancestors lived by: 'Never digitize something vital that you can just as easily do mechanically,'” Standish put a hand on Jim's shoulder as they walked. “What would happen if there was an earthquake and the major door circuits failed? We'd be stuck in this hallway until they came back online. Those doors aren't ones you can just kick in, either. This whole facility was designed to shrug off a direct bomb hit.”

“And, Jim,” the commander interjected from in front of him, “Our ancestors were very afraid of technology. If you look back through time, there are hundreds of books and movies about computers going crazy and ruling the world. Gaining sentience and turning against their masters. During the AI Renaissance, anything that was vital to human survival was quickly removed from any form of advanced artificial intelligence. That's why combat robots and drones are still human-controlled.” The commander opened the door at the end of the hallway to a small locker room where a few people were changing. She cleared her throat as the door closed loudly behind her. The four kids turned on their heels and snapped to attention, in various states of undress. None of them looked to be older than a few years into twenty. “Alright guys, this is our new recruit, guys. James...”

“James Ross, ma'am,” the strong-jawed, buzz-headed, blonde young man on the farthest left of the line said with a salute. His coveralls were unzipped to his waist, arms dangling to the side, gold necklace hiding behind his white a-frame shirt, nestled between his brawny chest. “I'd recognize that face anywhere. Been following you since your breakout at the DO. You're kind of a hero to me, sir. Adrian, Adrian Pavelavski, sir,” he reached out a soft, incredibly solid hand to Jim.

“Thanks,” he leaned forward and took his offering. His shake was solid and a little bit scary. “I'm nothing special though, and don't call me 'sir,' it kinda freaks me out.”

“Alright, sir,” Adrian said as he rocked back to his at-ease position, “Er, sorry. The way you beat Athlete Pro in the DO qualifiers was pretty special, though, James...”

“...Jim...”

“...Jim. There isn't an athlete alive who can transition so perfectly from rhythm game to physical game to tactical game like you can. Scoring near-perfect on the guitar challenge and then wiping in the dance challenge and still being able to execute a flawless reverse flank in the strategic simulator? Magic, sir. A true spectacle to watch.”

“Well, thank you. I didn't really think many people followed pro gaming that closely. I'm truly flattered,” Jim couldn't help but smile. He'd never really met a fan in person before.

“You're welcome, sir” Adrian smiled from his at-ease position. Jim let the “sir” slide knowing it probably wasn't a habit he was going to be breaking any time soon.

“I'm Marion,” the woman to Adrian's right introduced, leaning out for a handshake as well, “and I promise you I have no idea what he's talking about,” she made a thumb gesture at Adrian as she resumed position. A jocular smile creased the edges of her dusky brown complexion.

Jim made a note of her homochromatism. Not a whole lot of dark-skinned people made it through the Collapse. The Old World was apparently pretty lousy to them, and with shelters and the like being financially and academically motivated, it was hard to find a spot in such a selective group when everyone else on the planet had a boot-heel on your throat. Still, considering how many people didn't make it through, the few who were able to did end up composing a demographically significant portion of the population. However, in the intervening centuries between then and now, the small pool of people lead to a large amount of cross-racial interaction. As such, just about everyone was some level of heterochromatic.

“Jim,” Marion waved her hand in front of his face.

Jim had been staring at her blankly while he thought. He shook his head and snapped back into the real world. “Sorry, I wasn't, I mean...”

“It's Ok. I get it a lot. Culture Kids are rare,” her visage assumed a knowing and explanatory face that she seemed to have quite a lot of practice with.

“That wasn't why I was staring,” Jim looked her in the eyes, an impish grin creeping across his cheeks.

“Oh? Then why?” Marion broke her at-ease stance, placing her hand on her side and cocking her hip out.

“I was staring because you're beautiful,” he said with a wink. Marion's jaw dropped slack, eyes wide in shock.

“Jim!” the Commander swatted him across the back, “You're a soldier. Manners, please!”

“Hey, she asked,” Jim exclaimed as he rolled his shoulders forward and put his hand up for protection in case the professor decided to swat him again. “Don't worry, though. I have a girlfriend so you're safe.”

Standish let a chuckle slip through and the rest of them all let out a comfortable laugh in suit. He elbowed Carol in the rib gently and leaned toward her ear, “I think he's gonna fit right in,” he whispered with a surreptitious wink of his own.

“Blaize. I'm Blaize,” He waved his hello at Jim, who returned in kind with a nod and a wave of his own. “And you're pretty cute yourself,” he said with a wink of his blue-white eyes. His short, well-coiffed pompadour and long blond sideburns made his jaw, like the rest of his flawless physique, look as though it were carved of the purest marble.

“Well, thank you, darlin',” Jim struck a pin-up pose and waggled his hips. Everyone, the commander included, blurted out an impossible-to-stop laugh.

When the roar calmed down, Standish put a hand on Jim's shoulder and leaned close to his head, pointing at Blaize with his free hand. “If you didn't notice, Mr. Lancaster here is one of the Aug'ed pilots.” Standish returned upright and clasped his hands behind his back.

“Oh, are you considering entering the program, Jim?” Blaize got really animated and folded his arms across his chest.

“Yeah, are you?” The last of the four, a burly, caramel-skinned guy with a bushy, well-trimmed, full beard also crossed his arms and looked at Jim with similarly blue-white eyes penetrating into him.

“Well,” Jim started, “I only just learned that Aug'ing was even a thing until today, but I've given it some thought a few times since I learned.”

“Well, it comes recommended highly. I started out clear-eyed, but Blaize gave me the final push,” he said as he elbow-checked him in the shoulder. Blaize rocked side-to-side as he grinned and chuckled in reply. “It really does make the whole piloting thing a lot easier. That lot over there still gets the job done,” he subtly gestured to the first two with a nod and a thumb, “but not having to be wired into the bot really eased the after-flight stress. You'll see what I'm talking about soon enough.”

“It really isn't that bad,” Marion said with a casual shrug. Adrian added an agreeing nod-shake and a “Nah” as he pulled a “no-big-deal” frowning face.

“Whatever,” he said as he leaned over and shot Marion and Adrian a glance and a smirk, his long-cut curly locks breaking out of the tight pony-tail they were pulled into. “I'm Tomah, by the way.” He leaned a bow to Jim, who acknowledged it with a nod and bend of his own waist.

“Alright guys, carry on with whatever you were doing. We're going to take Jim to see the Cores,” the commander made a gesture and the pilots went about changing out of their flight suits.

Jim waved a goodbye as Commander Cecilia and Standish lead him past them to a door on the other side of the room. They entered the door, and again down a long yellowish hallway. “They seem like good kids,” Jim said when along the path.

“They're all really talented individuals. Strong, intelligent, skilled. If you're half the man I think you are Jim, you'll fit in well. You have the capacity for great things, James Ross. Prove yourself to them, and they will forever have your enduring respect,” Standish assumed a reverent tone. “The service has a way of bonding people. Closer than family. Putting your life in other's hands has a way of doing that.”

“Wow, Standish, if I didn't know any better, I'd say you sounded almost wise there,” The commander snarked. “But he's right, Jim. They are good kids. Trust in them, and you'll see.” They reached the end of the hall. “The maintenance bridge is on the other side of this door, Jim.” The commander made a gesture to Jim, who pushed the door open.

Chapter 3 - The Game

 “Dek, what's your the status on your armada?” Jim voiced over his communication link.

“Moving along fine Day. How goes the expo?” Deka's response came through Jim's headset.

“Good. Scouting now.” Jim repositioned his overlay to analyze the miniature map. This map, one of Jim's favorites, had lots of variable terrain levels that caused tight corridors. The base-origination points also had some very interesting geographical protections that made base defense easier, but also afforded lots of back routes and side-channels that made sure bases were anything but fortified. “I'm in an enemy side channel. Sending in a scout to see if they have expanded onto the resource point here.” Jim speedily selected and ordered a stealthy unit ahead of his army. As expected, a small detachment of enemy workers and light defense units were harvesting the resource point.

“Do we want to choke or should we gatecrash?” Shamz voice squeaked through the com.

“Let's play it safe and choke,” Jim advised after a few beats of deliberation.

“On my way there, Day,” Deka boomed in as the blue dots that composed his armada came floating toward Jim's units on the mini-map. All at once, they collapsed onto the expansion point, and began heavy bombardment. The base had little to no aerial defense, so his warships made quick work of the workers and infantrymen on guard. No sooner, though, had Dek floated his armada in then a hail of missiles and bombs came through the “fog of war,” the part of the map that their units weren't revealing, followed swiftly by a huge detachment of mobile platforms and heavy gunmen. “Counter!” Deka boomed through the com, causing the speakers in Jim's headset to clip and crackle.

“Pull over to me, Dek,” Jim ordered coolly. With a click, a gesture and a flick, Jim's regimen of ground troops moved toward a point on the map Jim had marked with a flashing dot. Dek danced his flying units away from major fire, preventing them from sustaining any seriously crippling damage. As they pulled back through the ravine, the units pulled forward and followed. The missile and anti-air fire was constant. Deka deftly maneuvered his units between blasts and explosions, making sure to keep a good scramble preventing the enemy units from landing any seriously devastating blows. “Shamz, go gatecrash,” Jim very pointedly commanded through the com.

“On it,” Shamz wheezed through.

Deka's units finally reconnoitered with Jim's cavalry and an epic battle ensued. The enemy, understanding the power of Air units, focused primarily on an anti-air tactic. Jim used this opening to send in his light and agile fighters to decimate the slower, more cumbersome units. Mobile platforms fell one after another as Jim weaved his units in and out of the line of fire. The enemy, in anticipation of such a dismantling force, deployed it's close-range shock troops. These carried high-damage short-range sustained attacks that would counter the mid-range-mid damage units Jim was dismantling the heavy tanks with. In anticipation of such things himself, Jim had peppered his brigade with long-range sniper-type units. They summarily destroyed the short-range shock troops, allowing Jim to advance his infantrymen back into combat.

Soon enough, the enemy's regimen was dismantled. A few troops had pulled back to safety, but the knife's edge had been thoroughly dulled. Jim sustained a relatively low amount of damage, though his losses weren't insubstantial. The twisting nature of the map would prevent his reinforcements from meeting him in a timely fashion. The mini-map showed Jim that Shamz was in place, however, so he didn't have time to wait. He pulled them into his group and began closing his troops in on the pathway. “Rendezvous with Shamz, Dek. I'm going to press the alley,” Jim announced with a flurry of clicks and waves. As Deka's armada moved a low arc around the canyon to meet up with Shamz, Daybreaker pressed his units along the side path. Once he was knocking on their back door, he gave the command, “Go!”

Shamz opened with a volley of missiles on their front gate. They were heavily fortified, expecting the traditional siege method. There were also a fair bit of anti-air guns studding the raised edges of the canyon their base sat in. Shamz, smartly, ignored the front gate, however, and used his large mobile platforms and heavy units to focus down the most obvious anti-air structures. They fell in quick work. Now, in full reaction mode, the edges filled with sniper-type and heavy units to counter the siege assault. With the anti-air structures no longer a threat, however, Deka was able to sweep in and carpet-bomb the valley walls. Unable to offer any resistance, the units fell before they could do anything in response.

Thoroughly defanged, Jim pushed his infantry into the back entry. Completely unprepared for a flank, the local bases began producing whatever countermeasures they could muster. All for naught, however, as Jim's Blitzkrieg ignored all resistance and cut straight to the front gate. After destroying the guard structures, the gates opened wide, allowing Shamz mobile platforms and heavy units to roll in uncontested. With doom imminent, the opposing team threw a surrender, and the game was over.

They were kicked to the post-game lobby. A small chat box, where they could communicate with the enemy team was embedded amongst a sea of statistics and game analysis. Jim's coaches would break down the numbers and they would discuss the strengths and weaknesses they would need to work on in future matches. In the text box, they and the other teams bid each other a “good game,” and offered very formal and congenial acknowledgments to each other. “At least we got knocked out by Daybreaker and not some scrubs,” one of the opponents had said in chat.

“You guys didn't make it easy,” Jim responded in the chat message, taking the compliment in stride.

“Sometimes I don't know how you do it, Day,” Deka grumbled into the com. “If they had made any sort of aggressive play on us, our entire strategy would have backfired. If they hadn't fortified their gates like you expected, or if they had counter-pushed, it woulda been game over.”

“We made the right plays to keep them defensive. It's all about tactics, Deka. It's like poker. You gotta know when to bluff, and when to go all in. Hey Shamz, do we have any more matches for the day?” Jim took off his HUD glasses and made a few gestures to close out the programs on his computer terminal.

“Why, you got another date with Molly?” Shamz taunted. “Or is Professor Cecilia going to take you out for coffee again?”

“No, Shamz,” Jim said, indignation rife. “I'll take that as a 'no,' though.”

“We don't have any more matches today, Jim,” Deka's low voice came through in stark contrast to Shamz's. “By the way, how did your date go? Coach was kinda pissed you didn't come in for practice right before a qualifier.”

“Incredible, actually. We went to the diner. She sat next to me. Let's just say PDA was the dish of the night.” Jim could feel the smile creasing his eyes as he leaned back in his chair and put his hands behind his head. “She's a pretty good kisser, too, from what I can tell.”

“'From what you can tell,' my dog is probably a better kisser,” Shamz tweeted through, completely deadpan.

“Why you gotta rain on his parade, Shamz?” Deka boomed out with a chuckle

“Well, I know your mom is a really great kisser, Shamz, so I used that as a point of comparison,” Jim snuffed through the mic.

“Oh ho ho, Shamz. That one has to hurt.” Deka laughed heavily. If Shamz had said anything in retort, it would have no doubt been drown out. “This might be the last time we play with you, Day,” Deka's voice trailed off slightly, the humor replaced with wistfulness.

“We're gonna miss you, man,” a rare tone of seriousness in Shamz's voice.

“It's going to be hard. I don't know what's going on with anything. I hope I can get back into games after, though. There are plenty of guys on the team just aching to take my spot. You guys will do fine.”

“I don't think anyone on the team could have pulled off what you did today, Day. You're Daybreaker. The legendary Daybreaker. There'll never be another.” Deka was empassioned.

“You wait, when I'm out, I'll be reading about the legendary Deka in the papers,” Jim tried to choke back his sadness with optimism. “And it's not like I'm going anywhere. I'm sure I'll have some downtime eventually to hop on and play with you guys from time to time.”

“Won't be the same, Day, and you know it,” Shamz voice filled Jim to breaking.

“It'll be fine guys, I promise. You're my friends. We'll make it work,” Jim was trembling. All the stress of the matches had wreaked havoc on his nerves and he couldn't handle his emotions right now. “Hey, I'm going to get off and go wash up. I'll catch you guys around later, ok?”

“Alright buddy, we'll catch ya later,” Deka was calm and pleasant again.

“Sounds good, man. Later,” Shamz's typical contempt had returned.

*********************************************************************************************************************************************************

The couch was comfortable. It was an all-black leather affair. Lots of overstuffed pillows. Very modern. The room was small, just big enough for a couch, a coffee table, a few overstuffed chairs and a lamp.

“Meet me at this address on Monday. Make sure you're packed. You won't need to bring anything, the Service will come by and get your stuff. Make your peace before tomorrow, Jim. Once you're in the program, it's a pretty intense ordeal for the next few months. You won't have much contact with the outside world,” the professor had told him the morning before.

“Do me proud, Son,” was all his father had told him. His mother cried a lot, but she seemed very supportive. Her sickness was getting worse, and there wasn't much anyone could do.

“We'll miss ya, bro. Do us proud,” Deka had told him at the training center. He had packed up the stuff at his dorm and spent the night in his room there. “Can't wait to play with you again, bro.”

“Write to me?” Molly had asked when he told her what was up. “Please?” She and him had spent a lot of the last day together. She had asked him to coffee, alone, that afternoon. They talked a lot. There wasn't as much physical contact, but they held hands on the table across from each other. “I've only just now had the courage to get you into my life. I don't want you walking out of it, yet. Write to me, please?” Jim promised he would. Every day.

“Nice hat,” Standish had said to him from behind a newspaper on the train there, “it looks good on you. You'll be fine. Truly. The program is tough, but it's worth it. You'll do us proud, I'm sure of it.”

“Come on back, Jim,” the professor said after emerging from a door in the corner of the waiting room, “we're ready for you.” The door opened to a large hallway. There were multiple closed, windowless doors on the right and left as she walked Jim to the one at the end. It opened up to a large reception room. There was an older looking woman sitting behind a desk, multiple filing cabinets and shelves behind. To the right of the desk was another door. There were austere benches and more filing cabinets encompassing the perimeter of the room. “Merril, this is the new recruit, Jim.”

Merril, the receptionist, pulled out a datapad with a stylus chained to the top. “Fill out these forms while you wait,” her voice lacked any form of animation, dead and soulless. As if she had done this a million and a half times.

Jim took the pad, “Thanks, ma'am,” and sat down on one of the uncomfortable-looking benches. He began filling out the form. It was your generic personal questionnaire. Name, date of birth, parent's address, that sort of thing. It then progressed into more and more private questions. Physical health, mental state, family medical history. It then delved deeper, still. Assumed athletic ability, relationships, academic record. After pages and pages of increasingly personal questions, he, quite uncomfortably, finally finished the “sexual activity” section and the form itself and returned it to Merril.

“Thank you,” she took the datapad from him and began leafing through the pages. “Looks good. I'll put this through to central processing.” She pushed a button on her desk, “General, you can take him through, now.”

The professor emerged from the door to the right of the desk, “This way Jim.” The door led into another hall. At the very end was an elevator. “We're going down,” the professor pointed to the back of the hall, mid-stride. “Are you ready, Jim?”

Jim, “I don't know. I feel sort of numb. I don't even know what I'm ready for,” Jim tried to bury his hands deeper in his pockets. He had taken his lucky coin along and was thumbing it around his fingers in his pocket.

The elevator ride was long. The elevator didn't feel like they were going slowly, either, so Jim surmised they must be going very far down. The elevator finally came to a sliding halt, and with a ding, the door opened to a large steel corridor. The General led him along, and eventually to a dead end. Before them was a large black expanse, and a gated platform with a large red-lit control panel in the center. The General approached the panel and Jim followed suit. With a few button-presses the platform they were on lurched into motion and sent them deeper yet along a diagonally-descending path. As they descended, track lighting along the bare rock above head clunked on and then off, the lights necessary to keep the platform illuminated being the only ones on. The spotlights cast an eerie shadow as they slid further still into the bowels of the planet. Jim almost felt compelled to ask to where they were heading, but felt that would extinguish the dramatic tension that the General was attempting to build.

The platform eventually clanked to a halt at the end of its track and alighted next to a train platform. There was a tram car waiting on the tracks, leading into a large black tunnel. The car's door was open, and Standish, walking cane in hand, leaned against the side of the entrance. He was wearing a grey fedora that matched his suit, with a black flannel-patterned ribbon to match his belt and cuff links, and a small blue feather to match his tie. He cut a dashing figure, by every definition of the statement. “Your chariot awaits,” he said, obviously disinterested in maintaining the auspice, as he erected his shapely frame, making a sweeping gesture with the arm not holding his cane. The General scoffed at her dramatic slight as she boarded past him. Standish made a wink at Jim as they met eyes on his way by. “Nice hat,” he whispered to him in hushed tones, commenting on the fedora Jim was wearing. The one he had given him. As they both entered, the General took a seat on the far side of the cart, motioning Jim to sit next to her. Standish assumed a seat across from them, casually sprawling himself across the bench, legs and arms wide, cane resting precariously against his inner thigh. The train's gullwing door lowered shut, and quietly shot forward into the black abyss.

“I always seem to meet you on trains,” Jim began, a grin creeping across his face.

“You know Eli?” the General sounded thoroughly aghast.

“I caught him on the train a few days ago. He gave me this hat before my date,” Jim took off the fedora and held it in front of himself, studying the ribbon and feather.

“And here I thought you two just had the same horrible taste,” the General flippantly crossed her legs and arms, casting Standish a gaze withering enough to melt a Redwood.

“What do you know about the Old Times, Jim?” Standish casually shifted focus to Jim, completely unfazed by her glance. “Give me the 5-minute version, if you could, too. We're on a tight schedule,” he winked again.

His odd blue eyes penetrated Jim. He shook his head, snapping himself back to the present moment. “Uh, a while back, there were a whole lot of people on the planet who really hated each other a lot. They developed nuclear weapons, bombed the hell out of each other, and destroyed just about everything and everyone. A few governments had set up programs to 'preserve humanity,' and a bunch of important and intelligent people got locked away into bunkers and the like to ride out the post-war fallout, and eventually rebuild. A few others, herded by The Shepherds, found a way to get underground and defend themselves in caves and the like deep in the belly of the earth. In the bunkers, a guy named Tyson Dale developed a bacteria that could eat radiation, released it topside, dying shortly thereafter from the extreme radiation exposure. A long long time after that, we returned topside. Natural disaster, the Adam Bug's inherent caustic properties, and time had more or less leveled the world and returned it to a feral state, ruins still present, but the world was mostly lost. We rebuilt, learned from the governmental and emotional mistakes of our past, and have lived a mostly peaceful existence for the last few hundred years. That about good?”

“Very good. Thorough,” Standish closed his legs together, pulled his arms into his lap, around his cane, and leaned forward onto his elbows. “Right now, we're traveling down one of the tunnels those ancient people did. This lava tube leads to a giant natural geofront. Now, Jim, what do you know about Bio-augmentation?”

“Woah, woah, woah,” Jim put his hands up and leaned back in his bench. “That is some, like, seriously sketchy stuff there. That's where they like, flood your system with nano-machines that link up to your brain, right? That stuff is super experimental. Really, really dangerous stuff.”

“Experimental? Sure,” a big grin crept across Standish's face. All of a sudden, the lights in the train clicked off, and they cruised along in darkness. “Dangerous? Not so much. What do you think it would be like, Jim, to have a heads-up display without the glasses?” Standish continued through the dark. “To be able to see frequencies of light hitherto fore unknown to man's vision?” Across from Jim, two white-hot dots glowed. “What if you could hear electromagnetic waves? What if you could smell light? What if you could think something, send it to a computer, and have it return that information to your mind in the blink of an eye. What if, Jim, what if you could become a computer?” The two white dots disappeared and the lights on the train clicked back on.

The General scoffed again. “Always with the theatrics, Eli.”

“General?” Jim's mouth was hanging open. He was batting his attention between the General and Eli, who had resumed his cavalier posture, a wicked grin beaming across his face.

“Eli is an Aug, Jim. Patient number 1, to be exact,” the General uncrossed herself and turned in her seat to face Jim sidelong. “As you know, when the Nomads emerged from underground, they had with them millennia of technological advanced stashed away in computers and information repositories from before the Great Collapse. The specific site we're on our way to was a top-secret military cache. The government found the Aug program and decided to resurrect it. Eli was a Post-Doc just out of service at Gymnasium when he got tapped to be the first member of the CORE program. He and I were living together, and he had me transferred.”

“And the light thing? How'd he do the light thing?” Jim's mouth was still hanging open, his eyes still wide with disbelief.

“Practice,” Eli smirked across from them.

“Your brain is a glorious device, Jim. It learns to integrate any device it is capable of utilizing into its structure. I'm sure you've heard the '10,000 hours' rule, right?” the General folder her hands into her lap.

“Yeah. We talk about it at the training center. As a rule of thumb, you need like 10,000 hours of diligent practice to become a grand-master at something.” Jim was trying to maintain his focus. His head was swimming and a few shakes weren't bringing him back to reality.

“Correct. Your brain is why that works. That's how long it takes to fully integrate something into your logic circuits. So, when we flood your brain with the nanomachines, they don't just instantly 'work.' They take a long time to train up. If the light isn't controlled by a switch these days, it's controlled by a computer. Essentially, what Standish did was hack the train's computer and control its light matrix. It took him months to master that party trick.”

“And it was a party trick,” Standish said with a large wink and a finger-point to the General. Carol made a face at him, and turned her attention back to Jim.

“Augmentation has its ups and downs, Jim. We're not going to ask you to get Augs,” the General put her hand on Jim's knee.

“Well, I am,” Standish interrupted with a hand wave.

“The government isn't going to ask you to augment, Jim. We have you slated for a different mission. I would be lying if I said that being augmented wouldn't help, though. It would be a serious help. But we have a few trainees in your program at the facility who are not augmented and are doing very well.”

Jim leaned back into his seat and slumped his head and shoulders forward, looking at the ground in front of his feet, “And what program is that?”

“Pilot,” Standish said as he assumed a more traditional sitting posture.

“I was rejected from the pilot program,” Jim looked up at Standish, correcting his posture and sitting up in his seat, squirming a little with uncomfort.

“Not planes or mobile platforms. A different kind of pilot. A Core pilot. That's what the CORE project is all about 'Core Operator Recruitment and Education' Program, or CORE program as we call it,” Standish's voice had a leading quality, as if to invite the next question.

“And what's a Core?” Jim was still gawking.

“Bipedal hominid battle structures,” the General squeezed Jim's knee, drawing his attention.

“You mean like giant person-shaped robots,” Jim squinted at the General.

“Like, giant person-shaped robots, dude,” Standish parroted mockingly.

“Like, from the video games and cartoons and sci fi type things?” Jim addressed Standish with a far more mocking tone. Standish scowled a little.

“Yes, Jim. Though, not nearly as elaborate or theatrical. These are highly-developed and extraordinarily powerful pieces of battle equipment,” the General let a bit of silence hang, waiting for a response.

“Why,” Jim said picking up the cue, “why not tanks or planes or whatever? Why use bipeds. They fall over and stuff. They can't be better,” Jim furrowed his brow deeper.

“These things are huge, Jim,” the General began, after a small moment to ponder a response. “Bipeds can traverse dicey and incongruous grounds easily. Their primary form of locomotion is assisted by gravity, so they utilize power output more effectively. They offer higher vantage points to assess battle situations and aide in battlefield dominance. Because they maneuver in a way that humans like us understand. Because they are intimidating.”

“And you want me to pilot one of these machines?” Jim couldn't help feeling like he'd wake up at any point in time.

“That's the general idea, yeah,” Standish's snark was unmissable.

“And that's why you pick gamers,” Jim said, his eyes widening with realization.

“The interfaces we designed for our Cores very closely resembles the feel of a video game,” the General affirmed with a soft, approving tone, “when we put our interface in front of test groups, we discovered that gamers tended to pick up the interfaces the quickest and perform the most efficiently under duress. We do recruit from other fields of discipline, but our most successful pilots have so far been professional gamers.”

“And how many other people are there?” Jim was curious if any of his gamer friends were secretly recruited.

“There are 6 pilots right now, and about two dozen people are fulfilling various supporting roles in the program.” In front of the tram, a light started to grow in the distance. “We're almost there. I'll introduce you to the group when we arrive."

Chapter 2 - Ceremony

 “As I look out here today, I see future doctors and lawyers and politicians and artists,” the principal began. “Thought today is your last day at Lyceum and your travels will bring to you far away lands, and meet interesting and new people, the experiences you've had here will follow you for the rest of your life. Some of you will be off to Basic Training to serve your community and keep our world a safe place to learn. Some will be going off to Gymnasium to further your education and provide for the common good. No matter where the gusts of life blow your sail, know that you will always have a home here at Lyceum.”

Jim shifted in his seat. The robes sat on his arm a weird way and it made him uncomfortable. The tassel on his mortarboards sat uncomfortably in his periphery and the seating had him cramped. Some students really liked the graduation ceremony. It was one of the few remaining vestiges of ancient preculture that survived the Collapse, and some of the students, particularly the academics, enjoyed the old ways. Jim, however, was not one of them. He had tried to dodge the ceremony, but his parents would have none of it.

“And now, as my last act as your principal, I hereby bequeath the honor of graduation up you all. Rise up and celebrate!” No sooner had the words left the principals mouths then did the students roar to their feet, throwing their mortarboards to the sky.

“Congratulations!” Said the random person next to Jim who's last name also began with an “R.”

“Congrats to you, too,” Jim idly shook their hand as he began parting the throng in search of his hat.

“Congratulation, Jim,” said a voice over his left shoulder. He spun around to see who it was.

“Molly. Hi. Congratulations to you, too.” Molly sat next to Jim in Math lecture. Mousy little redhead. Sharp as a tack. Beautiful green eyes.

“Could you?” She said, extending a finger.

“Hm?” Jim snapped out of his reverie. He realized he'd been staring blankly at her. He followed her arm down to her finger and then to where her finger was point. It was her mortarboard. “Oh right, sure.” He picked it up and handed it to her. “Sorry.”

“I didn't see you at my open-house,” She took the hat from Jim She held it in front of herself and looked deeply into Jim's eyes.

“Uh,” Jim was entranced. Her gaze was locked firmly on him. She was remarkably pretty and Jim found himself very distracted. A few blinks and a shake of his head knocked his thoughts back into place. “I, uh, never got an invitation. Was I supposed to be there?” Jim finally said when he could find words, again.

“Oh, ha, I guess not. I must have forgotten to invite you. I would have liked to have seen you there, though.” She twisted her body side-to-side idly as she spoke, shrugging her shoulders and batting her eyelashes slightly.

Jim's concentration was jarred slightly as he heard a subtle chorus of giggles over the cacophony of people milling about. Over Molly's shoulder, a crush of girls were watching the two, no doubt laughing at the spectacle. He looked back to Molly, who was expertly ignoring her entourage. “I would have liked to have been there, myself,” Jim stuttered out. He knew where this was going, and was trying very hard to not mess it up.

“Well, If you want, a bunch us are going out tonight,” She gestured with her head to the gaggle of giggling girls, who giggled louder with the acknowledgment, “Tammy and them are bringing some guys along and they said I should ask you to come out with us, too. Do you wanna come?”

“Uh, yeah, sure. I think that'd be great. Yeah. Definitely. Yeah,” Jim was having a hard time maintaining composure. He felt his cheeks tighten, an uncontrollable smile filling his face. Molly's backup saw and giggled loudly again, easily following the situation from afar. “Should I meet you somewhere?”

“We were gonna go to the diner. Wanna meet up there? I'll let you know when we're on our way down.”
“Ok sure, that'd be great. Sure. Ok,” Jim fidgeted with his robe around where his pockets would have been.

“Great, I'll see you then,” Molly's face was full of smile, as well. She turned and skipped away, over to her friends. They all huddled and chatted and laughed. You could hear muffled tones rise over the din of students rummaging around. Jim stood around for a while unmoved. Eventually the crush of girls moved along. A few idle people gave a “congrats” and extended a hand for a shake. Jim would roboticly reply and instinctively reply shake hands, as well.

“James.” The low, feminine voice was unmistakable. It snapped him back to reality.

“Professor. Or should I say, General,” He turned on his heals to face Professor Cecilia.

“Not until you're a soldier. Until then, you can call me Carol,” the professor was wearing her faculty robes and mortar. She was a decorated teacher, so she had on various tassels and medallions bespeaking her praise. “I haven't heard from you. What're you going to do?”

Jim opened his mouth a little, and then closed it. Opened again, and closed again. He had not been able to stop thinking about their encounter, her offer, since the coffee shop.

“I don't know professor. I can't make a decision,” Jim lowered his head sheepishly. It was hard to admit.

“Walk with me, Jim,” Carol turned and positioned herself next to him and made a gesture to walk abreast. They walked in silence a while. The thrum and buzz of students and their doting parents hummed around them as the eventually made it to the edge of the crowd. The ceremony was held on their outdoor sports field. The sun was shining bright and the temperature was cool and comfortable. A slight breeze was rolling through, and it fluttered their robes as they slowly paced the perimiter of the field. “Where are your parents, today?” Carol eventually said, breaking the calm. Most of the parents had watched from the stadium seating, but were now mostly on the field fawning over their children.

“My mom is a little sick these days. Nothing terrible but not just food poisoning, either. Makes it hard for her to travel. Dad picked up some extra shifts a few weeks ago at the factory. They're operating way over capacity right now and are on a very tight deadline. I told'em it was ok. Times are a little tight for us, and the money for overtime is good.” Jim clawed at his hips, trying to find pockets to shove his hands into.

“I'm sorry to hear that, I know this is an important day for you,” the professor was looking at Jim intently. Casually batting her head forward occasionally to see where she was going.

“It's alright, really. My family and I aren't exceptionally close. Mom's been sick forever and Dad is a busy guy. We make do with what we have.”

“I'm sorry to hear that, too, Jim.” Jim looked up at the professor as she spoke. For a second, he would swear a look of genuine sympathy flashed across her face.

“Ain't nothing, professor. Really. I made my peace with it when I was very young,” Jim had contented himself to grip a handful of robe at his side. He shuffled his feet as he walked. He was a fair bit taller than the professor, so his average gate moved faster than she seemed to want to go.

“Isn't, Jim. 'Ain't ain't said by nothin' but fools and yokels,' my mom told me,” A smile crossed Carol's face. She looked down at her own feet idly. “Jim,” the wistfulness vacant from her eyes again as she turned her head back toward him, “we need to know what you want to do. This opportunity isn't one we can extend again.”

Jim looked up and locked eyes with her. They both stopped walking, near the far edge of the field. “I don't know what I want to do, Professor. Carol.”

“Why not?” Her tone wasn't derisive or condescending. It was inquisitive. Socratic.

“That's what I've been trying to figure out, Professor. To me, it's a pretty big question. 'Why don't you want to do this,' is tantamount to 'what do you want to do with the rest of your life.' You're not asking me to choose what color socks to wear or even what career to take in my later years. You're asking me whether I want to live a normal life, or I want to become a hero.” Jim was calm, but there was despair in his voice.

“At least you get to choose. Many heroes don't get that luxury. For most, the job is thrust on them, whether they want it or not. A thousand years ago, during the Collapse, Bartibus and Chaira didn't choose to become the Shephards. But when the bombs dropped, they were the ones who went out into the streets and corralled survivors into the shelters. Tyson Dale didn't choose to sacrifice his life to release the Adam bugs during the blasts. They were presented with a situation, and they acted. It's calm now, though. We're not the Nomads anymore. We're working to rebuild our society. Repopulate. But this peace can't last forever, Jim. You already know the people across the pond are restless. You do have a choice, now. The heroes of our time don't have to be made from dire circumstances. They can be chosen. You're right, Jim. This is a choice between a normal life and a life of heroism. And some people aren't cut out to be heroes. That's why we remember people like Bartibus and Chaira. That's why everyone knows Tyson Dale. And that is a lot of responsibility, Jim. But, remember, for every Tyson Dale and Bartibus and Chaira, there are thousands of equally-heroic people living relatively normal lives. Tyson Dale didn't discover the Adam bug and release it into the world on his own. He had lab assistants. He had friends to help him along the way. I'm not asking you to be remembered in history, Jim. I'm just asking you to make a difference in the world,” there was passion in the professor's voice. Burning, undeniable passion.

“You had to make this choice, too, didn't you,” Jim was unflinching.

“When I was a much younger woman, I lived with a man. We were both in the service together. I had rejoined as an officer after finishing a long degree in Gymnasium. He was a part of the CORE program, then in its very infancy. He pulled a few strings and asked me if I wanted in. I was confused myself on whether to join or not. He told me what I told you, and I haven't looked back since, Jim.”

“What happened to him?” Jim pressed. No one had ever been so candid with him.

“We got into a fight and I left him. You'll meet him if you enter the program. He's quite a character. You'd like him,” Carol smirked, the wistfulness briefly in her eyes again.

“What's a normal life like, professor?” Jim sounded very distant.

“I think you know the answer to that already, Jim,” there was a long pause between the two. “Can I count on you?” The professor put her hand on his shoulder.

The contact sent a jolt through Jim. He found a focus he hadn't had before. Things seemed to fall into place. “How long do I have to say goodbye?”

“You'll have time for your date tonight, if that's what you're asking.” Carol slid her hand down the side of Jim's arm and squeezed his bicep before pulling away.

Jim blushed, “and my tournament tomorrow?”

“That won't be an issue either. You're making the right choice, Jim. I promise,” the professor turned and began walking back to the crowd to gladhand and make small-talk. Jim stood for a while longer and eventually did the same.

*********************************************************************************************************************************************************

“We'll be at the diner in a few. Meet us there?” the message read on Jim's standard-issue communicator.

“I'll leave now. See you there,” he responded in simple text form. Another relic everyone seemed to say would perish with every passing generation of technology. Nothing, however, seemed to dethrone the simplicity of text-based communication.

Jim grabbed the keys off of his night stand, slipped on his shoes, and headed down to the diner. He had his favorite shirt and slacks on, a rare opportunity for him to wear something other than Lyceum uniform and government-bought clothes. He made his way down the halls of the dormitories and over to the train platform a little way up the commons. He caught the train just as it pulled in. It was somewhat full, with no obvious empty benches. Jim decided to just stand at the back instead of sit down near anyone. A dapper man boarded the train just before the doors closed and appeared to have a similar idea. He took up side next to Jim at the rear. Jim couldn't help but notice the man's black walking stick and feathered fedora hat. They were relatively plain affair, with the stick having a normal silver ball for a handle, and the fedora a black deal with a black grosgrain ribbon holding down two small purple feathers. The fact, however, that such a dashing younger man was sporting them was quite odd, as such items were typical on very old genteel men trying to hark back on a bygone era of history.

“I like your hat,” Jim said, after the young man caught him idly staring.

The man smiled, “Thanks, kid.” He turned and extended a hand out, “Standish. Standish Eli.”

“Standish Eli?” Jim grabbed his hand and shook. His grip was firm. His hands were solid as stone, but not hard and calloused.

“Alright, you got me. It's Eli Standish. But everyone calls me Standish anyway, so it's how I introduce myself.” Standish returned his hand to the handle hanging from the train and tapped his walking cane on the train's metal floor. “I didn't catch your name,” the man's smile was enchanting.

Jim shook his head again, jumbling his brain back into function. “Ross. Jim Ross.” The train lurched to a halt as it pulled into station. “This is my stop. Nice to meet you, Standish.” Jim made his way to large hatch doors on the side of the train.

“Hey, catch,” Standish hollered. As Jim turned to acknowledge him, Standish deftly threw the fedora at him.

“Thanks,” was all Jim could stutter out from the platform. The door closed as Standish winked a sky-blue eye at him. He turned the hat over in his hands a few times before trying it on. It fit perfectly.

The diner was just behind the train stop, and he could see a ghostly reflection of himself in the large plate-glass window. The hat matched his black slacks and purple button-down perfectly. Jim had even forgot to gel his hair, so the hat was a perfect addition. “I look great,” he unconsciously said out loud to his reflection.

“Yes, you do,” said a mousy voice from behind him as a finger jabbed into Jim's rib.

Jim spun around. Molly, her friends, and their dates were behind him, their train having just pulled in behind his. “Oh Molly, I didn't see you there. I wasn't trying to, I mean, I wasn't,” Jim stammered, trying to not sound like a self-absorbed jerk.

“I know, silly. But you do look great,” she smiled sheepishly.

That Smile, Jim thought. She was wearing an emerald-green, sleeveless blouse with frills along the front and chocolate-brown, high-wasted slacks. Her close-cropped hair was mussed and straightened and parted at the side like the pixie cuts models of the time were wearing. She looked like a model, herself. The blouse brought out her eyes to make them seem even more sparkling and even more green.

“You do that a lot, Jim,” she said with a giggle, and put a hand on his bicep.

“What?” Jim shook his head again and snapped into reality. The hand on his arm made his heart skip a beat and his face turn bright red.

“That,” she said, pointing with her other hand, her other fingers wrapped around a chocolate-brown leather clutch. “Your eyes go all blank and you start staring. You did it whenever I asked you a question in Math class, too.”

“Oh, sorry, I didn't mean to stare. Sorry,” Jim hung his head slightly and stuffed his hands into his pockets. He was a large bit taller than Molly, though, so he couldn't really hide his eyes from her.

“Oh no, don't be sorry. It's really cute, I like it.” She started walking forward, spinning Jim a little, as she still had his arm, and and subtly urged him forward. Tammy, Molly's partner-in-crime, and her boyfriend, who's name Jim couldn't remember, but he sat behind him in Chemistry, and Molly's other friend Claire, who Jim wasn't particularly familiar with and some other guy Jim didn't recognize, all followed her in tow.

“It's just. I just can't help it. It's just those eyes.” Jim stammered out again. He was having a hard time regaining composure.

“Oh, ha, I get that all the time,” she turned her head slightly and glanced deeply into Jim's eyes, batting her eyelashes. She had a very pale complexion and was dusted ever so lightly with freckles across the bridge of her nose. Jim could tell she tried to soften them with powder, and he could feel himself wishing she hadn't. She very subtly slipped her arm underneath his and wrapped it around his elbow. Walking abreast, even in what looked like heals that were a few inches long, She barely came up to his shoulder.

Arms locked, Jim felt his heart jump in his chest, again. He could feel his nerves calm, though. She felt so relaxed Jim couldn't help but ease up himself. “Heh, then I don't feel that bad, then, I guess.” Tammy knocked an elbow into her boyfriend's rib and both of them chuckled a little bit. Jim spun his head around to take a quick peek, and both of them snapped into an overly-casual posture, an impossible-to-hide smile creeping into their cheeks as they tried to suppress it. Jim reached out and pulled the door of the diner open. He let everyone through and closed the door behind them. Molly went straight to a corner booth. The other four piled in first, leaving the end seats for Jim and Molly. Molly lowered herself into the chair. Jim softly sat next to her, making sure to not cause too much ripple in the bench pad.

Molly put a hand on Jim's knee. The contact sent lighting through him. Her other hand held her clutch in her lap. Jim pulled a hand off the table and rested it on his thigh, the tips of his fingers brushing against the place where her thumb met her wrist. Molly pulled her hand back and threaded her fingers between Jim's. His eyes were burning hot. The feeling sent a shiver through him, standing the hair on the back of his neck on end. “So Jim, what're you doing now that school's out?” Molly broke the silence at the table.

“I'm going into service, actually,” Jim said as he scanned his eyes around the table and eventually landed them on Molly's.

“Oh, that's nice. I was hoping you were going to make it to Gymnasium. Me and Claire made it in. You helped us so much, I woulda thought you coulda made it in easy.” Molly idly stroked the back of Jim's hand.

Don't say 'Claire and I.' Don't say 'Claire and I.' Jim repeated in his head. He looked down at his other hand, which was fidgeting with the paper band around his napkin and silverware roll. “I, uh, I got in, yeah. But, I, uh, it didn't work with what I want to do with my life.” Jim felt the nervousness creep back.

Molly, not missing a beat, felt his tension. “So, you're going into the service, then? That's cool. I like a man in uniform,” she interjected before anyone could ask any questions. The booth was a little tight, but Jim felt Molly press her shoulder a little harder into his, as if to say, It's all right, I get it.

Jim felt himself ease again, but then blush at the comment. He chuckled nervously. “Yeah. It'll help with my training more, and I think it's just the right way to go for me.”

“Training?” said the guy Jim didn't know across from him.

“Jim is a professional gamer,” Tammy said from the middle of the circular booth. “He's won a bunch of awards or something. I read about it in the school paper.” Tammy had long, straightened, brown hair with baby-doll bangs and brown eyes. She nodded a little acknowledgment in Jim's direction.

“Oh wow, that's pretty cool there. So you on a team and stuff?” Tammy's boyfriend asked.

“Yeah, I...” Jim began. Molly cut him off.

“He plays for the national team. He's like super good. Didn't you win like a prize or something when young that was a really big deal?”

“Mhm,” Jim began. He paused a beat to make sure no one was going to cut him off again. “I won the Gold medal in a pretty major event at the Global Digital Games when I was 13. At the time, I was the youngest person to ever hold the title.” Jim could feel himself relaxing more, and leaned back into the pad on the bench.

“You don't look like much of a gamer, Jim,” Claire said with a bit of a scoff. “You're, like, not skinny as a rod or super fat.”

“Well, most professionals are actually in pretty good shape. I mean, I won't be running a marathon any time soon, but I work out a few times a week with the team and eat a pretty strict diet. You need a strong heart and really fast twitch reflexes to be a good gamer, especially some of the more physical ones that don't use traditional interfaces.” Jim felt himself starting to get really technical. Whenever he got started on games, he knew he could talk forever about them, so he often tried to derail himself so more people could be included. “But yeah, that's why I'm ok with joining the service. It won't be too hard physically and they're gonna let me be a pilot or something.”

Just then, the waitress came up. “What can I get ya,” she said in a very casual tone. No one really needed to look at the menu, they'd all eaten there enough to know everything on the menu. Everyone placed their orders. The waitress jotted everything down on her notepad, “I'll put that right in for y'all.”

“So, Roger,” Claire said to the guy sitting next her, who Jim didn't recognize. “Are you heading to Gymnasium?

“Oh no, I'm joining up, too. I didn't get enough grades to get in.” Roger shrugged.

Molly laced her fingers through Jim's again. After she had woven her fingers into his, she pulled up and rest Jim's hand on her thigh. Her focus was forward on the group, but she gave Jim a sidelong glance and an impish smile. Instinctively, Jim began to idly caress her leg.

The conversation carried on for a bit. Jim would occasionally throw a word in here or there, ask a leading question, or answer a simple one. At intervals throughout the night, Molly would escalate physical contact with Jim, and Jim would respond in kind. She clung tightly onto Jim's shoulder, never moving her eyes away from the crowd, except for the casual glance back at Jim, a wily blaze burning behind those deep emerald eyes.

When the food arrived, Molly disengaged from his shoulder, and Jim took the opportunity to drape his behind her. Molly responded by snuggling against Jim's chest, resting her arm across his lap, her hand idly stroking the side of his thigh. The position forced Jim to eat with one hand, though with an omelet and sausage, it wasn't that hard. Fork-eating bacon looked a little weird, though. Molly caught it and snickered. From the shelter of Jim's frame, she, looking mousier than ever, took her hand out of Jim's lap. “Open up,” she said as she fed him a strip of bacon with a giggle.

As the night wound down, Roger and Gracie, Tammy's boyfriend decided to head off to the bathroom. Molly and Tammy also took the chance to duck out, as well. Jim and Claire remained at the table.

“She's really into you,” Claire said in hushed tones when everyone had left. “She's kind of had a crush on you like all year. Tammy and I told her this might be her last shot.”

“Really? I never knew,” Jim scratched the back of his head under the fedora. “I'm not really good with that stuff. I'm in kind of a special program for the military, so if she hadn't caught me today, it really might have been her last shot.”

“Oh, then she like really lucked out,” she looked up quickly. Molly and Tammy were almost back to the booth. Claire leaned in close,“You should totally kiss her tonight. Just saying.” She leaned back in the booth. “Hey! I'm gonna go to the bathroom quick, myself.”

“Really? You know, I kinda wanna powder my nose, do you have any powder?” Tammy rocked her weight onto her other hip as she and Molly approached the table. She on had a dark blue flowered-print dress with white lace trim and a small yellow cardigan. Her legs were clad in black tights and some low-slung black ballet flats finished the ensemble.

“Sure do, let's go.” Claire hoisted herself out of the booth and followed Tammy back to the back of the diner, winking not-so-subtly at Jim before Molly sat down next to him.

“Gracie stepped outside for a cigarette. He and Roger were talking about baseball or something so he's out there with him,” Molly plopped down next to Jim. Jim lifted himself up out of the booth and craned his neck to make sure the other girls were out of sight. “I'm not much for sports, myself. Never could understand...”

Molly couldn't get much more out, though. Mid-sentence Jim placed his hand underneath her chin and leaned down. His lips connected, and a shock went through them. It traced back along his sinuses and into the part of his head right behind his eyes. His friends had said his first kiss would be hot and wet and sloppy and weird. It wasn't anything like that, though. On the lips, it didn't feel much different than any other kiss he'd given. To his dog, to a trophy, or on his mom's cheek. But the way it made his body feel, well that was a different story. It gave him gooseflesh all across his body. He could feel a slight breeze from the ventilation duct above the table on the back of his neck. He could feel his heart pounding in his chest and finger tips. He could feel his eyeballs on the back of his eyelids. His whole body tingled like the split-second before you pass out. There were sparkles dancing in the darkness behind is lids. But most of all, he could feel her lips under his. He could feel them twitch and wiggle and pucker and suck and flex. It made him kiss harder. He used his tongue to wet his lips mid-kiss, and felt her tongue meet his. He felt his hand move from under her chin to behind her head. He felt her hand thread behind his back and up to the side of his face. He could smell her. Deeply. He could make out every note. From the cosmetic smell of her makeup, to the fruity scent of her shampoo and hair pomade, to the soft vanilla scent of her body soap. He didn't want to stop, and Molly wasn't giving any indication that she wanted him to. Jim turned his head and brushed noses with her, kissing again when his head was angled the opposite way.

After what seemed like both the shortest and longest instance in his life, Molly pulled back and slid a finger between them, resting it on Jim's lips. Jim took the hint and pulled his head back, opening his eyes to stare deeply into the bottomless pits of hers. “Claire told you to do that, didn't she?” She said, a longing smile filled her face.

“Yeah,” Jim said simply. He rested his forehead on hers, knocking the fedora back slightly.

“Have you ever kissed anyone before?” Molly's mousy eyes hid a devious visage.

“No,” Jim blinked, remembering the shock, the feeling.

“Me either,” Molly closed her eyes. “Tammy said it wasn't anything special.”

“I thought that was kinda special,” Jim said, reaching his hand up and softly caressing her cheek.

“I didn't say she was right,” Molly said, that impish grin crawling ear to ear.

“I'm telling you, Terrance Filopino was the greatest catcher, man,” Roger was gesticulating wildly as he and Gracie approached the table.

Gracie was fidgeting with his lighter and gesticulating in return. “No, no, no, that title belongs solely to Jake King. That guy is legend, man.”

“Jim, who do you think is better, King or Filopino?” Roger asked when he and Gracie reached the table.

Jim had since resumed a more casual repose. “Honestly? I have no idea who you're talking about.” Jim was still running high from his kiss. He couldn't get the shock out of his mind. “If we're talking about games, I could go for hours, but I don't have time to watch sports.”

“Bummer, man. No big, though. You're still cool by my book,” Gracie's sleeves were rolled up slightly, revealing a tattoo-covered arm as he extended a hand to Jim. He locked thumbs and wrapped his fingers around its back, a much more casual version of the standard handshake.

“Yeah, you're alright,” Roger mirrored in kind.

The girls arrived back from the bathroom just then, as well. “We good to go?” Claire questioned as she returned. She had her bleach-blonde hair in a tight pony tail with side-swept bangs almost covering one of her hazel-brown eyes. She had on a blouse with a low-cut sweater overtop, the white collar casually undone a few buttons down, tight blue jeans and tan stiletto heals. She casually swept the bangs away from her eye. “I'm good.”

“We just gotta settle up,” Roger said. He and Gracie made their way to the cashier by the door.

“Yeah,” Jim made a motion for Molly to get up so he could make his way over.

She lowered her head and leaned into Jim, “Are you sure?”

“Definitely. Don't worry.” Jim said in a confident tone. Jim lifted himself out of the booth after Molly let him free with a defiant stare. Jim made a fair bit of spending money in prize purses from his competitions. He gave a lot of it to his parents to help with his mom, so it wasn't anything he could go crazy with, but it let him enjoy some luxuries from time to time.

The tabs settled, they all stood in a semi-circle outside waiting for the next train, each girl clinging to their respective man. Jim's train arrived first. “This is mine,” he addressed the group. Molly walked him to the edge of the platform. Jim waved goodbye to everyone, and everyone waved goodbye back. “I had a really great time tonight, Molly. I'll talk to you later, ok?”

“You'd better. Or I'll hunt you down,” she stood on her tip-toes and pull Jim's head down by his collar. She kissed him on the cheek and whispered goodnight in his ear before letting go. The train buzzed and she stepped back as the door closed, eyes locked on each other until they were out of site.

“She's cute,” a voice said from behind a broad newspaper sitting on one of the benches behind him. “Be careful. Redheads have a temper.”

“You'd have to say something pretty wicked to piss off Professor Cecilia, Standish,” Jim said without turning around.

“Trust me, it's a lot easier to get her going than you think,” Standish dropped the newspaper to his lap. He had on a new black fedora, this time with a red ribbon and black feathers.

“Do you just like to ride the trains, or are you following me?” Jim turned now to face him. He had the same cool smile, his rich peanut butter-brown skin eerily offset by his almost-white eyes

“Truth is on the trains, Jim,” Standish raised the newspaper back up without saying another word.

It was past curfew when Jim finally got back to his dorm. His roommates were already in bed, so he quietly slipped into his closet-sized compartment in the quad, hung his clothes up and crawled into bed. Jim replayed the night over and over in his head before finally drifting off to sleep. Molly...

Chapter 1 - The Adam Bug

 The professor paced the front of the classroom. The floor-to-ceiling displays were covered with equations, pictures, diagrams, and theorem. The attendants in the lecture, numbering in the hundreds, all sat on the edges of their seats, hanging on every word.

“The Adam Bug,” she began “anyone know what it is?” There was a brief pause as the class discerned whether the question was rhetorical. An intrepid youth raised his hand. “You. Mr. Ross. What is the Adam Bug?”

“The Adam Bug is a custom-developed bacteria invented by Tyson Dale in the late twenty-second century.”

“Good, and what does it do?” The professor turned on her heels and paced the other direction. Everyone in the class was intently focused on the young man.

“Well, I don't know exactly. It eats radiation.”

“Well done, Mr. Ross, thank you. For today's lecture, we're going to talk about exactly what radiation is, and how the Adam Bug, as Mr. Ross so astutely put it, 'eats radiation.'”

Jim sat back down and began jotting down notes as the professor talked. Occasionally, she would stop to ask a student a question. Occasionally, like Jim, the student got it right. Most of the time, however, the student would get it wrong, and Professor Cecilia would pull up some diagram, or swipe away some other formula so she could craft another one on the display.

Jim really liked Professor Cecilia. She was firm, but kind, and very intelligent. She gave great lectures. They were interesting, easy to understand, and he always felt like he learned something. Advanced Chemistry was often the only class at Lyceum that he cared about attending, even if he didn't particularly care about, nor was he necessarily good at chemistry. He had already taken all the other science classes she offered. Physics, Engineering, Biology. Chemistry was the only one left, sadly. As this was his senior year, however, he'd be shipping off to Basic for his compulsory military service after semester. He'd been hoping to get into pilot's school, but his grades weren't necessarily up to snuff.

As class wound down, Jim started to pack his bag. A.Chem was his last class for the day. “Mr. Ross, can I have a word with you?” Professor Cecilia boomed, her deep-but-feminine voice carrying over the din and shuffle of students. Jim finished packing his satchel, threw it over his shoulder, and made his way down the lecture hall to her.

“Mr. Ross. It's getting very close to graduation time,” the professor said, not raising her eyes from her desk as she shuffled her notes around.

“A few weeks, ma'am,” Jim shifted his weight to his left foot and adjusted the satchel to hang across his body.

“Indeed. Will you be attending Gymnasium after your studies here?” The professor paused from adjusting her notes and looked up at Jim over her slim black-frame glasses. Her tight ponytail was curled up and the pencil holding it in place poked up over the back of her head.

“No, sadly, Professor Cecilia. Me and my parents can't afford the buy-out, so I'll be heading to Basic right after graduation.” The professor was standing straight now so she could look at Jim directly.

“'My parents and I,' Jim. And that's a shame. Have you talked about a program with your recruiter?” The professor crossed her arms and began to idly chew on tail-end of a pen she had been holding. It showed signs of previous chewing.

Jim gaped a little bit, his eyes slightly widened. He'd been in Professor Cecilia's lectures for the better part of three years now, and this is the most he'd ever spoke to her. “Uhh, no. I...I wanted to be a pilot, but the recruiter said that 'with my grades that probably wouldn't be a program I could make it into.' I think I'm probably going to go into an engineering role though. My dad was a mobile platform mechanic when he did his time. It doesn't sound too bad. I was going to talk to my recruiter after class today and see what I can do.”

The professor shifted her weight to her other leg. She wore very plain clothes. Looser-fitting jeans, a plain white tee-shirt and a shimmering blue brocade vest. White flats and a digital watch finished the outfit. She shifted her folded arms and flashed the watch in front of her eyes. “Little too late for that. If you left here, you wouldn't make it to central recruiting in time. “

Jim looked at his own watch, a cheap gold analog timepiece. She was right. Even if he had left right after class, he'dve missed the shuttle down to central recruiting. “Darn. Well, I don't have a lecture tomorrow afternoon, I'll just go then.”

“Are you busy tonight, Jim?” The professor unfolded her arms and put the pen she'd been chewing behind her ear. She leaned back down and went back to shuffling her notes into her briefcase.

“Um, uhh, no. That was all I had planned, why?” Jim stood still and started fidgeting with the flap of his satchel. What was she playing at?

The professor finished shuffling her notes into her briefcase and snapped her fingers loudly. The text on the display zipped into a brightly colored box labeled with the date at the bottom corner of the display. “I want to talk to you about something. Do you have time to meet with me at the coffee shop?” She hefted her briefcase and moved to the front of her desk, directly in front of Jim.

“Yeah, OK. Yeah. I can do that.” Jim only had a lab and a lecture tomorrow. It being the end of the semester, there wasn't a whole lot of homework to be done. “Do you want to meet down there?”

“That works,” the professor turned sideways and glanced over her shoulder at Jim. “Be down there within the hour,” and walked away.

*********************************************************************************************************************************************************

When Jim walked into the coffee shop, Professor Cecilia was sitting at the table, sipping what looked like a very large latte. She had a laptop open in front of her and was skimming a datapad. She was young, but it would be pretty hard to mistake her for a student. In addition to eschewing the modern fashion trends, her features were that of a woman, not the children that seemed to surround her.

“Professor Cecilia,” Jim said as he approached the opposing side of the table she was sitting at. He pulled the chair out and slowly lowered himself into it.

“Jim. Good. Thanks for coming,” she didn't look up from her datapad. A blue glow from its screen reflected off her glasses. “So. I wanted to talk to you about something.” She looked up from her datapad, finally, setting it down next to her laptop and touching her finger to her temple, resting her elbow on the table. “You've followed my classes for the last couple of semesters, even when you don't get great grades,” She paused, indicating she expected a response.

“I like your teaching style. It clicks with me.” Jim, still a little bewildered and confused, responded.

“Do you board here or are you or do your parents have an apartment on campus for you?” The professor shifted her hand to rest her chin on her fist.

“No, professor. I live in the dorms. The apartments are a little out of my range. My dad works in the factory maintaining the printers.” Jim shifted in his seat. “I live in a quad with five other guys.”

“I see. What do you plan on doing after Service?” she settled her face into a neutral gaze.

“I dunno, professor. I never really thought about it. If I can land a gig in engineering, I guess I'll probably follow my dad to the factory. It's honest, stable work. My dad was home every night before dark. It wasn't hard, and you're mostly surrounded by robots and other mechanics, so it's pretty low stress. The pay isn't bad, either. Could live off it pretty well, I think.”

“What about going to Gymnasium after service on a soldier's package? Have you thought about that?” Her gaze remained unchanged. Neutral, unjudging. Inquisitive but unobtrusive. Her typical undynamically dynamic face.

“Yeah, but 22, 23 for me, is a lot older than 18, to be frank. And service changes you. A kid I grew up with back home tried it. Did a year and never went back. Was too different. Just didn't feel right. And, if he couldn't take it, I know I couldn't. Civils don't make that much more, anyway,” Jim fidgeted with his hands. He never knew what to do with them in a conversation.

“Pragmatic. Civil Engineers get to program the printers, though. They get to be creative, make things. Don't you think that'd be a lot more fun?” she prodded, her gaze still unflinching.

“Well, my parents taught me that work wasn't supposed to be fun, professor. You go to work to be productive and make a living, so that when you come home, you can have fun there.”

“What do you do to have fun, Jim?”

Jim paused for a long time. “I'm in a tournament league for my video games, professor,” he said sheepishly.

“Oh?” A slight smirk crept across the professor's face, “That would explain why you're doing so poorly in my class.” She winked at him. A moment of genuine bemusement.

“Very funny, professor,” Jim responded in a playful tone. “That's why I wanted to be a pilot. One of the guys on our team just joined up. He said it's just like the game, except you're really there, not just pretending.”

“I see,” the smirk had faded from professor's lips and her neutral gaze had returned. “What disciplines do you participate in?”

“Well, I actually qualify for the Renaissance Man competitions. I usually compete in all 3 events in the digital sports leagues. My specialty is Digital Decathlon, but that makes me good at Military Triathlon and the Fantastic Five as well. I'm the captain of our team. We're top 5 across all disciplines in the world,” Jim was trying to be modest, but the pride was hard to hide in his face.

“You'll have to excuse me, I'm only passingly familiar with the scene. What do the events entail?” The professor truly was a master of the unmoving face. If not for the smirk, Jim would have sworn her face was cut from stone.

“Well, there are only about a dozen truly competitive games in the world. Most of the rest are either too simple or too complicated to be worthy of play. Think of chess. It's not mired with a lot of rules, but it also isn't tic-tac-toe. There's enough variance to make it easy to grasp, but hard to master.

“Military Triathlon simulates what a high-ranking soldier would encounter if he stayed on through Service as a Lifer. There's a run-and-gun event where you're in first-person simulating a soldier. Then there's the tactical event where you have to plan out armies and attack plans. And lastly there's the vehicle simulations. You have to pilot the various military vehicles through different missions,” Jim was getting very animated. He loved talking about his sport.

“In the Fantastic Five, you participate in 5 fantasy-orientated games, but they play on 5 common tropes. There's gladiator combat where each of you pick a fighter, and then duke it out in a series of rounds. In similar vein, there's the battle arena, where you and your team pick champions and wade through hordes of monsters to destroy their main headquarters. There's a platformer, where you have a linear level you have to navigate through on a time-trial; a siege defender, where you have a group of monsters march through a path, and you have to set up defensive structures to defeat them before they make it to base, and you receive a score based on how efficiently you did it; and finally a puzzler, where pieces move along a track and you have to fit them together in a constrained space. When you get the right fit, the shapes eliminate and you get points. As you complete shapes, the track moves faster. High score wins.

“Digital Decathlon is all of those plus a rhythm game where you have to synchronize movements and button presses with music, and a resource management event where you are given a set amount of time and starting resources, and you have to meet specific city-building objectives. The person who has progressed the farthest with the most resources at the end of the time frame wins,” Jim was leaning forward, his elbows on the table.

The professor jumped on the brief pause and interjected, “Jim,” she leaned back and put her hands flat on the table, “or should I say Daybreaker.”

Jim leaned back suddenly, his mouth agape, eyes wide, “You know my handle,” he gasped out.

“What do you know about the CORE project, Jim?”

It took Jim a bit to recover. “Uhh...CORE project. Same thing everyone else does, no doubt. Secret military program. Cutting edge military weapons. Secret projects. All very hush-hush. They order parts from my dad's plant from time to time. Actuators and big steel plates, mostly. No one really knows what it's all for. I'm guessing vehicles or missiles or something. The news has it on good authority that the reason that math prodigy from Gymnasium dropped out was to join CORE.”

“You shouldn't trust the news, Jim.” A big, beaming smile had crossed the professor's face.

“Word also has it that the folks across the pond have their own CORE program going along, as well. And that you guys are scared that they won't be as judicious as you will with whatever it is.”

The smile left the professor's face. “To put it simply, Mr. Ross, the CORE program is the most interesting and exciting thing our nation has going for it. I want you to join it.”

“Join it? Who are you to it?” Jim looked very confused now. “How do you know my handle? What's going on here?”

“I work for the CORE program in talent acquisition. My job is to locate, track, and vet possible candidates for the CORE program. We've been following you for a while, now, actually. About 5 years, actually.”

“You've been tracking me since I was 13?” Jim was still pressed to the back of his chair, arms on the table, eyes wide. He relaxed slightly, “Since I won Gold at the Global Digital Games in Military Triathlon.”

“And placed in the top ten out of two thousand in Digital Decathlon,” the professor finished. The smile had receded, but only slightly. “We watch the games very closely. We've been watching you very closely. When you started taking my science classes, we became more interested. When declared intent toward Service, instead of Gymnasium, we became more interested, still. When you applied for the pilot's program at central recruiting, we knew we'd found our man. It's hard work. It'll push your limits, both physically and mentally. If you question whether you'll be up to it, you probably aren't. Jim, you strike me as someone who wouldn't be content in engineering. Living a normal, boring life. We want you on the team, Jim.”

“Slow down. Do I need to choose now? Can I think about it? You're kind of rocking my world here, professor. It's a lot to take in.” Jim shook his head, trying to knock the thoughts into place.

“I get that a lot,” she said with a wink as the smile grew across her cheeks, “You have to have a final declaration of intent into Central Office before you graduate. I can wait until then. Mull it over Jim, but I implore you. Don't pass this opportunity up.” With that, the professor stood up and closed her laptop. She shuffled it and her datapad into her briefcase. She laid a card down on the table in front of Jim, “Don't be a stranger.” Jim folded his hands in his lap and stared down at the card. The Professor put her hand on his shoulder, and then walked away.

“General Carol Cecilia, Covert Recruiting, Special Forces Division,” Jim read aloud, picking the card up and twirling it in his hand. “General?” he mused.

*********************************************************************************************************************************************************

“Will he do it, you think?” Standish reached out and grabbed Carol's bicep. “Ross. Do you think he'll do it?” The train was just pulling into dock. Standish was leaning against an exposed steel girder under the platform.

“Hard to say. You don't get where you are without being competitive, but he's quiet. Keeps to himself. No one really knows him very well, even his friends and teammates.” Standish released Carol's arm. She brushed her sleeve straight and turned around to face him. “Trench coat? Scarf? And a fedora? Really, Eli? You're supposed to be discrete. You look like an ancient movie villain.”

“He didn't seem to notice me,” Standish said, standing straight and smoothing out his trench coat.

“I did. And so did half the people in the coffee shop. You looked like a bloody rapist, Eli. They're kids; they don't get your 'retro classic sense of style.'” She scoffed at him and turned around to face the train. “And yes, I think he'll do it.” The doors to the train opened. Carol stepped inside, turning to face Standish again. A smile crept across her face again, “You really should take that fedora off. You really do look like an idiot.”

“You used to like my 'retro classic sense of style.” Standish took a few steps forward and removed the fedora.

“I also used to like cats,” Carol said, the smile beaming cheek to cheek, a touch of sneer running across her lips.

“Cold, Carol. Cold,” Eli said, putting the fedora back on. “Good night, 'professor.'”

“Good night, Eli,” she chuckled as the train’s doors closed.

*********************************************************************************************************************************************************

The weeks slipped by quickly. Finals kept Jim busy, but training was also picking pace. Next week, the day before his commencement, was a major tournament on the circuit. Qualifiers for this year's big national competition. If he wanted a shot at next year's Digital Olympics, his team would have to earn some serious circuit points at nationals. Jim usually did a good job of carrying the team through Decathlon, but most competitions weren't multi-disciplinary. Next week was team strategy. That meant he and two others from his team, Shamz and Deka, needed to score in at least the top three to make it. Shamz and Jim were strong in strategy, but Deka, one of their Fan-Fivers, was subbing for their other primary TriMil guys, Guns. Getting Deka up to speed had eaten up just about every waking free hour, and some hours that shouldn't have been waking.

“Dek, make up some heavies, I need you to flank the ping with air support as well. Shamz, manage base D and build up some ubers. I'm going to sweep the mat deposit.” Jim swiveled his head left and right. He had on a set of Heads-Up Display glasses, various game statistics populating the outer rims. A yellow reticule tracked his eye motion on screen, highlighting what he eventually rested his gaze on, giving him on-demand stats. There were 4 displays, three forming a semi-circle around him, and a 4th, transparent display that he could reposition as an overlay. With deft hand gestures, the stats from the HUD glasses would fly onto the overlay. With the twist of his head, the overlay would rest atop one of the screens. His right hand was home to a button-covered mouse. People had been proclaiming the “death of the mouse” for centuries, but it never seemed to happen. His left hand housed a hand-shaped keypad with various switches, dials, wheels and buttons. Though most things were speech- or gesture-controlled, sometimes nothing could beat the fine control of a dial or the quickness a macro could afford.

“Break, recon is showing scouts about to approach your sweep. You may want to pull back and keep them dark,” Dek's deep voice calmly advised from the surround-sound speaker system.

“Good call. We dropped a recon beacon. I bet they make a play for the deposit,” Jim made a few more clicks on his mouse and his unit, represented in the top-down 3rd person view by various clusters of gun-toting soldiers and mobile weapon platforms, hid just out of sight from the now-incoming scout.
Just as Jim had expected, the scout was tailed by a small contingent of troops. Jim ambushed the detachment. With furious mouse-clicks, he selected various troops and commanded them to attack the enemies. He specifically micro-managed his troops to make sure that they attacked the units that they were strong against, and danced away lower-health units and units being struck by attackers they were particularly vulnerable to. With lightning-quick, precise and well-rehearsed motions, his units obeyed every order, and his ambush executed perfectly, not even one unit lost. “Expanding onto the deposit,” Jim narrated to his teammates. With a flick of the wrist here, a head twitch there, his worker units descended onto the deposit and began constructing transport facilities and extracting the materials.

“Break, I'm in trouble,” Shamz voice tweeted. “They've got a horde slamming our base.” A quick peek at the campaign map showed a big red blob colliding with their central base.

“Recon out. That's their primary force, Break. It's a Hail Mary.” Deka's voice boomed through.

“I'm going to make a play, guys. There's a canyon with a choke that looks like it feeds right into their base. Deka, back up Shamz.” Jim began moving his troops along the back canyon. As expected, the geological choke point was blanketed in turrets and anti-air installments. Jim repositioned his anti-siege troops and mobile weapon platforms, and with some careful bombardments and controlled rushes, was able to clear them out. Deka and Shamz were doing a great job of baiting and rebuffing the enemy. By keeping them just enticed enough, the enemy army was committing to the fight, but with skillful dancing and unit positioning, the two were keeping casualties to a minimum while still keeping them at bay.

“Better make it quick, Break, we can't stall them forever.” Deka hailed.

“I just entered their base. Game over.” Jim's forces crossed the threshold of the canyon and filled the central sanctuary. He began by eliminating resupply stations and unit production facilities, hamstringing their ability to create defensive units. Next on the agenda, Jim began systematically dismantling their internal defensive structures.

“They're retreating. AA gone?”

With a few clicks and a few flicks, Jim's anti-siege units took out the last remaining anti-air turrets. “You're all clear, Deka.”

Deka's flotilla cut across the campaign map. The big red blob was pulling back toward their sanctuary, with Shamz' troops in hot pursuit. It was too late, however, as once Deka's aircraft arrived, they brought swift fiery death in their wake. As the last structure crumbled and burnt to the ground, the surrounding screens cleared and a big blue box flashed in the center of Jim's displays, “Victory!”

“Good job, Deka. Way to keep your head on a swivel.” Jim took his HUD glasses off and dragged his palms along his face. “If you keep that up, we may make it to Nationals.”

“Well, we will. You'll be shipping off to the top-secret CORE project, to, I don't know, club baby squirrels and develop weaponized salsa,” Shamz squeaky voice pestered through his speakers.

Jim chuckled loudly. “Burn you greasy Devil! Die a tomato-filled death, yarrr!”

“Seriously though, Day. Are you gonna follow up?” the sub-woofer made Deka's voice rattle his room.

“I haven't decided yet. I don't even know what I'll be doing. For all I know I really will be clubbing squirrels and trying to make tomatoes into bombs.” Jim thumbed his nose and rubbed his eyes.

“Just do it, man. How many times do you think an offer like that will come along? And trust me, clubbing baby squirrels still beats the hell out of Basic.” Deka was the oldest on the team. “I've been off Charter for almost a decade now, but not a day goes by that I don't remember that drill sergeant screaming at me to do more push-ups. Hell, if I hadn'tve met Cross my second week in, I don't think I could've made it.”

“Heh, something about the thought of you doing push-ups, Deka, is hard to believe,” Shamz prodded.

“Hey, I may be carrying around a little extra weight now, but it's just because I was too strong before and needed a challenge.”

“Good one, Deka,” Jim quipped. “But guys, I'm going to get some sleep. I have my last class tomorrow. Don't want to be late.”

After a chorus of “Goodnights,” Jim slipped out of his chair.