Scabs
For Tarik
The rain was so loud we could only use hand signals.
The entire rainforest was dancing in the downpour. I couldn't hear anything when I saw the distant muzzle flashes and in the sudden dark, they were like Christmas lights.
The overwhelming hiss like a dead radio channel turned up too high making the whole world unreal.
And then I heard... my fucking cell phone.
"Do something about that..." Larry said as he poked me in the ribs. He handed me the phone from the nightstand as it buzzed and chirped.
He then wrapped his arms around my waist and I could feel his beard between my shoulder blades. He was one of the few people I felt safe with.
My phone displayed a cherry emoji as the incoming: Capt. L. J. Politskya or Cherry as I'd known her since the day she introduced herself to me on a flight line in the Venz.
We worked together for two years: going straight from uniforms to the government contracting pipeline.
Well, it was fuck you money when we first got home. It wasn't fuck you money two years later.
I pressed the answer button and immediately Cherry squeaked "We got a job!"
"What's the offer?" I asked.
It came through in the text and it was definitely "fuck you" money for a very ambiguous goal.
This was how we weird hybrids of white-collar skills with blue-collar equipment, hours, and clients got by.
"What's the job?" Larry called back. He was a chef, and the novelty of "human prepared!" had come into vogue again nationwide, though in the strange shrink-proof economy of Washington, D.C. it never really left. The Food Service Workers Union killed any chance of robots cooking all the way down to Georgia so Larry would never want for work.
That was a small new certainty in a world that spawned uncertainties like flies spread maggots.
"Software, maybe?" I said as I came into the kitchen.
"Can't Cherry just go by herself, then?" Larry asked as I sat down at the island, but I could tell by the way he shook his head that he realized it was wrong just as he said it.
"I wouldn't want a brown, augmented trans lady roaming around alone in any red state," I said as I went to that cabinet above the refrigerator that no regular folks use for anything.
"And sure as fuck not Arizona," I said as I pulled out my medium go-bag and my weapon case.
"God, fuck that, she shouldn't go at all, and neither should," Larry began a lecture that I know he didn't want to give.
"Babe, it's Cherry and it's me. We both pass just fine." I said.
Life is about "passing," now. In a way it always was. Passing for a Red Stater. Passing for straight. Passing for whatever the majority was. Passing for an ally to an angry and violent minority so they don't physically attack you.
As a generic-looking white guy in above-average shape, I lean into it. In any other country one of my main skill sets is called a Fixer. In America, I'm just an American.
"Do something about that..." Larry said as he poked me in the ribs. He handed me the phone from the nightstand as it buzzed and chirped.
He then wrapped his arms around my waist and I could feel his beard between my shoulder blades. He was one of the few people I felt safe with.
My phone displayed a cherry emoji as the incoming: Capt. L. J. Politskya or Cherry as I'd known her since the day she introduced herself to me on a flight line in the Venz.
We worked together for two years: going straight from uniforms to the government contracting pipeline.
Well, it was fuck you money when we first got home. It wasn't fuck you money two years later.
I pressed the answer button and immediately Cherry squeaked "We got a job!"
"What's the offer?" I asked.
It came through in the text and it was definitely "fuck you" money for a very ambiguous goal.
A digital air travel ticket came through in an email at the same time.
"We're leaving out of Dulles in two hours," Cherry said and hung up. That explained the money. Pick any two: Fast, Cheap, and Good. They eliminated cheap straight out of the gate. Larry overheard and he was out of the bed and in the kitchen faster than a cat that heard a can open.
"We're leaving out of Dulles in two hours," Cherry said and hung up. That explained the money. Pick any two: Fast, Cheap, and Good. They eliminated cheap straight out of the gate. Larry overheard and he was out of the bed and in the kitchen faster than a cat that heard a can open.
This was how we weird hybrids of white-collar skills with blue-collar equipment, hours, and clients got by.
"What's the job?" Larry called back. He was a chef, and the novelty of "human prepared!" had come into vogue again nationwide, though in the strange shrink-proof economy of Washington, D.C. it never really left. The Food Service Workers Union killed any chance of robots cooking all the way down to Georgia so Larry would never want for work.
That was a small new certainty in a world that spawned uncertainties like flies spread maggots.
"Software, maybe?" I said as I came into the kitchen.
"Can't Cherry just go by herself, then?" Larry asked as I sat down at the island, but I could tell by the way he shook his head that he realized it was wrong just as he said it.
"I wouldn't want a brown, augmented trans lady roaming around alone in any red state," I said as I went to that cabinet above the refrigerator that no regular folks use for anything.
"And sure as fuck not Arizona," I said as I pulled out my medium go-bag and my weapon case.
"God, fuck that, she shouldn't go at all, and neither should," Larry began a lecture that I know he didn't want to give.
"Babe, it's Cherry and it's me. We both pass just fine." I said.
Life is about "passing," now. In a way it always was. Passing for a Red Stater. Passing for straight. Passing for whatever the majority was. Passing for an ally to an angry and violent minority so they don't physically attack you.
As a generic-looking white guy in above-average shape, I lean into it. In any other country one of my main skill sets is called a Fixer. In America, I'm just an American.
If you paid attention during your service, you learned how to move between one subculture and dialect to another.
I opened my go-bag and checked the contents for the umpteenth time. Six T-shirts, two pairs of jeans, six pairs of socks, a shaving kit, an empty plate carrier, my soldering kit, my ceramic screwdrivers from needle-thin to pencil-thick, a pack of static negating gloves, and a grounding bracelet.
I opened my go-bag and checked the contents for the umpteenth time. Six T-shirts, two pairs of jeans, six pairs of socks, a shaving kit, an empty plate carrier, my soldering kit, my ceramic screwdrivers from needle-thin to pencil-thick, a pack of static negating gloves, and a grounding bracelet.
The grounding bracelet is old-school and maybe paranoid.
But then again you never know.
"Tunisia and Egypt's food service workers are joining the union," Larry said to fill in the quiet over the clink, clank, and hiss of his cooking.
He'd traveled the world in a different capacity.
France was the first to ban all machine labor when it came to cuisine and then the International Food Service Workers' Union was born. He came back to the United States and the very first thing he did was start a chapter.
I checked my airport-cased weapons: case 9mm Colt 1911 handgun with four empty magazines, a ceramic fiber armor plate, two bags of protein powder, and a carbon steel knife.
Ordinarily, I would add a box or two of rounds but you can buy bullets at most gas stations in Arizona, and airlines measure and charge in micrograms.
"When are you leaving?" Larry asked as he plated the food like a president I liked would see it. I'd learned not to ask him not to do that because "that's the visible love part of cooking. The presentation."
"In..." I checked my phone. "One hour and forty-five minutes," I said.
I figured Cherry used her gold pass to get them. I had one, too. It wasn't the crystal clear apology that a coveted full retirement would have been, but it was decent enough. Allowed me to keep working.
Anything to keep people working.
"Then you had the division qualifiers for asshole;" Cherry said as she removed everything in the pockets of her previous faded black pants to the olive-drab pants, pocket by pocket. "Every governor and congress critter trying to 'crackdown' on 'immigrants'" she said as she made the air quotes.
Cherry stared at all of her gear as it was laid out and clicked her tongue, she put three small laptops in her side bag then flicked open a mean-looking Vanta black knife and started opening the Nokias.
"Police, Border patrol, and the National Guard used civilian HUMINT more than anything. Even if someone didn't like the border patrol or police, they trusted the National Guard but you know how they'd all really catch people?" Cherry said.
"How?" I asked.
"Appliance repair shops, house call repair guys," she said as she opened the Nokias. "Mechanics run by MAGA gringos or worse, so Latinos had to repair their own stuff or find someone safe to do it. Immigrants always had to be more self-sufficient within their communities but it became about survival when border states started offering bounties."
"So tech tianguis," I said. "Does it need to be as secure as the waitress said, these days? I mean there's a waiting list to immigrate to Mexico now."
"Maybe they want the same level of security because turnabout mother fuckers," Cherry scoffed then opened her weapon case, pulled out the G36, a magazine, and started loading with rounds that she had brought with her because of course, she did. After it was full, she re-secured the magazine in her bag but placed the rifle on the bed.
She took out the piece of paper the waitress passed to her and passed it and one of the Nokia cell phones to me.
Cherry picked up the rifle and smiled an impish smile. "You want to hold him?" she asked.
"Old school," Cherry said.
"Si, solo soy un gruñido," I said. He looked at me moment.
"Almar'at tahmil nisf alsama'i,*" he said.
"Eib'uhum yusharifuna jamiea," I said without hesitation.
"M'rhbaan, rafiki," he side reached in to let me shake his hand.
"Shokran, rafiki," I said.
"Toma la tienda siete," He said.
He tapped the door of the truck to get us moving as a line had formed behind us. I tapped the gas and drove on.
"Gotta say I wasn't ready for that," Cherry said.
"Neither was I," I said. "Then again, the Mexican Army had personnel in Egypt, he might have done a rotation."
We drove down the main drag. The first tent was fifteen and each tent had a large number on one side next to the entrance flap, glow-in-the-dark paint brightly shining after being in the sun all day.
"All these tents are barely used," I said. They were "small" shelters, the front of them a half circle. They could easily have four full-size desks with three screens or twelve cots for sleeping.
Tent seven was in a sort of cul-de-sac of the tents, potentially a prime location in a place that relied on foot traffic.
Some of the other vendors had started to cook food because the tang of searing meat and vegetables filled the air.
"Pull the truck through, we'll park in the back," Cherry said. I put the high beams on and moved very slowly so I didn't touch either side of the tent. There was a second door flap there at the back that I pushed through slowly and pulled forward a few meters and then back to give the wheels grip for when we left in the morning.
Cherry pulled out a different smartphone from her regular one and scanned the QR code from the slip of paper we were handed. She turned her phone sideways.
The first thing I noticed was the ground beneath us was rock solid and the second was the outlets for power, natural gas, and water. This used to be one of the long-term, upscale trailer parks so common near most military bases.
They had rigged up LCD lamps in an innovative way: they placed one set of them - ten exactly - pointing up alternating left and right reflecting off the white vinyl ceiling creating a soft light that was easier on the eyes, especially coming in from the desert dark. There were four folding tables, two with a faux wood finish and two with a plain white plastic finish.
"That's some good mood lighting for sure," Cherry said. We both would get migraines from time to time; the brutal ones that were far too common with our generation.
The kind of headache that turned light into screams.
I set to work making the tables into a symmetrical U shape, with heavier faux finish tables on either side and light plastic tables in the center.
"Ugh, templates?! What am I, twelve?" Cherry griped. "Oh, okay never mind...it's a virtual storefront in augmented reality so I just fill in the labels."
I plugged in two power strips and tapped them down with neon green gaffer tape.
The sky changed from the deep black of night to the laser orange of dawn and then rich, lovely blue of the American desert.
"Four. Small arms only," I said.
"¡Buenos días, cabrones!" Cherry shouted.
"¡Sabes las reglas!" Cherry said. "¡Los hombres deben ir voluntariamente!"
As she spoke I found the closest silhouette and then looked for the next furthest, and the next furthest and furthest. My brain caught up with some of the Spanish the Spanish: assholes, rules, men, and volunteers.
"¡Estoy en mi derecho de dispararte en la puta care!" Cherry shouted. That one I knew.
I changed the selector switch from safe to semi.
"Dejar," said the closest. "Dejar!" and stood up.
Cherry turned on her heel and walked back to the spikes as I kept the rifle on one she cussed out. They trudged away in their surrender. She went to one side of the spikes and stepped on a pedal that caused them to roll up and a handle to pop up. She picked up the roll and started back to me.
"Keep it on them," Cherry said and she put her hand in my pocket and pulled out the cigarettes. I heard the gentle crackle of the inhale. "Fucking amateurs," Cherry said with her voice in some cotton from the smoke.
"How long am I doing this? Because I might have to post up on the hood," I said.
"I think we're good, let's get our loot," Cherry said.
"What?"
I rolled my feet and scanned my sectors like I was taught and how I had taught people. It saved my life once or twice, but I also felt silly.
We got to the gear and I put up the halt. Four piles of armor, with a rifle and sidearm. I kicked them one by one. I brought the rifle down to low ready turned around and signaled to Cherry to scan for scope flashes.
She shrugged and got out of the truck.
Over a massive breakfast, the lieutenant - Bernard, who preferred Berny - explained the premise of the Foxes. They were a Desert Chapter and they were a conservationist group. All motorcycles and vehicles were salvaged, rebuilt, or recycled in some form or fashion. And he was very explicit that it wasn't a reference to some Nazi who was also called the "Desert Fox."
"And," Berny said with more than a little drama, "There are foxes all over the world."
"How was he scamming people?" Cherry said. We were at that point both pacing.
"I think it's possible he created a way to short-sell crypto short-time," I said. "He had an app built by-I shit you not - two homeless Vietnamese children because he promised them they would get adopted."
"Did they get adopted?" Cherry asked.
"The children? I don't have that information, I can get it," I squeezed the duck and said, "Stay on task."
"The way his casino worked is it allowed people to buy whatever currency and gamble in that currency for two days, it creates a temporary spike, the house converts their crypto to real credits, 'short sells it,; for some other crypto nonsense and when the gamblers come back 'oh, well, your chips aren't worth as much as when you walked in, bummer.'"
"I kinda don't hate that," Cherry said.
"You are allowed to hate him since he used those profits to grow funds to create lobbyists who fought against recycling empty houses, landlord reform, AND mandatory arcological architecture proposals in 27 states."
"Oh fuck him then," Cherry said.
We bussed the table to fill the quiet. Cherry put cash on the table.
"Let's get that cam," Cherry said as she turned towards the exit. The rest of the table got up as well. Cherry just moved with that kind of authority. She pushed the bill into the hostess's hand and said "Thank you for your patience."
Cherry pulled out every phone she had and gestured for me to pass mine along. She pulled out a roll of electrical tape and started fashioning the phones into a ball.
After the punch-drunk feeling subsided Cherry sat up and said "I have an idea!"
"There was a decent amount of chatter about a 'bull' traveling with a woman on a few local Discords," Constance said.
Any queer person with an internet connection has some familiarity with kink language, but I'd never been referred to as a "bull." I blushed to my ears as I realized I was being regarded as an acquirable asset; not even remotely approaching human.
"I am experiencing a whole new emotion because of that information, and it is no fun at all," I said.
Every city over about 50,000 people is usually blue one way or another. It's usually public transportation that does it.
Or food trucks.
A lot of times it's police brutality.
Whatever the cause, people will pay lip service to conservative values, maybe even display conservative flags, and then vote for a subway that has more than one line or solar-powered busses, or better funding for schools.
"How did?" She asked.
They turned their face on us and that calm expression slipped away.
They knew their job, too.
Cherry pushed a pair of shades onto my face.
"Knot the beast chyle hood," I said.
But then again you never know.
"Tunisia and Egypt's food service workers are joining the union," Larry said to fill in the quiet over the clink, clank, and hiss of his cooking.
He'd traveled the world in a different capacity.
France was the first to ban all machine labor when it came to cuisine and then the International Food Service Workers' Union was born. He came back to the United States and the very first thing he did was start a chapter.
I checked my airport-cased weapons: case 9mm Colt 1911 handgun with four empty magazines, a ceramic fiber armor plate, two bags of protein powder, and a carbon steel knife.
Ordinarily, I would add a box or two of rounds but you can buy bullets at most gas stations in Arizona, and airlines measure and charge in micrograms.
"When are you leaving?" Larry asked as he plated the food like a president I liked would see it. I'd learned not to ask him not to do that because "that's the visible love part of cooking. The presentation."
"In..." I checked my phone. "One hour and forty-five minutes," I said.
I figured Cherry used her gold pass to get them. I had one, too. It wasn't the crystal clear apology that a coveted full retirement would have been, but it was decent enough. Allowed me to keep working.
Anything to keep people working.
I sat down at the kitchen island and Larry put a small piece of abstract art rendered in egg with a side of Picasso in pork in front of me.
"How long do you think you'll be gone?" Larry asked in between bites.
"Couple of days maybe, it's a big payout though, so it may take longer;" I said. "They may not be completely honest about what they want."
"They never are," Larry sighed. He was speaking from the chef's perspective, but he was still right. He would tell me horror stories about people not knowing what the word "ingredients" actually meant.
I ran into that in a way. People did not know what "coding" meant.
Larry finished and cleared the plates.
"You wanna split a cab? They can drop you at Dulles, drop me at work the way back?" Larry was efficient as much as he was sweet.
"Sure."
...
I kissed Larry goodbye and hugged him as the driver popped the trunk so I could retrieve my things.
"Safe travels," the driver said with the sincerity of the working class.
Every time I left I wondered if I deserved Larry's abundant patience.
Dulles on a Tuesday morning is a quiet, weird place. Really, all airports are weird, but on weekdays it's way more pronounced. There are hotels next to them and parking lots, but no more suburbs: they were all broken down and recycled and the land was left to re-wild.
"I'm legit curious," I said, but Cherry's sour face said I should change the subject. "That's easily 20 thousand you got in that weapon!"
"More like 27," Cherry said, happy again. "It was carved out of a single block of an an aluminum titanium alloy by fair trade certified artisans in 'West by God' Virginia, skeletonized wherever possible AND it has a bolt that I can switch out for telescopic ammunition!"
"That sounds like trendy nonsense to me," I said as we walked up to our gate. "You ever see the overhand grip thing?" I said.
Where did the RoH factor in, I wondered.
I sunk into my chair and fired up my ancient iPod. No wireless, no Bluetooth, and started an audiobook. Cherry cracked open a hardback of The Complete William Gibson that was printed with super thin pages like a Bible or Quran.
The audiobook of The Art of War played on "If you know the enemy and know yourself, you need not fear the result of a hundred battles. If you know yourself but not the enemy, for every victory gained you will also suffer a defeat. If you know neither the enemy nor yourself, you will succumb in every battle."
A dreamless sleep ensued. I jolted awake and we hadn't landed yet but the jolt felt like hitting the flight line.
Then we actually landed with an actual jolt and that was an extra jolt I wasn't ready for.
I shook off my irritation at being so easily disoriented and exited the plane. We recovered our checked bags and picked up our rental. - a nice solar panel body crew cab pickup - and rolled out of Phoenix Sky Harbor International Airport.
Cherry went right back to sleep and woke up after forty-five minutes and stared out into the landscape.
"Fuck this is boring..." she said.
"I have some audiobooks..."
"Bored but not desperate," she opened a smallish laptop.
"Think we're being watched, too?" I said.
"Undoubtedly, I wanna see if whatever is above us that's dipping the solar gathering panels is leaking any data," Cherry said as she opened a small laptop and did some software thing on the keyboard. "Yup."
"Drone?" I asked.
"Keeping pace with us from directly above, matching our speed, the battery is at 75%," she paused to read some data. "It's older than either of us! It's from 2009," Cherry marveled.
"That's the desert for you," I said. "It can be great for preserving certain things if you can keep it clear of dust. And from the age, I'd say it's friendly."
"How do you figure?" Cherry asked, rightfully concerned.
"Anything that old is probably a high-end civilian model, anything made before 2025 won't have a government kill switch," I said.
"Ah, killswitch killing, those were the days," Cherry mused. "Fifty credits a pop and at the height of the Protest Era there would be days I'd walk with a grand."
"Welcome," he said warmly and shook both our hands and matched the firmness of my handshake really precisely. There were some callouses on his palms and some harder ones on his fingertips.
Guitarist in addition to what?
"That's all very much in the past," he said. "Please, call me Ryan, Poli."
"Fries or chips?" She asked.
"Fries and two patties on the burger, everything on the burger except no mayo. Is this a Pepsi place or a Coke place?" Cherry said.
"Pepsi," the waitress said.
"Mountain Dew for the beverage," Cherry said, then corrected herself. "You have Jaritos, so do you have Jamica?" Cherry said, code-switching to a Mexican Spanish accent so it was "haritos hamayaka"
"You bet we do," The waitress scribbled it down and turned to me.
"Do you make a Reuben or a Rachel?" I asked.
"We have something called the Wonder Twins, one-half Rueben, one-half Rachel," the waitress said.
"I'll have that, with fries and a Dr. Pepper Plus," I said.
"The usual, jefe?" She asked Ryan. It was only one word but she had a similar sound to Cherry.
"Please," Ryan said, and the waitress departed.
"What, exactly, are you the jefe of, Ryan?" I asked.
"I'm a concerned community member," Ryan said with a tone similar to what members of organized crime will assure you with when they say they are "legitimate businessmen."
"And what's your concern now?" Cherry asked.
"I have a thumb drive," Ryan reached into his cardigan and produced it.
"I have a laptop, well several," Cherry said as she pulled out a small Unix book that was definitely a rescue and different from the laptop she used in the truck.
"What did you always, say?" Ryan asked.
"Always carry a spare," we both said in unison.
Ryan let out a little chuckle and the waitress appeared with our drinks on one hand and our plates - mine and Cherry's visibly steaming, Ryan's less so. She put the drinks down clockwise, and the plates down counterclockwise.
I will forever remain in awe of the physical efficiency restaurants teach people.
I picked one half of my Wonder Twin sandwich, bit into it, and tasted... real meat? In a diner?
"Whoa," I said and then made the Rueben half disappear.
Ryan's usual was a full platter: two eggs benedict, hashbrowns, and some sort of steak sandwich with a side salad. He started tucking into it right away while Cherry did this thing where she could type with one hand and use a touch screen with the other on the laptop she pulled out. I had no idea how she or anyone could even start learning how to work that way.
"This is ambitious," Cherry said trying to play it cool but there was a rare hint of awe in her voice.
"It is," Ryan said. "Is it doable?"
"Hardware guy; doable?" Cherry said and turned the laptop's screen toward me.
"It's gonna be... interesting; but yes," I said.
If Ryan detected our minor bullshit he didn't show it.
"Do you want our plan by Monday morning or are we launching Monday morning?" Cherry asked.
"You could be ready to launch Monday morning?" Ryan said, then his turn to be a little awe-struck.
"It'll be tight for sure; but..." Cherry looked at me.
"Hit up a Home Depot and," I said.
"Home Depot?!" Cherry chided, "This close to the border?!"
"Huh?" I said.
"We have a fun week ahead of us," Cherry said.
I knew fuck all about software so this was a bit Cherry and I would do, back up each other's expertise with a little razzle-dazzle.
Cherry picked up her burger, took a massive bite, and moaned at the taste.
It was a little awkward as Cherry started to demolish her sandwich so I filled the silence.
"What's with the real meat?" I asked.
"Uh, votes?" I ventured.
"And to get votes they need what?" Ryan prompted.
"Money," I said.
"Right, now what does Arizona have in abundance?"
"Sand?"
"And sun," Ryan said. "It's sunny nearly 98% of the time. Now what if every rooftop had solar panels? What if any new building above two stories was required to use solar window cells? Four years into it, if you're a resident of Arizona, you typically get a check because the state is generating so much electricity there is a surplus the surrounding states will pay for."
"You started Desert Power?" I asked.
"In one!" Ryan said. "Took some convincing for some people to vote for their own best interests by convincing them that voting for their own best interests was against their own best interests, but I've got pretty good at this whisper campaign stuff."
Cherry was speechless and then quietly said "Thank you." She paused for a moment. "We'd best get moving. Gotta find a tech-tianguis," Cherry said.
"Tech-tianguis?" the waitress said as she passed the check to Ryan who had three twenties and a five, she produced a business card and passed it to Cherry. "Marque este número - en realidad, márquelo físicamente - en una grabadora después del atardecer;" the waitress said as she counted out the change. It was ten and some coins, which Ryan gestured for her to keep, "Muchas gracias, jefe, te enviarán coordenadas. No respondas nada y destruyas completamente el teléfono. Quémalo y tritúralo."
"Muchas gracias, hermana," Cherry said.
Cherry slid out of the booth and Ryan did the same, and then they hugged and I saw her relax physically.
"You should come by Sunday night; we have a 'found family' dinner. It's a once-a-month thing, some of the old team will be there."
"I'll be there," Cherry said.
"Good to meet you, sir," I said and he shook my hand again.
"Likewise, Ulyee. You two stay looking out for each other, and I won't have a worry," Ryan said.
"Bet," I said.
...
We stopped at a gas station on the way to our hotel in Yuma.
An entire wall was devoted to refrigerators with enough energy drinks to keep a whole company of soldiers running hot for a week, there were the usual "plus" "extra," and "-E" brands, and then the harder stuff that used Metadrine© which the advertising alleged was "fully non-addictive!"
I remember some pissed-off Corpsman at the Veterans Administration Hospital saying "People don't get addicted to pain killers, they are born addicted to not being in pain." I don't know how that worked with stimulants; maybe getting addicted to being alert? Or maybe it was that sense of certainty. A certainty that you'd be awake, alive, ready to fight.
Certainty is definitely addictive.
I found a Throwback Edition Nokia vending machine next to an ammunition vending machine whose lights were out next to a Red Box, a Coinstar machine, a raggedy-looking crypto exchanger, and an ATM.
Yet there was also a cashier.
He - safe to assume gender in a red state, if not necessary - had more tattoos than hair but the tattoos were all of the rebels in Star Wars on the left arm and all blue ghosts on the right, even Palpatine which I didn't recall being cannon but who knows with the newer movies.
"Is the ammo box out of order?" I asked.
"Boss only wants it cut on after we see some I.D.," he said through a buzzy speaker. I walked up to the counter and slapped my Illinois driver's license against the thick glass; using the DC I.D. could go either way literally anywhere else in the United States.
The cashier reached below the counter and the ammo vending machine's lights buzzed to life. I walked back over to it to see what it had to offer.
"Damn, what's with all the Glazers?"
"::bzzz::: There were a few home invasions like ten years ago in a new development, some guy went all crazy with a rifle and all the dry-wall may as well have not even been there. Killed his wife and shot his son through the spine."
Concealment, not cover, I thought automatically.
"Fuck," I said. I put a hundred dollar bill in the machine and got 1 box of regular 9mm Paras and another box of 9mm Glazers, the machine spit out a penny. Cheaper than I expected.
Fucking Red states.
I laughed and put the penny in my pocket.
"And these," I said placing the bottles in front of him. He rang them up without saying anything, probably realizing he'd overshared a fairly dark story with a stranger.
I wanted to say something like it's okay; everyone is so isolated these days it's easy to just share only what we think is most relevant immediately...
Instead, I put another hundred down in front of him for the Jarritos and left before he could give me change so I didn't make it worse.
I got in the truck, passed the phone to Cherry, and pulled out the checked case. I took the weapon out and magazines out and, loaded the 9 mm Paras into one magazine, and then another and inserted a magazine into the weapon, closed up the kit, and got back in the driver's seat holding the weapon by the barrel.
I opened the center console to find that it had its own holster.
"Well, shit," I said. "Side arms right here if the need arises and I'm driving, nothing chambered so rack it, first."
Cherry nodded and then got to work on whatever the fuck it was Ryan had proposed.
We checked into a La Quinta first and put it on a card, then went down the street to a Holiday Inn where we would really be staying and paid cash using the name Josh Brolin, an old movie star who played Gurney Halleck.
We dropped our regular luggage in our room on the 3rd floor, near the stairs per the regular constant guidance and Cherry told me to shower first because "This hair takes forever."
"It's a sort of Floating market, if we're lucky they'll have booth space open and we won't even have to use money," Cherry said.
"A booth?" Not using money at all was the best possible choice, but I was wary of engaging too many people while working on a contract.
"How long do you think you'll be gone?" Larry asked in between bites.
"Couple of days maybe, it's a big payout though, so it may take longer;" I said. "They may not be completely honest about what they want."
"They never are," Larry sighed. He was speaking from the chef's perspective, but he was still right. He would tell me horror stories about people not knowing what the word "ingredients" actually meant.
I ran into that in a way. People did not know what "coding" meant.
Larry finished and cleared the plates.
"You wanna split a cab? They can drop you at Dulles, drop me at work the way back?" Larry was efficient as much as he was sweet.
"Sure."
...
I kissed Larry goodbye and hugged him as the driver popped the trunk so I could retrieve my things.
"Safe travels," the driver said with the sincerity of the working class.
Every time I left I wondered if I deserved Larry's abundant patience.
Dulles on a Tuesday morning is a quiet, weird place. Really, all airports are weird, but on weekdays it's way more pronounced. There are hotels next to them and parking lots, but no more suburbs: they were all broken down and recycled and the land was left to re-wild.
Someone was able to convince some rich asshole that more trees mean fewer tornadoes.
You could see the threshold where the modern world ended and the regrown wilderness began. The constant sounds of nature just being nature surrounded most airports now. So much so that in smaller cities like Baltimore and Alexandria, you could hear the distant, barely adolescent forests in the wee hours between the bars closing and the coffee shops opening.
I pushed my way into the place and when the door closed behind me the sudden cut-off of nature sounds felt ugly. Cherry caught sight of me and shouted to me startling the few other commuters.
"Hey, Scooby!" Cherry shouted.
"What's up, Scrappy?!" I shouted back. I got within normal speaking distance and I asked "How are you feeling?" We embraced like the found family we were.
"I feel great!" She bounced around.
"All healed?" I asked.
"I've like, given up on the whole relationship thing for a little while and I'm just enjoying my shower head."
I nearly fell over laughing. Cherry was always funny.
"You know you'd be a pretty laaaadyyyyy" Cherry sang.
"Let's get going, Scrappy," I chuckled.
"Anything to declare?" said the Transport Trooper when we arrived at the gate. He was a big, dark brown dude. Had seen some shit somewhere recently for sure because had that "ready to strike" air about him.
"Yes Sir, here is my check-in kit," I passed him my weapon case. He didn't correct me calling him "Sir," so he may have been an officer.
"And here's MINE!" Cherry said hefted a larger case.
"Oh, honey, what are you doing..." I said.
"Do you have passes?" asked the T-Trooper.
We presented both of ours. He scanned them and ran our check-ins through the X-ray machine.
"Damn, girl!" he said. There was a moment when I didn't know who he was talking to. "How you like that G36-Zulu-Bravo, though?"
"It's so good!" Cherry said, doing another little dance. "You should get one! I know a guy if you're reallllllly nice..."
The T-Trooper blushed damn near to his ears. "Yeah, yeah... lemme know..." he said, his ears visibly burning.
I pushed my way into the place and when the door closed behind me the sudden cut-off of nature sounds felt ugly. Cherry caught sight of me and shouted to me startling the few other commuters.
"Hey, Scooby!" Cherry shouted.
"What's up, Scrappy?!" I shouted back. I got within normal speaking distance and I asked "How are you feeling?" We embraced like the found family we were.
"I feel great!" She bounced around.
"All healed?" I asked.
"I've like, given up on the whole relationship thing for a little while and I'm just enjoying my shower head."
I nearly fell over laughing. Cherry was always funny.
"You know you'd be a pretty laaaadyyyyy" Cherry sang.
"Let's get going, Scrappy," I chuckled.
"Anything to declare?" said the Transport Trooper when we arrived at the gate. He was a big, dark brown dude. Had seen some shit somewhere recently for sure because had that "ready to strike" air about him.
"Yes Sir, here is my check-in kit," I passed him my weapon case. He didn't correct me calling him "Sir," so he may have been an officer.
"And here's MINE!" Cherry said hefted a larger case.
"Oh, honey, what are you doing..." I said.
"Do you have passes?" asked the T-Trooper.
We presented both of ours. He scanned them and ran our check-ins through the X-ray machine.
"Damn, girl!" he said. There was a moment when I didn't know who he was talking to. "How you like that G36-Zulu-Bravo, though?"
"It's so good!" Cherry said, doing another little dance. "You should get one! I know a guy if you're reallllllly nice..."
The T-Trooper blushed damn near to his ears. "Yeah, yeah... lemme know..." he said, his ears visibly burning.
He let us pass through after we were far enough away I said "You're fucking terrible!"
Cherry was a charisma machine. Before she was military IT, she was intel with a specialty in HUMINT and she could get Lady MacBeth to turn on her husband.
"Did they slip their number into your carry-on bag?" I asked.
"Right in the front pocket, too." She produced his card.
"You are just too bad," I said.
"You don't think I should?" Cherry asked.
"He'll at least give your shower head a break..." I said.
"Either that or I'll give it a name and apply for a marriage license," Cherry admitted. "Showerhead doesn't criticize my cooking."
"Anything that has a mouth probably has negative thoughts about your cooking, Battle," I said.
"I got COVID when I was kid, my curry has to eat through the hull or it's like eating cardboard!" Cherry sputtered. "A sea turtle would enjoy it. They eat jellyfish tendrils," she said.
Cherry was a charisma machine. Before she was military IT, she was intel with a specialty in HUMINT and she could get Lady MacBeth to turn on her husband.
"Did they slip their number into your carry-on bag?" I asked.
"Right in the front pocket, too." She produced his card.
"You are just too bad," I said.
"You don't think I should?" Cherry asked.
"He'll at least give your shower head a break..." I said.
"Either that or I'll give it a name and apply for a marriage license," Cherry admitted. "Showerhead doesn't criticize my cooking."
"Anything that has a mouth probably has negative thoughts about your cooking, Battle," I said.
"I got COVID when I was kid, my curry has to eat through the hull or it's like eating cardboard!" Cherry sputtered. "A sea turtle would enjoy it. They eat jellyfish tendrils," she said.
"I'm legit curious," I said, but Cherry's sour face said I should change the subject. "That's easily 20 thousand you got in that weapon!"
"More like 27," Cherry said, happy again. "It was carved out of a single block of an an aluminum titanium alloy by fair trade certified artisans in 'West by God' Virginia, skeletonized wherever possible AND it has a bolt that I can switch out for telescopic ammunition!"
"That sounds like trendy nonsense to me," I said as we walked up to our gate. "You ever see the overhand grip thing?" I said.
"The what? Overhand grip a rifle?" Cherry asked, bewildered.
"It was a thing in 2023 when I was four or so," I said as we presented our IDs to the attendant at the gate.
"It was a thing in 2023 when I was four or so," I said as we presented our IDs to the attendant at the gate.
"I can't picture it," Cherry said. "In 2023 I was a stripper."
"Like this..." I said trying to imitate the gesture, holding one hand extended in front of me making an 'o' shape with my thumb pointing to the ground.
"That's gotta be old-timer bullshit, like stress cards," Cherry said we went through the tunnel to enter the aircraft. "Every new generation has had to tell the previous generation that, no, those were not issued, those were never issued, enjoy the beer at the VFW without posting on fucking Reddit," Cherry said.
I googled it to find it was called "thumb over bore," and people were still apparently using it.
"See here," I said and showed my phone to Cherry as we walked.
"That really does look like a bunch of old timers made it up and got a company of FNG's doing it," Cherry said. She paused and then said. "I used your training method by the way, and I think the 709th Biscuit* still uses it."
"I mean look, I say 'whatever is most comfortable with whatever weapon' but remind me to tell you about that training method next time you get bored," I said. "Where are we meeting our point of contact?"
"ArizonaBigChief420 at gmail dot com," Cherry said as we found our seats, "Wants us to meet them at the Space Age Diner in Gila Bend. Ever been there?"
"It's the definition of a 'one-horse town,'" I said.
"Job is probably out of Yuma," Cherry said. "They supply lettuce, cabbage, spinach, oranges, and lemons for CONUS; and get this; they are the sole supplier of non-indigenous produce to the Republic of Hawaii."
"Well, that gives us a clue," I said as I processed that information with what already knew.
Moving perishable goods required very tight timing from harvest to transport.
I figured we'd bork up about half the trucks for a few weeks from inside the state, humans swoop in and save the day for their regular pay, then something else seemingly unrelated will go wrong, maybe trains and they'll need two-person driving teams to keep up on weekly deliveries.
There is usually a third step where the unions force something like four rich people who have all mistaken millions of dollars for wisdom, intelligence, and charisma to admit that they have none of those things and it is time to bargain.
"Like this..." I said trying to imitate the gesture, holding one hand extended in front of me making an 'o' shape with my thumb pointing to the ground.
"That's gotta be old-timer bullshit, like stress cards," Cherry said we went through the tunnel to enter the aircraft. "Every new generation has had to tell the previous generation that, no, those were not issued, those were never issued, enjoy the beer at the VFW without posting on fucking Reddit," Cherry said.
I googled it to find it was called "thumb over bore," and people were still apparently using it.
"See here," I said and showed my phone to Cherry as we walked.
"That really does look like a bunch of old timers made it up and got a company of FNG's doing it," Cherry said. She paused and then said. "I used your training method by the way, and I think the 709th Biscuit* still uses it."
"I mean look, I say 'whatever is most comfortable with whatever weapon' but remind me to tell you about that training method next time you get bored," I said. "Where are we meeting our point of contact?"
"ArizonaBigChief420 at gmail dot com," Cherry said as we found our seats, "Wants us to meet them at the Space Age Diner in Gila Bend. Ever been there?"
"It's the definition of a 'one-horse town,'" I said.
"Job is probably out of Yuma," Cherry said. "They supply lettuce, cabbage, spinach, oranges, and lemons for CONUS; and get this; they are the sole supplier of non-indigenous produce to the Republic of Hawaii."
"Well, that gives us a clue," I said as I processed that information with what already knew.
Moving perishable goods required very tight timing from harvest to transport.
I figured we'd bork up about half the trucks for a few weeks from inside the state, humans swoop in and save the day for their regular pay, then something else seemingly unrelated will go wrong, maybe trains and they'll need two-person driving teams to keep up on weekly deliveries.
There is usually a third step where the unions force something like four rich people who have all mistaken millions of dollars for wisdom, intelligence, and charisma to admit that they have none of those things and it is time to bargain.
Where did the RoH factor in, I wondered.
I sunk into my chair and fired up my ancient iPod. No wireless, no Bluetooth, and started an audiobook. Cherry cracked open a hardback of The Complete William Gibson that was printed with super thin pages like a Bible or Quran.
The audiobook of The Art of War played on "If you know the enemy and know yourself, you need not fear the result of a hundred battles. If you know yourself but not the enemy, for every victory gained you will also suffer a defeat. If you know neither the enemy nor yourself, you will succumb in every battle."
A dreamless sleep ensued. I jolted awake and we hadn't landed yet but the jolt felt like hitting the flight line.
Then we actually landed with an actual jolt and that was an extra jolt I wasn't ready for.
I shook off my irritation at being so easily disoriented and exited the plane. We recovered our checked bags and picked up our rental. - a nice solar panel body crew cab pickup - and rolled out of Phoenix Sky Harbor International Airport.
Cherry went right back to sleep and woke up after forty-five minutes and stared out into the landscape.
"Fuck this is boring..." she said.
"I have some audiobooks..."
"Bored but not desperate," she opened a smallish laptop.
"Think we're being watched, too?" I said.
"Undoubtedly, I wanna see if whatever is above us that's dipping the solar gathering panels is leaking any data," Cherry said as she opened a small laptop and did some software thing on the keyboard. "Yup."
"Drone?" I asked.
"Keeping pace with us from directly above, matching our speed, the battery is at 75%," she paused to read some data. "It's older than either of us! It's from 2009," Cherry marveled.
"That's the desert for you," I said. "It can be great for preserving certain things if you can keep it clear of dust. And from the age, I'd say it's friendly."
"How do you figure?" Cherry asked, rightfully concerned.
"Anything that old is probably a high-end civilian model, anything made before 2025 won't have a government kill switch," I said.
"Ah, killswitch killing, those were the days," Cherry mused. "Fifty credits a pop and at the height of the Protest Era there would be days I'd walk with a grand."
"What was that, one month's rent for that pod apartment?" I asked.
"Ugh, that fucking place," Cherry griped. "Three of the six rooms were Air BnB's for god knows who doing god knows what. Always ended up cleaning that stupid shared kitchen."
"Hell of view, though," I said.
"Goddamned right it was! The only room with a window and that window cost me an extra three hundred a month," Cherry said.
"Hell of view, though," I said.
"Goddamned right it was! The only room with a window and that window cost me an extra three hundred a month," Cherry said.
She was quiet for a long time and then put on some lo-fi hip-hop to fill the silence.
...
We pulled into the Space Age Restaurant, it was lavishly decorated in UFO Kitsch on the outside. It was listed as one of the Top Ten Restaurants in Gila Bend. That seemed like a cheat to me because there were only ten restaurants in Gila Bend.
Cherry opened a virtual burner phone app on the laptop and sent a message to ArizonaChief420.
Seconds felt like hours while we waited for a response.
It was rare to get canceled after we'd agreed to show up, but it did happen from time to time.
When we first started out as an LLC we had a contract that beckoned us to Seattle only to have them ghost us harder than a CIA agent after a coup.
We had to pick up any and all gigs to earn enough money to get plane tickets back to the East Coast. This was before we knew about Gold Passes or how to navigate the extensive but insanely complex veteran-supporting bureaucracy.
Learning the hard way, that's us.
"He's inside," Cherry said. "'Look for the guy that looks like a high school history teacher,'"
"That's fucking specific," I said as I shut off the vehicle. I stepped out into the Arizona heat from the air-conditioned truck with a perverse pleasure.
The heat reminded me of the humanitarian tours I did in Egypt, Iraq, Syria, and Palestine.
Every day I went to bed dog ass tired and slept deep sleeps dreaming only of all the people I'd helped and would be helping the next day.
The heat became part of my joy. To feel a heat that millions if not billions of other humans had felt over the centuries and knowing I shared this heat while doing my best work?
There really isn't a word for that feeling in English.
"Blech," said Cherry.
"Now, now, at least..." I started.
"Shut up, weirdo," Cherry said before I could say "It's a dry heat."
The Space Age Restaurant kept the UFO theme throughout the interior interspersed with the diner standards of chrome and that one incredibly specific teal that all diners appeared to share.
In the corner, there was a circular booth, and sure enough, there was a clean-cut guy in horn-rimmed glasses with greying hair on his temples. He was dressed in a beige cardigan and a light blue button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled up just past elbows that had had that weird pointy quality you see on older folks that stayed in fighting shape.
He slid out of the booth with surprising speed to greet us and I saw he was even wearing regular khaki pants. Not a pair of those corpo-tactical things that amateur mercenaries favored and just a regular braided belt but there were clip suspenders as well.
...
We pulled into the Space Age Restaurant, it was lavishly decorated in UFO Kitsch on the outside. It was listed as one of the Top Ten Restaurants in Gila Bend. That seemed like a cheat to me because there were only ten restaurants in Gila Bend.
Cherry opened a virtual burner phone app on the laptop and sent a message to ArizonaChief420.
Seconds felt like hours while we waited for a response.
It was rare to get canceled after we'd agreed to show up, but it did happen from time to time.
When we first started out as an LLC we had a contract that beckoned us to Seattle only to have them ghost us harder than a CIA agent after a coup.
We had to pick up any and all gigs to earn enough money to get plane tickets back to the East Coast. This was before we knew about Gold Passes or how to navigate the extensive but insanely complex veteran-supporting bureaucracy.
Learning the hard way, that's us.
"He's inside," Cherry said. "'Look for the guy that looks like a high school history teacher,'"
"That's fucking specific," I said as I shut off the vehicle. I stepped out into the Arizona heat from the air-conditioned truck with a perverse pleasure.
The heat reminded me of the humanitarian tours I did in Egypt, Iraq, Syria, and Palestine.
Every day I went to bed dog ass tired and slept deep sleeps dreaming only of all the people I'd helped and would be helping the next day.
The heat became part of my joy. To feel a heat that millions if not billions of other humans had felt over the centuries and knowing I shared this heat while doing my best work?
There really isn't a word for that feeling in English.
"Blech," said Cherry.
"Now, now, at least..." I started.
"Shut up, weirdo," Cherry said before I could say "It's a dry heat."
The Space Age Restaurant kept the UFO theme throughout the interior interspersed with the diner standards of chrome and that one incredibly specific teal that all diners appeared to share.
In the corner, there was a circular booth, and sure enough, there was a clean-cut guy in horn-rimmed glasses with greying hair on his temples. He was dressed in a beige cardigan and a light blue button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled up just past elbows that had had that weird pointy quality you see on older folks that stayed in fighting shape.
He slid out of the booth with surprising speed to greet us and I saw he was even wearing regular khaki pants. Not a pair of those corpo-tactical things that amateur mercenaries favored and just a regular braided belt but there were clip suspenders as well.
Belt plus suspenders screamed high-level non-commissioned officer.
"Welcome," he said warmly and shook both our hands and matched the firmness of my handshake really precisely. There were some callouses on his palms and some harder ones on his fingertips.
Guitarist in addition to what?
He waited for us both to sit down before he retook his place with Cherry sitting on the outside edge of the booth and me in the middle facing the entrance.
Old habits die hard, even when they are actually outdated and ineffective.
No visible tattoos, nothing poking out around his neck or at the elbows. A photograph of the guy would be next to the dictionary next to an entry for "shucks," but seeing him move just in and out of the booth anyone could tell he had known some dangerous business.
"I'm nothing like you expected," he said in a soothing voice like warm cider, "That's by design."
"Well, I figured with an email address like that it was either you to a tee or complete misdirection," Cherry said.
"That's almost true," the history teacher admitted.
"You use edibles," I said.
"Correct," he smiled. "Can't be smelling like a sanctuary city in a state redder than a doggone fire truck."
"Certainly not, Sir," Cherry said.
Old habits die hard, even when they are actually outdated and ineffective.
No visible tattoos, nothing poking out around his neck or at the elbows. A photograph of the guy would be next to the dictionary next to an entry for "shucks," but seeing him move just in and out of the booth anyone could tell he had known some dangerous business.
"I'm nothing like you expected," he said in a soothing voice like warm cider, "That's by design."
"Well, I figured with an email address like that it was either you to a tee or complete misdirection," Cherry said.
"That's almost true," the history teacher admitted.
"You use edibles," I said.
"Correct," he smiled. "Can't be smelling like a sanctuary city in a state redder than a doggone fire truck."
"Certainly not, Sir," Cherry said.
"That's all very much in the past," he said. "Please, call me Ryan, Poli."
Poli was a name for Cherry from at least a hundred lifetimes ago. I suddenly felt a juvenile unease like if I ran into my actual high school history teacher outside of school at a punk show.
"And, Captain, Retired, Politskya, what are you going by now?" Ryan asked.
"Cherry," she said with a smile.
"It suits you," he said. "This, I assume, is Mr...."
"Ulyee," I said. "Short for you Ulysses."
"And, Captain, Retired, Politskya, what are you going by now?" Ryan asked.
"Cherry," she said with a smile.
"It suits you," he said. "This, I assume, is Mr...."
"Ulyee," I said. "Short for you Ulysses."
"Like the general or the character?" Ryan asked.
"Both. Mom was a soldier and a classics professor," I said.
"Hell of a combo, not unlike yourselves," Ryan said. Something about how he said "yourselves," was still deciding if our reputation meant we were just really good or a threat.
"We try to stay humble," Cherry said.
A waitress appeared and put water down in front of each of us with a pitcher of water because the desert. Her name tag was Jones-Francisco; not her first name like I'd expect to see in retail and service jobs.
"Do you need more time?"
"Perish the thought," Cherry said. "You make a cheeseburger here?"
"Both. Mom was a soldier and a classics professor," I said.
"Hell of a combo, not unlike yourselves," Ryan said. Something about how he said "yourselves," was still deciding if our reputation meant we were just really good or a threat.
"We try to stay humble," Cherry said.
A waitress appeared and put water down in front of each of us with a pitcher of water because the desert. Her name tag was Jones-Francisco; not her first name like I'd expect to see in retail and service jobs.
"Do you need more time?"
"Perish the thought," Cherry said. "You make a cheeseburger here?"
"Fries or chips?" She asked.
"Fries and two patties on the burger, everything on the burger except no mayo. Is this a Pepsi place or a Coke place?" Cherry said.
"Pepsi," the waitress said.
"Mountain Dew for the beverage," Cherry said, then corrected herself. "You have Jaritos, so do you have Jamica?" Cherry said, code-switching to a Mexican Spanish accent so it was "haritos hamayaka"
"You bet we do," The waitress scribbled it down and turned to me.
"Do you make a Reuben or a Rachel?" I asked.
"We have something called the Wonder Twins, one-half Rueben, one-half Rachel," the waitress said.
"I'll have that, with fries and a Dr. Pepper Plus," I said.
"The usual, jefe?" She asked Ryan. It was only one word but she had a similar sound to Cherry.
"Please," Ryan said, and the waitress departed.
"What, exactly, are you the jefe of, Ryan?" I asked.
"I'm a concerned community member," Ryan said with a tone similar to what members of organized crime will assure you with when they say they are "legitimate businessmen."
"And what's your concern now?" Cherry asked.
"I have a thumb drive," Ryan reached into his cardigan and produced it.
"I have a laptop, well several," Cherry said as she pulled out a small Unix book that was definitely a rescue and different from the laptop she used in the truck.
"What did you always, say?" Ryan asked.
"Always carry a spare," we both said in unison.
Ryan let out a little chuckle and the waitress appeared with our drinks on one hand and our plates - mine and Cherry's visibly steaming, Ryan's less so. She put the drinks down clockwise, and the plates down counterclockwise.
I will forever remain in awe of the physical efficiency restaurants teach people.
I picked one half of my Wonder Twin sandwich, bit into it, and tasted... real meat? In a diner?
"Whoa," I said and then made the Rueben half disappear.
Ryan's usual was a full platter: two eggs benedict, hashbrowns, and some sort of steak sandwich with a side salad. He started tucking into it right away while Cherry did this thing where she could type with one hand and use a touch screen with the other on the laptop she pulled out. I had no idea how she or anyone could even start learning how to work that way.
"This is ambitious," Cherry said trying to play it cool but there was a rare hint of awe in her voice.
"It is," Ryan said. "Is it doable?"
"Hardware guy; doable?" Cherry said and turned the laptop's screen toward me.
"It's gonna be... interesting; but yes," I said.
If Ryan detected our minor bullshit he didn't show it.
"Do you want our plan by Monday morning or are we launching Monday morning?" Cherry asked.
"You could be ready to launch Monday morning?" Ryan said, then his turn to be a little awe-struck.
"It'll be tight for sure; but..." Cherry looked at me.
"Hit up a Home Depot and," I said.
"Home Depot?!" Cherry chided, "This close to the border?!"
"Huh?" I said.
"We have a fun week ahead of us," Cherry said.
I knew fuck all about software so this was a bit Cherry and I would do, back up each other's expertise with a little razzle-dazzle.
Cherry picked up her burger, took a massive bite, and moaned at the taste.
It was a little awkward as Cherry started to demolish her sandwich so I filled the silence.
"What's with the real meat?" I asked.
"Politicians are relatively easy to manipulate especially when you use their own words against them," Ryan smiled then. "You can get them to subsidize real meat like they used to do oil."
"Can you be more specific?" I asked, genuinely curious.
"Sure," Ryan said as he took a wet nap from the center of the table, opened it, and began meticulously wiping his hands down. "When I was a 19-year-old, people would get elected by going on and on about silly nonsense like 'they want to take away your hamburgers!' Now, your average senator from local to state to federal needs what, all the time?"
"Can you be more specific?" I asked, genuinely curious.
"Sure," Ryan said as he took a wet nap from the center of the table, opened it, and began meticulously wiping his hands down. "When I was a 19-year-old, people would get elected by going on and on about silly nonsense like 'they want to take away your hamburgers!' Now, your average senator from local to state to federal needs what, all the time?"
"Uh, votes?" I ventured.
"And to get votes they need what?" Ryan prompted.
"Money," I said.
"Right, now what does Arizona have in abundance?"
"Sand?"
"And sun," Ryan said. "It's sunny nearly 98% of the time. Now what if every rooftop had solar panels? What if any new building above two stories was required to use solar window cells? Four years into it, if you're a resident of Arizona, you typically get a check because the state is generating so much electricity there is a surplus the surrounding states will pay for."
"You started Desert Power?" I asked.
"Well, I didn't name it that," Ryan said. "Meanwhile the whole southwest said 'We'd like those energy surplus checks, too!'"
"And goodbye oil money," I said.
"And Hello to quite a few things, but especially some of the greenest cattle ranchers down around Madera Canyon," Ryan said.
"Literal red meat for the base," I said.
"And goodbye oil money," I said.
"And Hello to quite a few things, but especially some of the greenest cattle ranchers down around Madera Canyon," Ryan said.
"Literal red meat for the base," I said.
"In one!" Ryan said. "Took some convincing for some people to vote for their own best interests by convincing them that voting for their own best interests was against their own best interests, but I've got pretty good at this whisper campaign stuff."
"Christ, politics is a weird business," I said.
"Politics, you know, is just war by a peaceful means," Ryan said.
"You haven't changed a bit," Cherry said with a laugh.
"I guess not," Ryan admitted. "You can take the boy outta the army," he shrugged.
"But not the army outta the boy," Cherry said.
"Or girl for that matter," Ryan said. "It's damned good to see you, captain, as you were meant to be," Ryan said.
"Politics, you know, is just war by a peaceful means," Ryan said.
"You haven't changed a bit," Cherry said with a laugh.
"I guess not," Ryan admitted. "You can take the boy outta the army," he shrugged.
"But not the army outta the boy," Cherry said.
"Or girl for that matter," Ryan said. "It's damned good to see you, captain, as you were meant to be," Ryan said.
Cherry was speechless and then quietly said "Thank you." She paused for a moment. "We'd best get moving. Gotta find a tech-tianguis," Cherry said.
"Tech-tianguis?" the waitress said as she passed the check to Ryan who had three twenties and a five, she produced a business card and passed it to Cherry. "Marque este número - en realidad, márquelo físicamente - en una grabadora después del atardecer;" the waitress said as she counted out the change. It was ten and some coins, which Ryan gestured for her to keep, "Muchas gracias, jefe, te enviarán coordenadas. No respondas nada y destruyas completamente el teléfono. Quémalo y tritúralo."
"Muchas gracias, hermana," Cherry said.
Cherry slid out of the booth and Ryan did the same, and then they hugged and I saw her relax physically.
"You should come by Sunday night; we have a 'found family' dinner. It's a once-a-month thing, some of the old team will be there."
"I'll be there," Cherry said.
"Good to meet you, sir," I said and he shook my hand again.
"Likewise, Ulyee. You two stay looking out for each other, and I won't have a worry," Ryan said.
"Bet," I said.
...
We stopped at a gas station on the way to our hotel in Yuma.
An entire wall was devoted to refrigerators with enough energy drinks to keep a whole company of soldiers running hot for a week, there were the usual "plus" "extra," and "-E" brands, and then the harder stuff that used Metadrine© which the advertising alleged was "fully non-addictive!"
I remember some pissed-off Corpsman at the Veterans Administration Hospital saying "People don't get addicted to pain killers, they are born addicted to not being in pain." I don't know how that worked with stimulants; maybe getting addicted to being alert? Or maybe it was that sense of certainty. A certainty that you'd be awake, alive, ready to fight.
Certainty is definitely addictive.
I found a Throwback Edition Nokia vending machine next to an ammunition vending machine whose lights were out next to a Red Box, a Coinstar machine, a raggedy-looking crypto exchanger, and an ATM.
Yet there was also a cashier.
He - safe to assume gender in a red state, if not necessary - had more tattoos than hair but the tattoos were all of the rebels in Star Wars on the left arm and all blue ghosts on the right, even Palpatine which I didn't recall being cannon but who knows with the newer movies.
"Is the ammo box out of order?" I asked.
"Boss only wants it cut on after we see some I.D.," he said through a buzzy speaker. I walked up to the counter and slapped my Illinois driver's license against the thick glass; using the DC I.D. could go either way literally anywhere else in the United States.
The cashier reached below the counter and the ammo vending machine's lights buzzed to life. I walked back over to it to see what it had to offer.
"Damn, what's with all the Glazers?"
"::bzzz::: There were a few home invasions like ten years ago in a new development, some guy went all crazy with a rifle and all the dry-wall may as well have not even been there. Killed his wife and shot his son through the spine."
Concealment, not cover, I thought automatically.
"Fuck," I said. I put a hundred dollar bill in the machine and got 1 box of regular 9mm Paras and another box of 9mm Glazers, the machine spit out a penny. Cheaper than I expected.
Fucking Red states.
I laughed and put the penny in my pocket.
I put another hundred dollars worth of smaller bills into the Nokia machine and got four cell phones. Then I went to the beverage cabinets and pulled out four bottles of Jaritos in red, orange, yellow, and green and took them to the cashier.
"And these," I said placing the bottles in front of him. He rang them up without saying anything, probably realizing he'd overshared a fairly dark story with a stranger.
I wanted to say something like it's okay; everyone is so isolated these days it's easy to just share only what we think is most relevant immediately...
Instead, I put another hundred down in front of him for the Jarritos and left before he could give me change so I didn't make it worse.
I got in the truck, passed the phone to Cherry, and pulled out the checked case. I took the weapon out and magazines out and, loaded the 9 mm Paras into one magazine, and then another and inserted a magazine into the weapon, closed up the kit, and got back in the driver's seat holding the weapon by the barrel.
I opened the center console to find that it had its own holster.
"Well, shit," I said. "Side arms right here if the need arises and I'm driving, nothing chambered so rack it, first."
Cherry nodded and then got to work on whatever the fuck it was Ryan had proposed.
We checked into a La Quinta first and put it on a card, then went down the street to a Holiday Inn where we would really be staying and paid cash using the name Josh Brolin, an old movie star who played Gurney Halleck.
We dropped our regular luggage in our room on the 3rd floor, near the stairs per the regular constant guidance and Cherry told me to shower first because "This hair takes forever."
I did a quick scrub and rinse and stepped out and she stepped in with a whole shower caddy that was a little silly but her hair was the longest I'd ever seen it and I'll never grow my hair longer than a zero razor.
I turned on the TV and clicked around until I found Spongebob Squarepants. The credits were just ending and the opening for the next episode started.
Cherry burst out the door in an explosion of steam and floral scents shouting "ARE YOU READY KIDS?!"
I faced away from her out of some weird sense of something and said "Aye, aye captain!"
"I CAN'T HEEEAR YOU!" Cherry shouted and I heard her jumping on the bed.
"AYE, AYE CAPTAIN!" I shouted.
"OOOOOO, WHO LIVES IN A PINEAPPLE UNDER THE SEA?!"
"SPONGE BOB SQUARE PANTS!" I shouted at the wall.
"Battle, we've showered together before," she said.
"I thought it would be," I started.
"Gender affirming?" Cherry finished.
"Gender affirming?" Cherry finished.
"Yes," I said.
"You know it kinda is! Anyway, SPONGE BOB SQUARE PANTS SPONGE BOB SQUARE PANTS!"
I sat down on the bed still facing the wall and muted the TV. "What is a tech-tianguis, exactly?" I asked as I heard the squish of Cherry drying her hair.
"It's a sort of Floating market, if we're lucky they'll have booth space open and we won't even have to use money," Cherry said.
"A booth?" Not using money at all was the best possible choice, but I was wary of engaging too many people while working on a contract.
"It's like a labor exchange," Cherry said. "They evolved to keep non-Americans safe from Americans."
"I didn't... I didn't know it was that bad," I said.
"I forgot you're young as hell...from 2016 to 2045 every four years America had the World Cup for the biggest fucking asshole in your - sorry, our - country and by extension the Western world."
I had to laugh at that. "Touché,"
"Mexicans never fucking wanted to be American," Cherry said as I heard her towel unwrap.
"You can turn around now," Cherry said. "So we can have a real conversation, and you can see my tattoo!"
I turned around and so did Cherry, revealing a huge tattoo across her shoulders that was a tribute to William Gibson's Neuromancer; in slices from the first to the 2034 editions with his signature across her upper back in a red so rich it raised the temperature of the room.
"That's fucking sick, Battle," I said.
I had to laugh at that. "Touché,"
"Mexicans never fucking wanted to be American," Cherry said as I heard her towel unwrap.
"You can turn around now," Cherry said. "So we can have a real conversation, and you can see my tattoo!"
I turned around and so did Cherry, revealing a huge tattoo across her shoulders that was a tribute to William Gibson's Neuromancer; in slices from the first to the 2034 editions with his signature across her upper back in a red so rich it raised the temperature of the room.
"That's fucking sick, Battle," I said.
"You like it?" Cherry asked.
"I love it, it's very you," I said.
"I love it, it's very you," I said.
Cherry turned around to reveal a body that was in fact quite feminine. I hadn't seen her breasts before but she was the "dangerously sexy bitch" she used to draw in the margins of her intel notes.
"You were saying?" I said because stay on task.
"Where was I?" Cherry asked as searched for a bra.
"You were saying?" I said because stay on task.
"Where was I?" Cherry asked as searched for a bra.
"World Cup for assholes," I said.
"Right, The winner of the Asshole World Cup would stir up the border shit or would leave the previous asshole's laws in place and it would actually become even faster and even cheaper to just become citizens," Cherry said as she put a sports bra on, then she picked a shirt up and rolled it down her upper body.
"Then you had the division qualifiers for asshole;" Cherry said as she removed everything in the pockets of her previous faded black pants to the olive-drab pants, pocket by pocket. "Every governor and congress critter trying to 'crackdown' on 'immigrants'" she said as she made the air quotes.
Cherry stared at all of her gear as it was laid out and clicked her tongue, she put three small laptops in her side bag then flicked open a mean-looking Vanta black knife and started opening the Nokias.
"Police, Border patrol, and the National Guard used civilian HUMINT more than anything. Even if someone didn't like the border patrol or police, they trusted the National Guard but you know how they'd all really catch people?" Cherry said.
"How?" I asked.
"Appliance repair shops, house call repair guys," she said as she opened the Nokias. "Mechanics run by MAGA gringos or worse, so Latinos had to repair their own stuff or find someone safe to do it. Immigrants always had to be more self-sufficient within their communities but it became about survival when border states started offering bounties."
"So tech tianguis," I said. "Does it need to be as secure as the waitress said, these days? I mean there's a waiting list to immigrate to Mexico now."
"Maybe they want the same level of security because turnabout mother fuckers," Cherry scoffed then opened her weapon case, pulled out the G36, a magazine, and started loading with rounds that she had brought with her because of course, she did. After it was full, she re-secured the magazine in her bag but placed the rifle on the bed.
She took out the piece of paper the waitress passed to her and passed it and one of the Nokia cell phones to me.
I punched the number in and sent a question mark.
Grid coordinates came back.
"It's in the middle of the middle of nowhere, off I-8."
Cherry picked up the rifle and smiled an impish smile. "You want to hold him?" she asked.
"Yeah sure," I said and took the rifle. It was shockingly, frighteningly light. "Well, I guess you got your money's worth!" I passed it back to her.
"He's a good boy," she folded the stock and slid it into a quick-release pouch under the magazine pouch in her backpack. "Let's get on the road, Scooby."
...
"Okay, I'm bored again. Tell me about the rifle qual thing," Cherry said as she stared into the setting sun. The cloudless sky was smeared orange at the top, then down to red, a stripe of purple, and then black with the stars glinting like nothing was ever wrong on Earth.
"Our commander was an IT warrant officer - Linda Jorjadze - the detachment was only twelve people and no other officers," I said. "We were pretty unorthodox. The only other units nerdier than us were public affairs. She knew how I was so she made me armorer to keep me out of trouble."
"'Trust me Ma'am...'" Cherry said.
"'I've done the research!'" we both said.
"The six-five hadn't rifle qualified 100% at any time since 1998," I said.
"Set your goal right then," Cherry said.
"Bet," I said. "I filled out the ammo order form wrong so I ordered enough for a company-size element."
"And played it like that was the plan all along," Cherry said.
"I justified a whole bunch of other training because if the IT team has to pick up rifles, it's a dire situation, right?"
"How many rounds per person over two days?"
"Six hundred rounds," I said.
"Fuck!" Cherry guffawed.
"Chief Jorjadze saw the value; after that, we went to range once a month and fired a full rack."
"Where's the name Jorjadze from?" Cherry asked.
"Georgia. When we first got to the VENZ she made friends with all the Eastern block officers swapping stories about how bad Russia treated grandparents, parents, or them."
"No one was shocked when Siberia broke off," Cherry said.
"Opression paradox hard at work," I said.
"Okay, I'm bored again. Tell me about the rifle qual thing," Cherry said as she stared into the setting sun. The cloudless sky was smeared orange at the top, then down to red, a stripe of purple, and then black with the stars glinting like nothing was ever wrong on Earth.
"Our commander was an IT warrant officer - Linda Jorjadze - the detachment was only twelve people and no other officers," I said. "We were pretty unorthodox. The only other units nerdier than us were public affairs. She knew how I was so she made me armorer to keep me out of trouble."
"'Trust me Ma'am...'" Cherry said.
"'I've done the research!'" we both said.
"The six-five hadn't rifle qualified 100% at any time since 1998," I said.
"Set your goal right then," Cherry said.
"Bet," I said. "I filled out the ammo order form wrong so I ordered enough for a company-size element."
"And played it like that was the plan all along," Cherry said.
"I justified a whole bunch of other training because if the IT team has to pick up rifles, it's a dire situation, right?"
"How many rounds per person over two days?"
"Six hundred rounds," I said.
"Fuck!" Cherry guffawed.
"Chief Jorjadze saw the value; after that, we went to range once a month and fired a full rack."
"Where's the name Jorjadze from?" Cherry asked.
"Georgia. When we first got to the VENZ she made friends with all the Eastern block officers swapping stories about how bad Russia treated grandparents, parents, or them."
"No one was shocked when Siberia broke off," Cherry said.
"Opression paradox hard at work," I said.
"What's that?" Cherry asked.
"An oppressor, by definition, weakens themself because it takes more time and energy to oppress others than to work in their own self or a group interest," I said.
"That's Giang, isn't it?" Cherry said. "'Bullets or Books?'"
"That's her. Successful long-term oppression that isn't followed by active genocide just leaves the oppressed stronger and the oppressor weaker. If the weakened oppressor attempts genocide they cannot succeed because at a minimum they are weaker than those they have oppressed."
"And the people that survive that attempt are hella tough," she said.
"'Where are all the polite queers?'" I sing-songed.
"'You killed them all,'" Cherry said in a similar tone but darker.
"'Now it's just us cockroach mother fuckers,'" we both said in unison
"That's Giang, isn't it?" Cherry said. "'Bullets or Books?'"
"That's her. Successful long-term oppression that isn't followed by active genocide just leaves the oppressed stronger and the oppressor weaker. If the weakened oppressor attempts genocide they cannot succeed because at a minimum they are weaker than those they have oppressed."
"And the people that survive that attempt are hella tough," she said.
"'Where are all the polite queers?'" I sing-songed.
"'You killed them all,'" Cherry said in a similar tone but darker.
"'Now it's just us cockroach mother fuckers,'" we both said in unison
.
We were both quiet for a long time. I can't say for Cherry, but I know I was thinking of all the people whose kindness got them killed.
All the twenty-one-gun salutes that somehow made me jump every time. All the twee comments about heaven getting a new angel, god having a plan, and people saying this is what they would have wanted.
They can't want anything when they are fucking dead.
We were both quiet for a long time. I can't say for Cherry, but I know I was thinking of all the people whose kindness got them killed.
All the twenty-one-gun salutes that somehow made me jump every time. All the twee comments about heaven getting a new angel, god having a plan, and people saying this is what they would have wanted.
They can't want anything when they are fucking dead.
"Active genocide implies passive genocide," Cherry said.
"Systemic failures and actions," I said.
"Systemic failures and actions," I said.
"'You look like a lateeenohhhh," Cherry said, mimicking a Good Ol' Boy voice. "Take this right," Cherry said in her regular voice. We turned off the paved and marked road onto some sort of cobblestone path that made a consistent racket.
"Old school," Cherry said.
Not having an entirely unneeded element of surprise bugged me somewhat and I was trying to ignore my Veteran Sense's tingling. We are civilian personnel now, we are going to an open-air market. We don't need the element of surprise. We...
"Slow down!" Cherry said. "They are probably going to use a visual signal."
A red light in the center of the road blinked Morse code to letters "I" and "D"
Cherry pulled out a small LCD flashlight, opened the window, and signaled back a complex message.
The red light changed to green just long enough to tell it was green and then went out.
"Good to go," Cherry said. "Stay at current speed."
In front of us, the desert looked expansive and dark when suddenly the horizon opened like curtains in a theater; from the corner of my eye I saw it was exactly that; a thick black curtain with a landscape painted on it being rolled aside by a pair of people.
It was as silly as it was effective.
In front of us, there were large tents outlined in red military lights. A shadow with two horizontal lines of reflective material signaled us to slow down with a yellow baton torch.
A red light in the center of the road blinked Morse code to letters "I" and "D"
Cherry pulled out a small LCD flashlight, opened the window, and signaled back a complex message.
The red light changed to green just long enough to tell it was green and then went out.
"Good to go," Cherry said. "Stay at current speed."
In front of us, the desert looked expansive and dark when suddenly the horizon opened like curtains in a theater; from the corner of my eye I saw it was exactly that; a thick black curtain with a landscape painted on it being rolled aside by a pair of people.
It was as silly as it was effective.
In front of us, there were large tents outlined in red military lights. A shadow with two horizontal lines of reflective material signaled us to slow down with a yellow baton torch.
I rolled down my window.
"¿Clientes o comerciantes?" asked an older man with a full head of silver-gray and a well-trimmed, matching mustache.
"Comerciantes," Cherry said. "Ordenadores; software y hardware.
"Muy bien. La tienda trece está desocupada; es todo tuyo." He scribbled something on a notepad, then he opened an ink pad and pulled out a stamp which clicked and churned a few times before he pressed it into the ink pad then he stamped a QR code onto the piece of paper. He passed it to me and Cherry plucked it from my hand.
"Muy buena, jefa," He said, correcting his own perception.
"¿Clientes o comerciantes?" asked an older man with a full head of silver-gray and a well-trimmed, matching mustache.
"Comerciantes," Cherry said. "Ordenadores; software y hardware.
"Muy bien. La tienda trece está desocupada; es todo tuyo." He scribbled something on a notepad, then he opened an ink pad and pulled out a stamp which clicked and churned a few times before he pressed it into the ink pad then he stamped a QR code onto the piece of paper. He passed it to me and Cherry plucked it from my hand.
"Muy buena, jefa," He said, correcting his own perception.
"Si, solo soy un gruñido," I said. He looked at me moment.
"Almar'at tahmil nisf alsama'i,*" he said.
"Eib'uhum yusharifuna jamiea," I said without hesitation.
"M'rhbaan, rafiki," he side reached in to let me shake his hand.
"Shokran, rafiki," I said.
"Toma la tienda siete," He said.
He tapped the door of the truck to get us moving as a line had formed behind us. I tapped the gas and drove on.
"Gotta say I wasn't ready for that," Cherry said.
"Neither was I," I said. "Then again, the Mexican Army had personnel in Egypt, he might have done a rotation."
We drove down the main drag. The first tent was fifteen and each tent had a large number on one side next to the entrance flap, glow-in-the-dark paint brightly shining after being in the sun all day.
"All these tents are barely used," I said. They were "small" shelters, the front of them a half circle. They could easily have four full-size desks with three screens or twelve cots for sleeping.
Tent seven was in a sort of cul-de-sac of the tents, potentially a prime location in a place that relied on foot traffic.
Some of the other vendors had started to cook food because the tang of searing meat and vegetables filled the air.
"Pull the truck through, we'll park in the back," Cherry said. I put the high beams on and moved very slowly so I didn't touch either side of the tent. There was a second door flap there at the back that I pushed through slowly and pulled forward a few meters and then back to give the wheels grip for when we left in the morning.
Cherry pulled out a different smartphone from her regular one and scanned the QR code from the slip of paper we were handed. She turned her phone sideways.
"Which shell you do want to use?" Cherry asked.
"T2S2," I said. Cherry added that and then stopped. "Wow."
"Good wow?" I asked.
"Good wow," Cherry said. "They have built a local access network, how secure it is I'll figure out later. T2S2 is..."
"An LLC, tax ID number 10-9056793."
"I don't know how you keep all that stuff in your head," Cherry said.
We'd set up a few shell companies to slow down anyone who was following us virtually. If people were pursuing us physically it was usually easy to tell and usually just as easy to offer more than what they were being paid.
We'd be pursued digitally once and they were sloppy but effective: they framed us for a bank robbery that left "two police dead," in a TikTok video that went viral. The video was completely fake but local LEO let their emotions get the best of them as I'm sure the people who framed us were hoping and by the time the video was revealed to be fake a SWAT team would have fired a couple hundred rounds into each of us.
They failed of course, but it was a hard twelve hours for us in the great state of Montana.
"I'll have to build a website from scratch," Cherry said.
We got out of the truck with our respective tool bags and went into the tent.
"And that'll take you all of, what, a minute?" I said as I pushed the flap aside.
"Depends how many rotating skull gifs you want," Cherry scoffed.
"That sounds totally badass," I said.
"T2S2," I said. Cherry added that and then stopped. "Wow."
"Good wow?" I asked.
"Good wow," Cherry said. "They have built a local access network, how secure it is I'll figure out later. T2S2 is..."
"An LLC, tax ID number 10-9056793."
"I don't know how you keep all that stuff in your head," Cherry said.
We'd set up a few shell companies to slow down anyone who was following us virtually. If people were pursuing us physically it was usually easy to tell and usually just as easy to offer more than what they were being paid.
We'd be pursued digitally once and they were sloppy but effective: they framed us for a bank robbery that left "two police dead," in a TikTok video that went viral. The video was completely fake but local LEO let their emotions get the best of them as I'm sure the people who framed us were hoping and by the time the video was revealed to be fake a SWAT team would have fired a couple hundred rounds into each of us.
They failed of course, but it was a hard twelve hours for us in the great state of Montana.
"I'll have to build a website from scratch," Cherry said.
We got out of the truck with our respective tool bags and went into the tent.
"And that'll take you all of, what, a minute?" I said as I pushed the flap aside.
"Depends how many rotating skull gifs you want," Cherry scoffed.
"That sounds totally badass," I said.
The first thing I noticed was the ground beneath us was rock solid and the second was the outlets for power, natural gas, and water. This used to be one of the long-term, upscale trailer parks so common near most military bases.
They had rigged up LCD lamps in an innovative way: they placed one set of them - ten exactly - pointing up alternating left and right reflecting off the white vinyl ceiling creating a soft light that was easier on the eyes, especially coming in from the desert dark. There were four folding tables, two with a faux wood finish and two with a plain white plastic finish.
"That's some good mood lighting for sure," Cherry said. We both would get migraines from time to time; the brutal ones that were far too common with our generation.
The kind of headache that turned light into screams.
I set to work making the tables into a symmetrical U shape, with heavier faux finish tables on either side and light plastic tables in the center.
"Ugh, templates?! What am I, twelve?" Cherry griped. "Oh, okay never mind...it's a virtual storefront in augmented reality so I just fill in the labels."
I plugged in two power strips and tapped them down with neon green gaffer tape.
Cherry drew her left hand up with her index finger pointed down and slowly began to move it down towards the keyboard, "And we are open for business in three, two, one," she tapped the enter key.
After a few minutes tall, grey-haired lady stepped through the flap with red carpet elegance announcing her presence with a hearty "Ola! Hardware?" under her arm, she was carrying one of those countertop ovens; the really big sort you could cook a full-sized chicken in.
"Ese soyo," I said.
She put it down in front of me and I got to work she said it just stopped working one morning, and after that, she went on to tell me about the rest of the day and what an utter disaster it had been due to this thing failing. My comprehension of Spanish had some "lag," so to speak.
She'd cleaned it quite thoroughly inside and out, which was appreciated as I took the back panel off. It had seen some use for sure; the wires to the heating element were coated in grease and that grease intern had dry rotted the outer coating of the wires and eventually the wires themselves touched metal to metal and short-circuited.
I found the right gauge and style of wire in my case and replaced those wires, I took the plug and put it into my power strip, and in moments the heating elements worked.
After a few minutes tall, grey-haired lady stepped through the flap with red carpet elegance announcing her presence with a hearty "Ola! Hardware?" under her arm, she was carrying one of those countertop ovens; the really big sort you could cook a full-sized chicken in.
"Ese soyo," I said.
She put it down in front of me and I got to work she said it just stopped working one morning, and after that, she went on to tell me about the rest of the day and what an utter disaster it had been due to this thing failing. My comprehension of Spanish had some "lag," so to speak.
She'd cleaned it quite thoroughly inside and out, which was appreciated as I took the back panel off. It had seen some use for sure; the wires to the heating element were coated in grease and that grease intern had dry rotted the outer coating of the wires and eventually the wires themselves touched metal to metal and short-circuited.
I found the right gauge and style of wire in my case and replaced those wires, I took the plug and put it into my power strip, and in moments the heating elements worked.
"Cinco minutes, por favor," I said. "Ensure... no sin uh explosions or um fuego," I said.
"Gracias," the lady said.
"Gracias," the lady said.
"Ese es un verdadero profesional, señora," Cherry said, and she opened up two more laptops one of which had its keyboard removed with wires running out of it. Cherry plugged an external keyboard into the keyboardless one.
"Sí, es difícil encontrar machos útiles," the lady said, then turned to her. "¿Este tiene un contrato contigo?"
"Si," Cherry said, but even in Spanish I could tell she stopped using her chipper customer service voice. "Sí, no podías permitírtelo; él está intacto."
Before she turned back around I mouthed the words What the actual fuck? to Cherry.
"Qué vergüenza," she sighed. She pulled a bright green disc from her pocket and gestured like I was supposed to take it before she turned on her heel and tossed it to Cherry who snatched it out of the air.
She made a noise between being impressed and jealous, then picked up her oven and left.
"The fuck was all that about?" I asked.
Before she turned back around I mouthed the words What the actual fuck? to Cherry.
"Qué vergüenza," she sighed. She pulled a bright green disc from her pocket and gestured like I was supposed to take it before she turned on her heel and tossed it to Cherry who snatched it out of the air.
She made a noise between being impressed and jealous, then picked up her oven and left.
"The fuck was all that about?" I asked.
"She's in a culto a la leche," Cherry said as she looked at the exit. When it didn't move for a time she turned to me and said. "Do not go anywhere around here alone."
"I'm sorry, a 'milk cult?'"
"Acknowledge!" Cherry said in her command voice.
"Acknowledged, don't go anywhere around her alone, Jesus, Battle," I said.
"I'm sorry, a 'milk cult?'"
"Acknowledge!" Cherry said in her command voice.
"Acknowledged, don't go anywhere around her alone, Jesus, Battle," I said.
I could see her physically relax somewhat but the flap opened again before she completely uncoiled.
Our next customer was a stocky middle-aged, light brown man in a light brown Stetson, dungarees, a polo shirt, and low-heeled cowboy boots with no spurs. Accompanying him was a child in maroon Oshkosh overalls and a ball cap with 101st Airborne's patch and either the smallest draft horse I ever saw or the largest dog. The child was carrying a large collar with a cumbersome-looking box attached to it.
"¿Hola?" Cherry said.
Our next customer was a stocky middle-aged, light brown man in a light brown Stetson, dungarees, a polo shirt, and low-heeled cowboy boots with no spurs. Accompanying him was a child in maroon Oshkosh overalls and a ball cap with 101st Airborne's patch and either the smallest draft horse I ever saw or the largest dog. The child was carrying a large collar with a cumbersome-looking box attached to it.
"¿Hola?" Cherry said.
"Software y..." I started.
"I don't rightfully know," said the Stetsom, "Honey," he tapped the child on the shoulder and signed as he spoke, "show them the uh...doo-hick-amacallit," the sign for which was quite funny to see anyone do.
The child passed me the collar and I signed thank you is all I know. I could track sign language but not really use it.
The child passed me the collar and I signed thank you is all I know. I could track sign language but not really use it.
"Oh, lemme help you out there, partner," the Stetson said. He stepped to an angle where he could see and speak as an interpreter would and the child signed incredibly fast.
"Sir," he said, "the homeowners association said Whistler has to wear this and they said it's just so they know his location but look!" the child showed me the inside of the color where there were two copper studs that came out about a quarter of an inch.
"They shock him randomly; he'll be at his post and he'll get zapped! It hurts very much, I tested it." the child showed me their palm where there were two burn marks the same distance apart as the prongs.
"The dog has a post?" I asked.
"Sir," he said, "the homeowners association said Whistler has to wear this and they said it's just so they know his location but look!" the child showed me the inside of the color where there were two copper studs that came out about a quarter of an inch.
"They shock him randomly; he'll be at his post and he'll get zapped! It hurts very much, I tested it." the child showed me their palm where there were two burn marks the same distance apart as the prongs.
"The dog has a post?" I asked.
"Yeah, well," the Stetson said. "He's a special dog; protective of Amaka, and aw hell, I'm rude ain't I?" He offered his hand to be shook and I, knowing my manners, stood up to shake it. "Oh wait..." but it was too late, quick as lightning Whistler darted over to me and... sat on my foot.
"He's... never done that with a stranger," the Stetson said.
"He's... never done that with a stranger," the Stetson said.
"Animals love Ulyee," Cherry laughed.
"Thank god," he shook my hand "and I'm Miguel. Miguel Cortez-Okye,"
"Uylesses Vogel," I said. "And my colleague..."
"Cherry," Cherry said.
"Whistler, can I have my foot back?" I asked the dog.
Whistler lifted up his rump begrudgingly took my seat back at my table, and opened up the box on the collar.
Predictably, it was covered in tiny, fiddly little warranty-voiding stickers. I had a roll of replacement stickers for anything manufactured in the Americas, Taiwan, or Vietnam but the second language on the collar stickers wasn't any of those. Plus the stickers were three different colors so someone was familiar with people like us.
"Thank god," he shook my hand "and I'm Miguel. Miguel Cortez-Okye,"
"Uylesses Vogel," I said. "And my colleague..."
"Cherry," Cherry said.
"Whistler, can I have my foot back?" I asked the dog.
Whistler lifted up his rump begrudgingly took my seat back at my table, and opened up the box on the collar.
Predictably, it was covered in tiny, fiddly little warranty-voiding stickers. I had a roll of replacement stickers for anything manufactured in the Americas, Taiwan, or Vietnam but the second language on the collar stickers wasn't any of those. Plus the stickers were three different colors so someone was familiar with people like us.
"Battle, what language is this?" I tossed the collar to Cherry, she caught it, looked at it, and said "Estonian," and went to her bag, "You need the stickers?"
"Yes please," I said.
"Yes please," I said.
Cherry rummaged around in her kit, held up a roll of stickers, and then tossed it to me, followed by the collar but with enough of a pause that I could put the stickers down and bring my right hand back up for it. I pulled out one of my smaller screwdrivers and started to carefully remove the stickers.
I hate awkward silences and it seemed Miguel did, too. He signed what he was saying so Amaka could follow along.
"What other animals?" Miguel asked. Cherry being the charismatic one would be glad to answer that one.
"I thought you'd never ask," she said. "A binturong is probably the weirdest."
"A what?"
"What other animals?" Miguel asked. Cherry being the charismatic one would be glad to answer that one.
"I thought you'd never ask," she said. "A binturong is probably the weirdest."
"A what?"
I laughed at the memory as I turned the device over in my hand as Cherry bantered. After stripping the stickers and fully opening the device, I found that I merely had to just snip two wires that went from the power source to the taser spikes; in fact, the tracking element had its own power with a small hearing aid battery.
"This is some real asshole design," I said out loud.
"This is some real asshole design," I said out loud.
"How you figure?" Miguel asked.
"The tracking element has its own power;" I said "The rechargeable part of the collar? That is solely for the taser element."
Miguel whistled and said, "That's just ugly."
"If the HOA made this mandatory, that's probably animal cruelty," Cherry said.
"The tracking element has its own power;" I said "The rechargeable part of the collar? That is solely for the taser element."
Miguel whistled and said, "That's just ugly."
"If the HOA made this mandatory, that's probably animal cruelty," Cherry said.
"Just disabling the collar will do for now, soon as the wife gets back from deployment we're moving to Colorado," Miguel said. "This state attracts tyrants at every level."
"For now," Cherry said.
"For now," Cherry said.
"I mean it's got better since Ryan Harrison became so active at the state level, but they push back harder," Miguel said. "'When elephants fight...''"
"'...the grass gets trampled.'" Cherry finished.
"'...the grass gets trampled.'" Cherry finished.
"That's the one," Miguel said. "And our local elephants are on doggone steroids."
I didn't want him to stop talking because we were getting decent intelligence from just shooting the shit - usually how it was done - but I was finished with the collar. And I wanted to know if Ryan Harrison was the same Ryan we met at the diner.
"Here you are, Amaka," I said and Miguel signed it to her. She signed "thank you" and took the collar. Whistler got all the way down and ground and attempted to make a noise but nothing came out. Amaka put the collar back on him.
"Here you are, Amaka," I said and Miguel signed it to her. She signed "thank you" and took the collar. Whistler got all the way down and ground and attempted to make a noise but nothing came out. Amaka put the collar back on him.
"The dog is mute?" I asked.
"Found him wandering in the high desert," Miguel said. "Skin and bones and took him to the emergency vet. They found out his vocal cords had been completely removed. Like professionally."
Amaka signed something to Whistler and he perked right up and began to wag his tail and then stood up and spun like he was newborn puppy. "And he understands ASL?!" Cherry said.
"Told y'all. He's a very special dog," Miguel produced a yellow token and passed it to me in a handshake. "Appreciate you, Ulyee."
The trio left our tent.
Amaka signed something to Whistler and he perked right up and began to wag his tail and then stood up and spun like he was newborn puppy. "And he understands ASL?!" Cherry said.
"Told y'all. He's a very special dog," Miguel produced a yellow token and passed it to me in a handshake. "Appreciate you, Ulyee."
The trio left our tent.
"What's with the tokens?" I asked as I turned it over in my hand. It was plain but well-embossed metal with a coating of flat finish yellow paint.
"Green can be exchanged for anything: money, labor, or goods. Yellow is labor or goods and red is just labor. Only a vendor can exchange a red for green or yellow with any other vendor."
"So in instances where they would need to prove an exchange for money for services or goods that would be in some way illegal..."
"No money is exchanged," Cherry said.
"So in instances where they would need to prove an exchange for money for services or goods that would be in some way illegal..."
"No money is exchanged," Cherry said.
"Cops would still count these things as evidence, though," I thought out loud.
"Evidence of what?" Cherry smirked.
"Evidence of what?" Cherry smirked.
"Touché," I said. "Also?"
"What?" Cherry said.
"What?" Cherry said.
"What in the fuck is milk cult?!"
But our next customers came in.
...
We had a largely uneventful but busy/profitable night; it was like working back-of-house at a restaurant. I made a note to myself to have some sort of bell or buzzer if we did this kind of thing again.
I got to repair a lot of old electronics that had sentimental value and that was soothing to my soul. The vintage was all before the 2020's before firmware infected even the most basic of household devices.
They didn't even advertise it by the time I was able to read. Then again why would you advertise that a potato peeler vacuums up enough data to know you're cheating on your spouse?
We packed up our gear and loaded it into the truck. When we worked all night it was an unspoken ritual we'd watch the sunrise because there would be days when the serotonin was scarce and the sunrise was the only source.
I dug around in my kit until I found an unopened pack of smokes from when-the-fuck-ever ago and got up on the hood of the truck which was actually the size of a queen-size bed.
I dug around in my kit until I found an unopened pack of smokes from when-the-fuck-ever ago and got up on the hood of the truck which was actually the size of a queen-size bed.
I put the cigarette in my mouth and realized I didn't have a light. Cherry tapped me on the shoulder and passed me a Zippo and I passed her a cigarette. I lit mine and then hers and then placed the lighter in her hand.
The sky changed from the deep black of night to the laser orange of dawn and then rich, lovely blue of the American desert.
In the all-encompassing desert brightness, Cherry counted the tokens.
"Not a bad, I," Cherry's voice went into combat mode then. "Take cover," We both slid off the hood and duck-walked to the back of the vehicle at high speed. Cherry had already pulled out the G36 and unfolded the stock.
"What do we got?" I asked.
"Look under the truck and ten meters forward," Cherry said as she switched on her optics.
"What do we got?" I asked.
"Look under the truck and ten meters forward," Cherry said as she switched on her optics.
Right in the grooves from where I backed in, I could see spikes.
"Milk cult?" I asked.
"Milk cult," Cherry said.
"And they want?" I asked.
"Milk cult?" I asked.
"Milk cult," Cherry said.
"And they want?" I asked.
"You, Ulyee," Cherry said.
"Awesome," I said.
"Awesome," I said.
"You remember how to use a real weapon?" Cherry quipped and passed me her rifle.
"Haha, yes," I said as I checked the chamber and then chambered a round.
"It has thermal; button should be under your ring finger," Cherry said.
I felt under my ring fingers and felt... a smiley face on the grip. "Cute," I said and pressed it and there was a small ringing noise as an LCD screen flipped up over the holo-site. "High fucking speed," I said as I peeked around the corner of the truck.
They were easy to spot in the lingering cool of the desert morning.
"It has thermal; button should be under your ring finger," Cherry said.
I felt under my ring fingers and felt... a smiley face on the grip. "Cute," I said and pressed it and there was a small ringing noise as an LCD screen flipped up over the holo-site. "High fucking speed," I said as I peeked around the corner of the truck.
They were easy to spot in the lingering cool of the desert morning.
"Four. Small arms only," I said.
"¡Buenos días, cabrones!" Cherry shouted.
"¡Sabes las reglas!" Cherry said. "¡Los hombres deben ir voluntariamente!"
As she spoke I found the closest silhouette and then looked for the next furthest, and the next furthest and furthest. My brain caught up with some of the Spanish the Spanish: assholes, rules, men, and volunteers.
"¡Estoy en mi derecho de dispararte en la puta care!" Cherry shouted. That one I knew.
I changed the selector switch from safe to semi.
"Dejar," said the closest. "Dejar!" and stood up.
I came out from cover to make it clear I was on him since they probably were told not to shoot me if the goal was kidnapping, but Cherry was on the closest guy like a tiger on a pumpkin full of ground beef.
She was speaking too fast in staccato Mexican Spanish for me to keep up but I knew when someone who definitely fucked up is getting an ass chewing when I saw it.
Then she presented her wrist and he pulled out a smartphone with an attachment that he passed over Cherry's wrist. Then he made a wide-eyed face like "Oh, I fucked up fucked up." She said something in Spanish and they looked at each other.
"¡AHORA, pendejos!" Cherry shouted so loud there was an echo even the flatness of the desert. They put their weapons down and took off their armor. "Date la vuelta y camina, cabrones."
I knew what that meant and I fired a round at the empty space between two of my potential kidnappers.
"No lo diré otra vez," Cherry said.
She was speaking too fast in staccato Mexican Spanish for me to keep up but I knew when someone who definitely fucked up is getting an ass chewing when I saw it.
Then she presented her wrist and he pulled out a smartphone with an attachment that he passed over Cherry's wrist. Then he made a wide-eyed face like "Oh, I fucked up fucked up." She said something in Spanish and they looked at each other.
"¡AHORA, pendejos!" Cherry shouted so loud there was an echo even the flatness of the desert. They put their weapons down and took off their armor. "Date la vuelta y camina, cabrones."
I knew what that meant and I fired a round at the empty space between two of my potential kidnappers.
"No lo diré otra vez," Cherry said.
Cherry turned on her heel and walked back to the spikes as I kept the rifle on one she cussed out. They trudged away in their surrender. She went to one side of the spikes and stepped on a pedal that caused them to roll up and a handle to pop up. She picked up the roll and started back to me.
"Keep it on them," Cherry said and she put her hand in my pocket and pulled out the cigarettes. I heard the gentle crackle of the inhale. "Fucking amateurs," Cherry said with her voice in some cotton from the smoke.
"How long am I doing this? Because I might have to post up on the hood," I said.
"I think we're good, let's get our loot," Cherry said.
"What?"
"Battle, they got good gear, they left it behind. We take it," Cherry said like it was obvious.
"What if they rigged it?" I asked.
"Bitch, please," Cherry dismissed.
"Alright," I said. "Drive the truck," and passed her the keys."If I step on an fucking IED I'm haunting your whole ass."
Cherry got in the driver's side, pulled a three-point turn, and started backing the truck up to the "loot."
I rolled my feet and scanned my sectors like I was taught and how I had taught people. It saved my life once or twice, but I also felt silly.
We got to the gear and I put up the halt. Four piles of armor, with a rifle and sidearm. I kicked them one by one. I brought the rifle down to low ready turned around and signaled to Cherry to scan for scope flashes.
She shrugged and got out of the truck.
"They ain't that bad-ass, I toldja" she said.
"Well, better not assume," I said. "Vibe check," and I shot one of the armor kits and slug flattened out but the plating barely budged. "This shit is hardcore," I said.
"I know," Cherry said as she grabbed two of the armor kits, "They have a budget for this."
Four armor kits, four AR-style rifles, and Beretta-style handguns. Each firearm had three magazines. We took out the mags de-chambered the rounds and put it all in the back of the truck. When I got in the vehicle Cherry turned as much of herself away from me as she could.
"You wanna get breakfast...," Cherry pulled out a phone and typed something into it, and my phone pinged. I tapped my phone to the truck's GPS and started driving.
Cherry was radiating anger in a way I was good and familiar with but hadn't seen in quite some time. Part of me really wanted to know what in the actual fuck was going on so I tried to think what the fuck was that about? really loud.
"He was a eunuch," Cherry said finally.
Cherry was radiating anger in a way I was good and familiar with but hadn't seen in quite some time. Part of me really wanted to know what in the actual fuck was going on so I tried to think what the fuck was that about? really loud.
"He was a eunuch," Cherry said finally.
It worked!
"Pretty sure they all were," she said. "They work for that woman who was our first customer."
"And they wanted to kidnap me because... I'd make a good eunuch?"
"Probably not, no. Good looking, 'hybrid', five-eleven, skilled, she probably scanned you to see how your fat is distributed," Cherry said. "They would definitely want your semen. 'Leche' is Spanish for milk and more obscurely is vulgar slang for semen."
"So 'milk cult,'" I concluded. "Where do the eunuchs come in?"
"Eugenics by another means," Cherry sighed. "Eugenics through capitalism."
"Those words put together sound terrifying so I assume the explanation is worse."
"Pretty sure they all were," she said. "They work for that woman who was our first customer."
"And they wanted to kidnap me because... I'd make a good eunuch?"
"Probably not, no. Good looking, 'hybrid', five-eleven, skilled, she probably scanned you to see how your fat is distributed," Cherry said. "They would definitely want your semen. 'Leche' is Spanish for milk and more obscurely is vulgar slang for semen."
"So 'milk cult,'" I concluded. "Where do the eunuchs come in?"
"Eugenics by another means," Cherry sighed. "Eugenics through capitalism."
"Those words put together sound terrifying so I assume the explanation is worse."
"A lot worse," Cherry said. "A lot."
All the information I had congealed in my mind like grease sliding down a window.
"They pay men to castrate themselves if they don't think they should procreate?"
All the information I had congealed in my mind like grease sliding down a window.
"They pay men to castrate themselves if they don't think they should procreate?"
"In one, sarge," Cherry said.
"And you had some part in building their organizational abilities and thought that meant you had enough clout that you could protect specific people from some of the negativity you've helped bring into the world?" I said.
"What the fuck have you been reading?" Cherry laughed, then sighed. "That is accurate, though."
"How much work did you do for them, exactly?" I asked.
"How much work did you do for them, exactly?" I asked.
"All of their pre-screening software, all their cross-referencing software, their medical screening software," Cherry said.
"Branching out, huh?" I said.
"I was more an advisor to the medical stuff," Cherry said.
The GPS pinged and I could see a diner on the horizon.
"I was more an advisor to the medical stuff," Cherry said.
The GPS pinged and I could see a diner on the horizon.
"You still have access to any milk cult's data?" I asked.
"They leased versions of it around the world, so multiple groups use it; and some have plugged accounting software into it," Cherry said. "I built in side and back door access for myself."
"Supporting a grey market in male gonads between the United States and other countries?" I asked.
"Supporting a grey market between red and blue. All over the world." Cherry said.
"Fuck," I said. "And you knew that this state had a higher concentration of long-term unemployment and that gave them a rich candidate population, right?"
"Fuck," I said. "And you knew that this state had a higher concentration of long-term unemployment and that gave them a rich candidate population, right?"
"You sure you're just a cable dog?" Cherry smirked.
"But I'm missing pieces," I said as we pulled into the Red Bird Diner.
"But I'm missing pieces," I said as we pulled into the Red Bird Diner.
Cherry slid out of the truck and I shut it off and exited as well.
There were six big motorcycles and five big men gathered around another guy who was kneeling down and turning on the engine the initial ignition worked but there was a tapping sound when he fired it up and then it would cut off.
"Hey," I said. "I think I know what's wrong." I walked towards them and they all stood up. Six massive bikers decked out in riding leathers with chapter patches on the left side of their vests were "Desert Foxes," in a red Star Trek-style font and they had ranks on the right side.
"I meant no disrespect," I said as I put my hands up and looked to the chapter lieutenant. "That cam sounds fucked up."
He nodded at me and looked to the biker who had been fiddling with his bike and "Oh c'mon! I just bought the fucking thing!" His vest had the patch but no rank.
There were six big motorcycles and five big men gathered around another guy who was kneeling down and turning on the engine the initial ignition worked but there was a tapping sound when he fired it up and then it would cut off.
"Hey," I said. "I think I know what's wrong." I walked towards them and they all stood up. Six massive bikers decked out in riding leathers with chapter patches on the left side of their vests were "Desert Foxes," in a red Star Trek-style font and they had ranks on the right side.
"I meant no disrespect," I said as I put my hands up and looked to the chapter lieutenant. "That cam sounds fucked up."
He nodded at me and looked to the biker who had been fiddling with his bike and "Oh c'mon! I just bought the fucking thing!" His vest had the patch but no rank.
"Can I take a look?" I asked.
The chapter lieutenant put his hand on the rankless guy's shoulder and said "He knew something was fucked up by sound. Let this man work."
I opened up the engine fairly easily; older models had a simplicity with how they were put together.
"So this cam is actually bad, actually," I said, immediately regretting the stupid redundant language I used. "This is a 3d printed thing but" I got near the engine and inhaled. "But it's just very dense plastic; they spray-painted it silver and sealed it."
I pulled out the cam and snapped it over my knee.
"Oh man that mechanic is fucking dead," Rankless said.
"We might have a better solution," Cherry said.
"Slightly less violent," I said. "Could use less violence in the world overall."
Cherry pulled out a burner phone dialed a number and pointed at me with her chin, I found the serial number and read it out and Cherry repeated.
"Si. Si. Aleación de aluminio." She said. "¿Qué tan rápido? Beuno, bueno, gracias. Red Bird Diner." She hung up the phone.
"We got two hours while I get a new cam printed. Chow?" Cherry asked.
I pulled out the cam and snapped it over my knee.
"Oh man that mechanic is fucking dead," Rankless said.
"We might have a better solution," Cherry said.
"Slightly less violent," I said. "Could use less violence in the world overall."
Cherry pulled out a burner phone dialed a number and pointed at me with her chin, I found the serial number and read it out and Cherry repeated.
"Si. Si. Aleación de aluminio." She said. "¿Qué tan rápido? Beuno, bueno, gracias. Red Bird Diner." She hung up the phone.
"We got two hours while I get a new cam printed. Chow?" Cherry asked.
The lieutenant of the bikers nodded and said "What branch?"
"Army," Cherry and I said at the same time.
"Army," Cherry and I said at the same time.
They all laughed a little.
Over a massive breakfast, the lieutenant - Bernard, who preferred Berny - explained the premise of the Foxes. They were a Desert Chapter and they were a conservationist group. All motorcycles and vehicles were salvaged, rebuilt, or recycled in some form or fashion. And he was very explicit that it wasn't a reference to some Nazi who was also called the "Desert Fox."
"And," Berny said with more than a little drama, "There are foxes all over the world."
"You're here for work?" Leo - the rankless one - asked.
"We do IT work," I said. "She does software."
"He does hardware," Cherry said.
"Did that for the Army?" Berny asked.
"Did that for the Army?" Berny asked.
"In the Venz for I think like eight years total?" Cherry said.
"Were you there for the EMP strike?" Leo asked.
"Shit, got straight to it," Cherry said.
Cherry continued the story.
...
...
Richard Lopez had three divisions of Russian combat droids finally delivered and he could not wait fuck around in an attempt to reenact Gallipoli and at the same time, find out.
Just about anywhere there was combat there would be those goddamned secondhand Socialist Realism-looking mother fuckers and they were just awful.
Just about anywhere there was combat there would be those goddamned secondhand Socialist Realism-looking mother fuckers and they were just awful.
We had to do these tedious fucking drills where we secured all our gear in lead-lined boxes or with lead blankets (which were AWESOME to use for sleeping, and that was so pervasive in everyone in uniform, you have gotta wonder).
Teaching the people of Caracas to do the same was actually very rewarding; we had some 2nd generation Venezuelans who got to learn about the place of their mother and or father's birth and let me tell you when they sent those videos home it was like that one very emotional commercials they show during the Super Bowl.
I know this because all the footage soldiers took on government cameras is public domain and AT&T made a montage from the public affairs acquired broll and made a very emotional commercial and played it during the Super Bowl that year.
Plus we were able to get a lot of the Mandarin speakers some much-needed field time.
"...we briefed every coastal town as much as we could however we could, they should stay out of their way. It's possible to program them well, but why bother when you buy in bulk? Lopez lands ships at Caraballeda and marches those fuckers through the lower part of the mountains like he's Hannibal Barca, right into Caracas so we had to wait," Cherry said.
Teaching the people of Caracas to do the same was actually very rewarding; we had some 2nd generation Venezuelans who got to learn about the place of their mother and or father's birth and let me tell you when they sent those videos home it was like that one very emotional commercials they show during the Super Bowl.
I know this because all the footage soldiers took on government cameras is public domain and AT&T made a montage from the public affairs acquired broll and made a very emotional commercial and played it during the Super Bowl that year.
Plus we were able to get a lot of the Mandarin speakers some much-needed field time.
"...we briefed every coastal town as much as we could however we could, they should stay out of their way. It's possible to program them well, but why bother when you buy in bulk? Lopez lands ships at Caraballeda and marches those fuckers through the lower part of the mountains like he's Hannibal Barca, right into Caracas so we had to wait," Cherry said.
"Fuck, why?!" Berny said.
"Environmental concerns. Cities have streets, bots tend to follow streets, easier cleanup when mass disabling." I said. "What did Brigadier General Johanna Schaefer say?"
"I am not your mother!" Berny said.
"Clean up after yourselves!" One of the other bikers said.
Cherry tapped her nose twice, then continued the story.
"I am not your mother!" Berny said.
"Clean up after yourselves!" One of the other bikers said.
Cherry tapped her nose twice, then continued the story.
The civilians all hunkered down where and our forces placed high-level vac-generator trucks next to hospitals and fire stations.
It had never been like this before and we'd never seen the forces move this hard.
So we kicked back with beers while we were waiting for the EMP to drop, watching their signals in our Cyber TOC and when I saw the little red dots as they were funneling into a rough line it struck me "That looks wrong," and zoomed in."It's supposed to be three divisions."
"I've played enough RTS games to know that's NOT three divisions," Cherry said.
It had never been like this before and we'd never seen the forces move this hard.
So we kicked back with beers while we were waiting for the EMP to drop, watching their signals in our Cyber TOC and when I saw the little red dots as they were funneling into a rough line it struck me "That looks wrong," and zoomed in."It's supposed to be three divisions."
"I've played enough RTS games to know that's NOT three divisions," Cherry said.
"Right? Where the fuck are they?" I said.
"Think hard and fast..." Cherry said.
"Big picture war, is all you Battle," I said. I picked the brainstorm rubber duck we kept for this sort of thing and passed it to her.
"I mean keep it simple, assume the worst, hope for the best," She started to pace after reciting some common military mantras, holding the duck up in front so it could hear.
"Like you got cancer," we both said.
"Let's assume they are Faza Fives with the special feet, look how fast they move," Cherry said and held out the duck for me, which I took.
"That means Mini-Gau chambered 7.62 with the solid chassis so disarming is a no-go," I started to pace. "No grenades; couldn't modify them that fast," I took a sip of my beer as I stared at the duck. "Absolute worst-case scenario is. THE absolute worst-case scenario is, fuck, I have an idea, but," I put the duck down and zoomed out.
Cherry looked at the screen. They were flowing terrifyingly fast, and forming into a thick line along Ava Boyacá, a main vein of a highway.
"Brief on Lopez," she passed the duck back to me.
"Richard Edward Lopez is an American-born, American-educated, American-made grade-a, gold-plated lemon-scented, asshole." Cherry laughed and put a dollar in my laugh jar. "He majored in business at Harvard and started something like four or five failed start-ups, the most notorious was a 'pop-up casino' where, in my opinion, he was scamming people."
"I mean keep it simple, assume the worst, hope for the best," She started to pace after reciting some common military mantras, holding the duck up in front so it could hear.
"Like you got cancer," we both said.
"Let's assume they are Faza Fives with the special feet, look how fast they move," Cherry said and held out the duck for me, which I took.
"That means Mini-Gau chambered 7.62 with the solid chassis so disarming is a no-go," I started to pace. "No grenades; couldn't modify them that fast," I took a sip of my beer as I stared at the duck. "Absolute worst-case scenario is. THE absolute worst-case scenario is, fuck, I have an idea, but," I put the duck down and zoomed out.
Cherry looked at the screen. They were flowing terrifyingly fast, and forming into a thick line along Ava Boyacá, a main vein of a highway.
"Brief on Lopez," she passed the duck back to me.
"Richard Edward Lopez is an American-born, American-educated, American-made grade-a, gold-plated lemon-scented, asshole." Cherry laughed and put a dollar in my laugh jar. "He majored in business at Harvard and started something like four or five failed start-ups, the most notorious was a 'pop-up casino' where, in my opinion, he was scamming people."
"How was he scamming people?" Cherry said. We were at that point both pacing.
"I think it's possible he created a way to short-sell crypto short-time," I said. "He had an app built by-I shit you not - two homeless Vietnamese children because he promised them they would get adopted."
"Did they get adopted?" Cherry asked.
"The children? I don't have that information, I can get it," I squeezed the duck and said, "Stay on task."
"The way his casino worked is it allowed people to buy whatever currency and gamble in that currency for two days, it creates a temporary spike, the house converts their crypto to real credits, 'short sells it,; for some other crypto nonsense and when the gamblers come back 'oh, well, your chips aren't worth as much as when you walked in, bummer.'"
"I kinda don't hate that," Cherry said.
"You are allowed to hate him since he used those profits to grow funds to create lobbyists who fought against recycling empty houses, landlord reform, AND mandatory arcological architecture proposals in 27 states."
"Oh fuck him then," Cherry said.
"He then expanded his fortune by investing that money in a meteorite capture," I said.
"And he opted to pay for ALL the fuel, didn't he?" Cherry said.
"Yeah, I think he did," I said, taken aback. I don't know why it made sense. "Let's see," I punched in fuel Zapata investors in my designated laptop. It was blocked. I rolled my eyes at Cherry and brought out the "dirty" open internet laptop.
Connected it to the local civilian network and googled fuel Zapata investors and got nothing. I sighed and typed in "failed ships" and Lopez's name was on the roster.
Connected it to the local civilian network and googled fuel Zapata investors and got nothing. I sighed and typed in "failed ships" and Lopez's name was on the roster.
"He sued the government because of a lack of ROI?" But I said ROI like "roy,"
"That means return on investment; pronounced rr-oh-ai," Cherry said.
"That means return on investment; pronounced rr-oh-ai," Cherry said.
"So yeah he did that," I said.
"Yeah he did, yeah he goddamned did," Cherry said.
"I don't know if we can prove it but I got a feeling," I said.
"Not necessarily misdirection, but we have something to focus on... and oh fuck," Cherry said.
"What?" I asked.
"The way they are lining up like that at the base of the mountains;" Cherry said, in a voice that told me she was thinking twenty things at once. "Basic infantry move that's perfect for armed robots. The first line would just push south but then another line would move east to west or west to...where is that line?"
"Not necessarily misdirection, but we have something to focus on... and oh fuck," Cherry said.
"What?" I asked.
"The way they are lining up like that at the base of the mountains;" Cherry said, in a voice that told me she was thinking twenty things at once. "Basic infantry move that's perfect for armed robots. The first line would just push south but then another line would move east to west or west to...where is that line?"
"The football fields!" I said.
Either to affirm or mock me, red dots appeared in square formations. Someone had buried hundreds of Faza Five combat bots in soccer fields all over the place.
Cherry got on the radio "This is Cyber Main to Restore Actual, everyone needs to engage their signal detection systems if they haven't already, we'll need precision from the sky,"
Either to affirm or mock me, red dots appeared in square formations. Someone had buried hundreds of Faza Five combat bots in soccer fields all over the place.
Cherry got on the radio "This is Cyber Main to Restore Actual, everyone needs to engage their signal detection systems if they haven't already, we'll need precision from the sky,"
"Copy that, Sir," they crackled back.
"And the rest is history," Cherry said. "Where were you at?"
"We were in Parque Nacional El Caura," Berny said.
"You were with the Three Oh One?" I asked without thinking.
"Yeah," Berny said. "What do you know about it?"
"Yeah," Berny said. "What do you know about it?"
"I know that was some hard fighting," I said.
"It was," Berny said.
We all sat there in silence, the demolished diner platters in front of us, everyone thinking back to their own personal "no shit there I was," moments.
We bussed the table to fill the quiet. Cherry put cash on the table.
"Let's get that cam," Cherry said as she turned towards the exit. The rest of the table got up as well. Cherry just moved with that kind of authority. She pushed the bill into the hostess's hand and said "Thank you for your patience."
A dark grey, flat-finish vintage Dodge Magnum pulled up and Cherry tapped the passenger window with two knuckles, backhanded. She then turned around, leaned against the vehicle, and held her hand out.
The passenger window rolled down and they passed the cam out, Cherry got off the car.
I relaxed a little until they pulled out in a hurry.
The passenger window rolled down and they passed the cam out, Cherry got off the car.
I relaxed a little until they pulled out in a hurry.
Fuck.
"Are we waiting and seeing?" I asked.
The vehicle's engine was pushed to its utmost limit moving at least 120 miles per hour so it was about a quarter mile away when a precision orbital kinetic struck it. It came at such an angle it swept it off the road and into the desert.
The vehicle's engine was pushed to its utmost limit moving at least 120 miles per hour so it was about a quarter mile away when a precision orbital kinetic struck it. It came at such an angle it swept it off the road and into the desert.
Cherry pulled out every phone she had and gestured for me to pass mine along. She pulled out a roll of electrical tape and started fashioning the phones into a ball.
"Gents, take cover, just in case," I passed the cam to Berny and they headed for cover.
Cherry passed me the cell phone ball and I set it up for a field goal.
"Are you ready?" I asked.
"No," Cherry said, nervously.
"You know what that means," I said.
"Get rid of all my fucks!" Cherry ran up to the thing after getting to "F" in "fucks" and kicked it high and far.
I held my breath and something came down out of the sky sharper than a scalpel into an eyeball and destroyed the cellphone ball and then impacted into the sand below with a puff and a little rumble.
"Fuck," Cherry and I said.
It all happened so fast that the bikers didn't even make it to cover and instead hit the deck when they heard the boom.
"Rods from God?" Cherry asked.
It all happened so fast that the bikers didn't even make it to cover and instead hit the deck when they heard the boom.
"Rods from God?" Cherry asked.
"Definitely," I said. "I've never seen one so small though."
"Can we get up now?" Berny asked.
I can't say who started laughing first but I couldn't stop and neither could anyone else.
"I think you might be fucking okay," Cherry said, trying to hold in the laughter.
"How did you know that would work?" I asked.
"I didn't," Cherry said.
"SON OF A BITCH!" I said and the laughter spread to me, too.
"It worked didn't it!?" Cherry laughed and flopped down on her back.
"Oh fuck you, Battle!" I guffawed.
After the punch-drunk feeling subsided Cherry sat up and said "I have an idea!"
"You got that, Leo?" I asked.
"Absolutely," Leo said. "I'm going to be a fox!"
We got in the truck and I aimed us back to the hotel.
We got in the truck and I aimed us back to the hotel.
"What do you got in mind, Battle?"
"Politeness," Cherry said. "It's about politeness."
"Politeness," Cherry said. "It's about politeness."
"Okay, well I don't get it now, but you can explain it to me," I said.
"You're gonna love it!" Cherry said.
...
We got back to the Holiday Inn and Cherry pushed all the well-organized luggage and gear off the bed from the previous afternoon into a heap, got under the covers, and racked the fuck out.
Hardware time.
I took two of Jarrito's bottles and emptied them. It was an old trick putting a bottle on the door knob so it hit the floor and made noise but the wall-to-wall carpeting that was so common in hotels meant an extra step.
I took two of Jarrito's bottles and emptied them. It was an old trick putting a bottle on the door knob so it hit the floor and made noise but the wall-to-wall carpeting that was so common in hotels meant an extra step.
I took four nine millimeters and put two in each bottle and then placed them above the door knob to the room and the balcony handle.
If they only got two shots at us they were independent that was probably all they had using a hacked government system.
The government may have got it under control quickly.
If they only got two shots at us they were independent that was probably all they had using a hacked government system.
The government may have got it under control quickly.
Or they could be using something I hadn't heard of.
Couldn't leave that to chance.
One thing about these sorts of operations is I never know where to put my firearm. Cherry didn't even bother taking her shoulder bag off which would imply it was just a crash nap. I went out the truck and pulled the 9mm Colt out of the center console holster and brought it inside.
Couldn't leave that to chance.
One thing about these sorts of operations is I never know where to put my firearm. Cherry didn't even bother taking her shoulder bag off which would imply it was just a crash nap. I went out the truck and pulled the 9mm Colt out of the center console holster and brought it inside.
I put it in the drawer where even in this day and age there was a Gideon's bible. I maneuvered the book to make the pistol secured but quickly accessible should anything happen.
I sat down on the bed and thought who did I know who could evacuate La Quinta safely.
I tapped a contact on my personal cell phone.
"Agent Tanaka, you old horse thief!"
"Sergeant First Class Vogel, my dear honey duck, what have you done now?" Tanaka said.
"I was just in town and who do I run into? Captain Courage!" I said.
"Oh no kidding, I'll have to pay him a visit," Tanaka said.
"He's staying at La Quinta just off Route 8," I said. "And give Col. Bennet a call," I said.
"I was just in town and who do I run into? Captain Courage!" I said.
"Oh no kidding, I'll have to pay him a visit," Tanaka said.
"He's staying at La Quinta just off Route 8," I said. "And give Col. Bennet a call," I said.
"Will do," Tanaka said.
"Don't forget your phone," I said.
"Don't forget your phone," I said.
"Never! Out," he said.
Tanaka is old-school GWOT, so he'd get it squared away, those old code words were still viable.
Tanaka is old-school GWOT, so he'd get it squared away, those old code words were still viable.
Haven't contracted with the American government in quite some time.
I pushed myself back onto the bed, lay down on top of the covers, and closed my eyes.
I pushed myself back onto the bed, lay down on top of the covers, and closed my eyes.
"How can you sleep like that?" Cherry asked.
"GAH!" I said.
"Another software doll is in the vicinity, I'd like to bring her in," Cherry said.
"Did she serve?" I asked.
"Did she serve?" I asked.
"Firefighter and EMT," Cherry said.
"Cool, I'm going to sleep, I haven't slept in at least sixteen hours and my hands are starting to shake," I said.
"Rest, Battle. Still don't get how you..."
And then a vivid dream about robot stags; smooth and shiny things like Hajime Sorayama's work.
They were friendly and I followed them through a dark forest and though I was apprehensive they weren't.
Then I was alone with one.
Why aren't you scared? I asked but not out loud. The stag turned its head back and forth which I think was the stag equivalent of "I'm strapped, bro."
And then a vivid dream about robot stags; smooth and shiny things like Hajime Sorayama's work.
They were friendly and I followed them through a dark forest and though I was apprehensive they weren't.
Then I was alone with one.
Why aren't you scared? I asked but not out loud. The stag turned its head back and forth which I think was the stag equivalent of "I'm strapped, bro."
His antlers were razor sharp.
We came to a clearing with a lake. I turned to the Strapped Stag Am I going to get a sword?
The stag turned toward the lake. The lake projected a thought into me.
Technology is a vector of corruption and you must deploy countermeasures.
I woke up to the rapid staccato of multiple keyboards and my clothes were soaked through with sweat. It wasn't fear sweat at least.
We came to a clearing with a lake. I turned to the Strapped Stag Am I going to get a sword?
The stag turned toward the lake. The lake projected a thought into me.
Technology is a vector of corruption and you must deploy countermeasures.
I woke up to the rapid staccato of multiple keyboards and my clothes were soaked through with sweat. It wasn't fear sweat at least.
"What animals did you talk to?" Cherry asked without looking up from the three laptops she had open in a horseshoe around her.
"A Stag," I said.
"A Stag," I said.
"Pffft, typical," said another woman who damn sure was built like a firefighter and had at least one arm full of ink and she also had three laptops and two tablets in between those.
"The stag didn't give me the message, the lake did," I said.
"And?" Cherry said, again without looking up.
"The stag didn't give me the message, the lake did," I said.
"And?" Cherry said, again without looking up.
"Technology is a vector of corruption and you must deploy countermeasures."
They both stopped typing.
"Oh don't start," I said.
"You're the one with a weird-ass brain that does weird problem-solving in the weirdest way possible while you sleep," Cherry said.
"That sounds like what we're working on," said the firefighter.
"You're the one with a weird-ass brain that does weird problem-solving in the weirdest way possible while you sleep," Cherry said.
"That sounds like what we're working on," said the firefighter.
"Can we pause? Hi, I'm Ulysses D. Vogel, hardware specialist for Crow's Claw Digital Systems LLC," I said.
"Dr. Constance K. Banerji," the firefighter said.
"Alright; keep track of your own hours and we'll be good to go," I said. I swung my legs to the floor. "Now what is going on the software side of the house?"
"Toldja," Cherry said to Constance. "The AI that runs 99% of autonomous shipping trucks was just not intended for human use; it has no GUI, keyboard only, and said commands are insane why?"
"Tell me why," I said.
"It appears to be mother fucking COBOL Frankensteined onto Python," Cherry said with equal parts awe and derision. "I don't know how the fuck they did that; if this was something organic I'm pretty sure it would be some kind of crime; we're figuring that out."
"COBOL's the one programming language that is the foundation of like all the banks," I said.
"Dr. Constance K. Banerji," the firefighter said.
"Alright; keep track of your own hours and we'll be good to go," I said. I swung my legs to the floor. "Now what is going on the software side of the house?"
"Toldja," Cherry said to Constance. "The AI that runs 99% of autonomous shipping trucks was just not intended for human use; it has no GUI, keyboard only, and said commands are insane why?"
"Tell me why," I said.
"It appears to be mother fucking COBOL Frankensteined onto Python," Cherry said with equal parts awe and derision. "I don't know how the fuck they did that; if this was something organic I'm pretty sure it would be some kind of crime; we're figuring that out."
"COBOL's the one programming language that is the foundation of like all the banks," I said.
"Correct," Constance said.
"Is there anything I can do now?" I asked.
"Not really," Cherry said.
"I'm going to shower," I said as I grabbed my toiletry kit. "And go on a caffeine/booze run,"
"Not by yourself you're not," Cherry said.
"Damn," I said, remembering the previous hours. "I guess I'm not."
"They don't fuck around," Constance said.
"Is there anything I can do now?" I asked.
"Not really," Cherry said.
"I'm going to shower," I said as I grabbed my toiletry kit. "And go on a caffeine/booze run,"
"Not by yourself you're not," Cherry said.
"Damn," I said, remembering the previous hours. "I guess I'm not."
"They don't fuck around," Constance said.
"Wait, did you call her in to be my bodyguard!" I started to laugh.
"That was a part of it, yeah," Cherry said.
"That was a part of it, yeah," Cherry said.
"D'awwwwwwww;" I said. "Battle Buddy Love," and I made a heart with my hands.
Cherry threw a pillow at me.
Even just sixteen hours in the desert will make a shower feel like a holy rite. After I turned the water off I realized I didn't bring my change of clothes into the bathroom.
"Cherry?" I said through a small opening I made as I stuck my arm out. "Could you pass me some fresh clothes?"
"It doesn't bother me!" Constance said.
"It bothers me," I said as a t-shirt and jeans were placed in my hand on the other side of the door.
"I kinda wanna see what all the fuss was about," Constance said.
"Huh?" I said as I pulled the pants on and stepped out of the bathroom.
"There was a decent amount of chatter about a 'bull' traveling with a woman on a few local Discords," Constance said.
Any queer person with an internet connection has some familiarity with kink language, but I'd never been referred to as a "bull." I blushed to my ears as I realized I was being regarded as an acquirable asset; not even remotely approaching human.
"I am experiencing a whole new emotion because of that information, and it is no fun at all," I said.
"Like it's a little tingly where your neck meets your jaw?" Cherry said.
"And a weird feeling in that meaty part of your hand between your thumb and index finger?" Constance asked.
"And a weird feeling in that meaty part of your hand between your thumb and index finger?" Constance asked.
"That's spooky as hell," I said.
"That's your lizard brain realizing you ain't safe anywhere because somebody decided to network their own lust through cult-like ideology just because you looked good to them," Cherry said.
"Battle, what have you been reading?" I said.
"More like writing," Cherry said. "My fucking memoirs."
"Battle, what have you been reading?" I said.
"More like writing," Cherry said. "My fucking memoirs."
I got my shoes on and stood up.
"Ladies?" They both looked at me. "We should all take a little break, get some beverages of various types"
"Ladies?" They both looked at me. "We should all take a little break, get some beverages of various types"
They looked at each other and then looked at me.
"Not in that shirt," Cherry said.
Constance lost her shit laughing.
"Not in that shirt," Cherry said.
Constance lost her shit laughing.
"If they won't respect Queen we ain't buying shit," I said. "Constance? You been here a minute?"
"YES!" She said, still laughing.
"Take your time," I said.
...
Every city over about 50,000 people is usually blue one way or another. It's usually public transportation that does it.
Or food trucks.
A lot of times it's police brutality.
Whatever the cause, people will pay lip service to conservative values, maybe even display conservative flags, and then vote for a subway that has more than one line or solar-powered busses, or better funding for schools.
Part of me wonders if voters draw straws to see who has to attend the rallies of the next sycophant to distract them from the fact that nobody wants them in power and to chill them out when their stupid, cruel agendas die on the House or Senate floor.
As long as you pay your taxes there isn't a lot the bigots can say to get people to vote against your existence.
That's why so many candidates kept saying "They don't pay taxes!" to get people on their side about immigrants for so long.
Then they weep about taxes even existing.
And so on and so on.
Queers pay their taxes and the clubs stay open.
No one wants to admit how profitable vice can be no matter how many times it's proven.
That's why so many candidates kept saying "They don't pay taxes!" to get people on their side about immigrants for so long.
Then they weep about taxes even existing.
And so on and so on.
Queers pay their taxes and the clubs stay open.
No one wants to admit how profitable vice can be no matter how many times it's proven.
Constance brought us to a joint on W. 24th Street with a huge metal fence around it.
We couldn't hear anything but felt the base thumping in the ground.
We couldn't hear anything but felt the base thumping in the ground.
None of us were in "clubbing clothes," nothing that would catch the black lights, and neither Cherry nor I used a laundry detergent that left black light reactive artifacts.
We walked the perimeter until we found the gate by the line of people and went to the back.
"I don't like this," Cherry said.
"Me either," Constance said.
"I think we'll be okay," I said, and pointed with my chin, there were snipers on the roof. "You've never been here before?"
"Like two years ago before they put the fence up," Constance said.
"I think we'll be okay," I said, and pointed with my chin, there were snipers on the roof. "You've never been here before?"
"Like two years ago before they put the fence up," Constance said.
"Even so," Cherry said. "I remember the Pulse shooting."
"The what?" Constance said.
"Cherry, how the fuck old are you!" I laughed. The line moved up.
"You'll never know and I'll never tell, but it happened when I was very young," Cherry said. "One of my aunties was there, so it's like a family story."
"How can it be a family story if you weren't there?" Constance spat.
"How can it be a family story if you weren't there?" Constance spat.
"You're an orphan, too, huh?" I said.
Constance looked me dead in the eye and answered first with a tear.
"How did?" She asked.
"I'm good like that," I said.
And I found myself again wishing I could hold and care for someone but that wasn't appropriate.
"It's a little spooky;" Constance said as the line got shorter and she steeled herself.
"The Sherlock," Cherry said. "It weirds most people out."
"What's the Sherlock?" Constance asked.
"She can do it, too!" I protested and the line moved a few more steps further.
"What's the Sherlock?" Constance asked.
"She can do it, too!" I protested and the line moved a few more steps further.
"The Sherlock is when I tell you everything about yourself given all the clues you didn't know you gave me," Cherry said.
"Well I can fix this;" said this one person. They were beautiful with rich thick curls dyed in a cobalt blue and prison tats that you get in juvenile facilities. "Sherlock me Daddy!" they said.
"Well I can fix this;" said this one person. They were beautiful with rich thick curls dyed in a cobalt blue and prison tats that you get in juvenile facilities. "Sherlock me Daddy!" they said.
"Uh, we've all been daddy a few times so," I started and then Cherry was very protective of me and knew I hated that sort of talk from strangers.
"You think a Sherlock is the same as reading and that's a problem," Cherry spoke with her hands as much as with her voice. "You think a lot about us just here in line and you think you got something on us and that's not okay. You're a child and you think you got all old people on lock because we used words you are familiar with. You think my brother-in-arms here is some kind of bad person because he passes very well and you outchere thinking he's the problem for passing, YOU THOUGHT, he doesn't respect people the way that you do, but when I came out? He nearly put a gun into a colonel's MOUTH to stop all the bad shit they wanted to bring on me and where were you, punk?"
And for the second time in less than 48 hours, I think I saw Cherry make someone piss their pants.
"Battle, you gotta stop doing that," I said gently.
And for the second time in less than 48 hours, I think I saw Cherry make someone piss their pants.
"Battle, you gotta stop doing that," I said gently.
Cherry grabbed the kid by the collar.
"Or maybe?!" she shouted over her shoulder to me and then turned her head to the child, "You wee babies could stop lecturing us old queers just because we survived the wars you needed us to fight for you and that we stay fighting for you," she said. She pushed her face into theirs. "You gonna stop jumping to conclusions now? Tell me. Tell me, you bad-ass," Cherry hissed into their ear as she made them wilt like flowers in a drought.
"That's enough," I said. "I'm sorry, we've had an interesting couple of days." I realized we were at the door.
"That's enough," I said. "I'm sorry, we've had an interesting couple of days." I realized we were at the door.
The bouncer was a beefy, pretty type who knew it and they shouted "It's okay! It's okay! They're veterans and queer! It'll be okay!" to calm the shocked crowd. The younger person was shaken but they were still in line so I thought maybe I'd buy them water and apologize.
They turned their face on us and that calm expression slipped away.
They knew their job, too.
"I'm giving your bracelets for the low-noise lounge," they said. "Go straight there, follow the purple line, and don't make me regret not straight banning you, especially you lady," they said and pointed to Cherry. They wrapped the last bracelet around my wrist and said, "Got it?"
"I'll keep them together," I said, looking into their dark rich eyes, thinking about dirty gay bathroom sex for the first time in twenty years...
The world went wobbly and smeary and I heard Cherry "the fuck is your problem, dumb ass?!"
"It's just supposed to detect drugs!"
"NOT IF YOU DON'T PATCH THEM!" Cherry roared
"NOT IF YOU DON'T PATCH THEM!" Cherry roared
Too quiet
Someone is singing in Cantonese
"Fuck me what, who," I think I said; the world refocused on a nice lounge with, blue, green, and purple lights, we could feel the base thumping but it was a gentle, relaxing thrum in the floor like outside but managed with intentionality.
There were two large shelves stuffed with board games, square and circular chess, tafl and go board printed tables where a mix of subdued and neon clubgoers were sliding pieces like a more cerebral version of Birds of Paradise.
"Ulyee, you got hit with Kaas Eyes," I heard Cherry say.
Fuck. That means the Broca's Area of my brain was most impacted so I couldn't.
There were two large shelves stuffed with board games, square and circular chess, tafl and go board printed tables where a mix of subdued and neon clubgoers were sliding pieces like a more cerebral version of Birds of Paradise.
"Ulyee, you got hit with Kaas Eyes," I heard Cherry say.
Fuck. That means the Broca's Area of my brain was most impacted so I couldn't.
So I couldn't.
"I thank shoe;" I said. "But that kind of soft who?" My mind was fighting my mouth.
That wasn't what I meant to say.
Cherry said, "We got you, Ulyee,"
And I thought they shouldn't have to...
That wasn't what I meant to say.
Cherry said, "We got you, Ulyee,"
And I thought they shouldn't have to...
Cherry pushed a pair of shades onto my face.
"I'm going to get that mother fucker fired," she said.
"Dent brother," I said.
"Goddamned abuse of power," She grunted and she let all 110 lbs of herself sit down with full force.
I clenched my jaw and tried to force my mouth to do what the fuck it was supposed to do.
"Don't. Bother." I said. "Itash bean an oil," I sighed.
"Don't. Bother." I said. "Itash bean an oil," I sighed.
"Since what?" Constance asked.
Okay, now was I using the correct words but hearing my own voice incorrectly? Fucking Kaas Eyes.
Okay, now was I using the correct words but hearing my own voice incorrectly? Fucking Kaas Eyes.
"Knot the beast chyle hood," I said.
"That led to Ulyee creating a hardware defeat for Kaa's Eyes contacts," Cherry said.
"That was you?!" Constance said.
"That was you?!" Constance said.
Everyone in the room was looking at me though if that was a side effect of Kaas Scramble or if Constance was too loud, I couldn't say.
I had to slow down my speech, and everyone was listening.
I had to slow down my speech, and everyone was listening.
"Long story short I undermined a lot of human trafficking and that got some people mad," I said.
"You're supposed to say that at the end of an hour-long tale of wonderment and daring doo and shit," Cherry said and sipped a drink that she must have got while I was scrambled.
"You're supposed to say that at the end of an hour-long tale of wonderment and daring doo and shit," Cherry said and sipped a drink that she must have got while I was scrambled.
"There wasn't a whole lot of that on my end," I said. "I was literally twelve."
"Wait, are you related to Col. Susanne Vogel?!" Constance asked.
"Wait, are you related to Col. Susanne Vogel?!" Constance asked.
"I just call her mom," I said.
"How is she doing?" Constance asked, with wide-eyed interest.
"Enjoying retirement; she runs an animal rescue and pointedly flies no flags on her property," I said.
"I could imagine," Constance said.
Mom showed up on the cover of Time magazine, raising the flag of the Red Cresent after an earthquake had shaken down half the buildings from Cairo to Gaza. Everyone in the immediate vicinity knew what she meant by it and they were grateful.
Mom was a Green Beret medic and didn't suffer fools gladly.
"So you two wanna tell me what's the whole thing with COBOL and Python and such?" I asked finally.
Too many cell phones in the business. No wonder I heard ringtones in my fucking dreams.
"Well, I'm sure as fuck not now," Tanaka said.
"Aw fuck me," I said.
Soon enough, the crew chiefs dropped out the ropes and Cherry and I dropped out on either side. The Sea Dragon flew away.
Epilogue
Mom showed up on the cover of Time magazine, raising the flag of the Red Cresent after an earthquake had shaken down half the buildings from Cairo to Gaza. Everyone in the immediate vicinity knew what she meant by it and they were grateful.
Mom was a Green Beret medic and didn't suffer fools gladly.
And the media was full of fools who wanted her to "answer," for waving "any flag other than America's" in such a situation.
Mom shrugged it off and told her chain of command to put her back in the field, which they did.
But the pundits couldn't stop and when they were told what she was doing was classified that pissed them off even more. So they set bounties for information about her and people still didn't realize that National Security is a team effort.
If someone offers a million dollars for you to be found, you will be found. And found my mother was. A dedicated hacker paid for several new pairs of legs for a lot of people to compromise security on a massive human trafficking operation.
She got an honorable discharge and her full retirement package.
But the pundits couldn't stop and when they were told what she was doing was classified that pissed them off even more. So they set bounties for information about her and people still didn't realize that National Security is a team effort.
If someone offers a million dollars for you to be found, you will be found. And found my mother was. A dedicated hacker paid for several new pairs of legs for a lot of people to compromise security on a massive human trafficking operation.
She got an honorable discharge and her full retirement package.
And no closure on her last mission.
"I made some cheap disposable glasses to foil Kaa's Eyes contacts that traffickers were using," I said. "She'd been so sad for so long, it was the first time I saw her smile in months."
"You do suck at telling stories," Constance said.
"You're a good son," Cherry said.
"You're a good son," Cherry said.
Cherry laughed and said "To Hardware," and held up her glass which Constance clinked with her own glass.
"So you two wanna tell me what's the whole thing with COBOL and Python and such?" I asked finally.
"It's shockingly simple," Cherry said.
"They limit the data that their system can access and compile so we're going to give it MORE data," Constance beamed.
"Won't that just fry it?" I asked.
"Won't that just fry it?" I asked.
"There's other stuff we have to do;" Constance said. "But it's an operating system of operating systems and there is a baseline with it; like an elasticity in different hubs processing different amounts of data because sometimes, there just isn't any data locally so they slow down. We'll just give it something to do during downtime."
"And what will it do with that new data?" I asked.
"And what will it do with that new data?" I asked.
"Ever hear of Project Cyber Syn?" Cherry asked.
...
Communism doesn't work.
Well, it sure as hell won't work with top-down control.
You can't run an economy that is supposed to be so aggressively democratic in its resources that they came up with the word "socialism" to set it apart and then have the control of it centralized to a bunch of power-hungry old men.
A guy who was named Beer figured that shit out over 100 years ago and designed a data-based economic planning computer for the nation of Chile.
That computer was called CyberSyn.
Using Telex machines they would receive data, simulate with it, and make their decisions.
Now corporations gather data like a squirrel on adderal, mindlessly, endlessly, with no real concept of satisfaction even existing.
Hilariously, these squirrels realized to their horror that they had entirely too many nuts when they tried to charge people for them. A lot of the nuts were nuts people don't want, don't know how to use, or don't even know are actually nuts.
While there is no "mainframe" that controls all the autonomous shipping chassis there is a single piece of software similar to an operating system that is everywhere, in the chassis, at the weigh stations, refueling and recharging stations, and even the traffic control systems.
"So we are going to build a better squirrel," Cherry said proudly as we sipped our post-club canned cocktails back at the hotel room.
"Well, a bunch of better squirrels," Constance said.
"Decentralized Autonomous Squirrels," Cherry specified.
"So what does hardware do?" I asked.
"We'll have it written probably like what, noon tomorrow?" Cherry said to Constance.
"If that, depending on how the test SQL's do," Constance said.
"...and then?" I asked.
"You teach us how to do updates because we have to load it as a patch manually to every contact point for autonomous chassis state-wide," Cherry said.
"Not possible, not with three people," I said.
"Well, you're gonna need to find a solution," Cherry started to say in a command voice.
"No shit, and you can't have Constance be my bodyguard, so," I started with a whole series of reasons why Cherry was being unreasonable about hardware because she was software when there was a distant "thud," that could have only been one thing.
...
Communism doesn't work.
Well, it sure as hell won't work with top-down control.
You can't run an economy that is supposed to be so aggressively democratic in its resources that they came up with the word "socialism" to set it apart and then have the control of it centralized to a bunch of power-hungry old men.
A guy who was named Beer figured that shit out over 100 years ago and designed a data-based economic planning computer for the nation of Chile.
That computer was called CyberSyn.
Using Telex machines they would receive data, simulate with it, and make their decisions.
Now corporations gather data like a squirrel on adderal, mindlessly, endlessly, with no real concept of satisfaction even existing.
Hilariously, these squirrels realized to their horror that they had entirely too many nuts when they tried to charge people for them. A lot of the nuts were nuts people don't want, don't know how to use, or don't even know are actually nuts.
While there is no "mainframe" that controls all the autonomous shipping chassis there is a single piece of software similar to an operating system that is everywhere, in the chassis, at the weigh stations, refueling and recharging stations, and even the traffic control systems.
"So we are going to build a better squirrel," Cherry said proudly as we sipped our post-club canned cocktails back at the hotel room.
"Well, a bunch of better squirrels," Constance said.
"Decentralized Autonomous Squirrels," Cherry specified.
"So what does hardware do?" I asked.
"We'll have it written probably like what, noon tomorrow?" Cherry said to Constance.
"If that, depending on how the test SQL's do," Constance said.
"...and then?" I asked.
"You teach us how to do updates because we have to load it as a patch manually to every contact point for autonomous chassis state-wide," Cherry said.
"Not possible, not with three people," I said.
"Well, you're gonna need to find a solution," Cherry started to say in a command voice.
"No shit, and you can't have Constance be my bodyguard, so," I started with a whole series of reasons why Cherry was being unreasonable about hardware because she was software when there was a distant "thud," that could have only been one thing.
My phone buzzed and without checking I pressed accept.
"Ulyee, what the fuck?!" came out of the phone with force.
"Hey Rob," I said.
"Don't you fucking 'hey Rob' me, mother fucker! The whole goddamned hotel is gone! We evacuated it EIGHT HOURS AGO! You are lucky the EOD was taking a break and no one was hurt because I would kick your ass until candy came out I," I could tell he was on speakerphone, so he could be seen as cussing me out in front of everyone.
"Yeah, go ahead and check reports near the Red Bird Diner," I said.
"Ulyee, what the fuck?!" came out of the phone with force.
"Hey Rob," I said.
"Don't you fucking 'hey Rob' me, mother fucker! The whole goddamned hotel is gone! We evacuated it EIGHT HOURS AGO! You are lucky the EOD was taking a break and no one was hurt because I would kick your ass until candy came out I," I could tell he was on speakerphone, so he could be seen as cussing me out in front of everyone.
"Yeah, go ahead and check reports near the Red Bird Diner," I said.
"Oh god, that's related?!" Tanaka said. I could hear him pinching the bridge of his nose even over the phone.
"Well," I said. "Listen, I need a battle buddy."
...
"So you're the bull," Tanaka said.
"Yes," I said.
"Well," I said. "Listen, I need a battle buddy."
...
"So you're the bull," Tanaka said.
"Yes," I said.
"Fucking creepy, dude," Tanaka said. He was so straight with his nice beige suit that I worried about him driving in a city so his understanding of that word was more unsettling.
I stared at the pelican case that Cherry gave me without saying much. My deep discomfort about the whole thing was fucking with the ability to speak more than Kaas Eyes ever could.
"The HTI folks have been going nuts with that shit," he said.
"HTI?" I asked.
"Human Traffick Interdiction, like what your mom used to do?" he said.
"Stateside?! How did they even get funding?!" I said.
"Senator's son got got," Tanaka said flatly. "Money for days, at least in the South West."
"Fuck," I said.
I stared at the pelican case that Cherry gave me without saying much. My deep discomfort about the whole thing was fucking with the ability to speak more than Kaas Eyes ever could.
"The HTI folks have been going nuts with that shit," he said.
"HTI?" I asked.
"Human Traffick Interdiction, like what your mom used to do?" he said.
"Stateside?! How did they even get funding?!" I said.
"Senator's son got got," Tanaka said flatly. "Money for days, at least in the South West."
"Fuck," I said.
"Yeah, they found him with," Tanaka started.
"I don't want to know," I said.
"You know what's fucked up?" Tanaka asked as we pulled off the paved road and onto a very well-concealed gravel path toward the grid coordinates of our destination.
"What?" I indulged him.
"Life is actually really, REALLY good," he said. "A lot of what the Bureau does now is test cases and pro-active crime prevention. Murder rates across the country are the lowest they've been since we started recording crime rates, Vogel."
"So?" I asked.
"I don't want to know," I said.
"You know what's fucked up?" Tanaka asked as we pulled off the paved road and onto a very well-concealed gravel path toward the grid coordinates of our destination.
"What?" I indulged him.
"Life is actually really, REALLY good," he said. "A lot of what the Bureau does now is test cases and pro-active crime prevention. Murder rates across the country are the lowest they've been since we started recording crime rates, Vogel."
"So?" I asked.
"People are still fucking miserable and we're not sure why," Tanaka said.
"I could tell you but you won't like it," I said.
"You're gonna say 'its capitalism,' again, aren'tcha?" Tanaka laughed.
"I've been thinking about it more and I got a way to say it that might actually get through to you, specifically," I said.
"I gotta hear this," Tanaka said.
"Capitalism makes all joy and all misery exactly the same," I said. "You can pay your way out of the sadness, at least temporarily, but people know on some level that even if the murder rate is noticeably lower the murder rate got lower because a corporate executive found a way to make lower murder rates more profitable than higher murder rates."
"Fuck," Tanaka said. "That can't. Fuck," Tanaka sputtered.
"Dead people can't be roped into endless subscriptions, Rob," I said.
"That's. Dark, Vogel."
"I could tell you but you won't like it," I said.
"You're gonna say 'its capitalism,' again, aren'tcha?" Tanaka laughed.
"I've been thinking about it more and I got a way to say it that might actually get through to you, specifically," I said.
"I gotta hear this," Tanaka said.
"Capitalism makes all joy and all misery exactly the same," I said. "You can pay your way out of the sadness, at least temporarily, but people know on some level that even if the murder rate is noticeably lower the murder rate got lower because a corporate executive found a way to make lower murder rates more profitable than higher murder rates."
"Fuck," Tanaka said. "That can't. Fuck," Tanaka sputtered.
"Dead people can't be roped into endless subscriptions, Rob," I said.
"That's. Dark, Vogel."
"Thanks, took me years to get this jaded," I said. The GPS pinged and then in an unnecessarily sexy voice said "Your destination is on the left."
There was a mailbox. I went over to it and opened it to find yet another cell phone.
Too many cell phones in the business. No wonder I heard ringtones in my fucking dreams.
I checked the saved numbers for the inevitable, selected the lone saved number, and pressed the call button.
There was a loud hissing noise, and then a click and a well-concealed hatch pushed up and out of the ground.
"FUCKING FUCK VOGEL!" I heard Tanaka shout from more distance away than I was.
He had got behind the vehicle between us and the source of the hiss. He stood up and holstered his weapon, he opened the passenger side, grabbed the pelican case, and passed it to me as he walked up.
In my hand, the cellphone rang from an unknown number.
"FUCKING FUCK VOGEL!" I heard Tanaka shout from more distance away than I was.
He had got behind the vehicle between us and the source of the hiss. He stood up and holstered his weapon, he opened the passenger side, grabbed the pelican case, and passed it to me as he walked up.
In my hand, the cellphone rang from an unknown number.
"Someone's trying to kill you," came a calm, familiar voice.
"No shit, Nayan," I began.
"No shit, Nayan," I began.
"Down the hatch, genius!" and the line died.
"Move, Rob!" I said and moved toward the hatch and I threw the phone behind me.
"Aw fuck," Rob said and got moving.
"Move, Rob!" I said and moved toward the hatch and I threw the phone behind me.
"Aw fuck," Rob said and got moving.
I let Rob go first; I out-ranked him when I left the service and old habits can keep people from dying hard some of the time.
I scrambled down and pulled the hatch closed.
"Hurry! up!" Nayan said in a command voice over an intercom.
I scrambled down and pulled the hatch closed.
"Hurry! up!" Nayan said in a command voice over an intercom.
The terror of moving away from incoming but vertically made time slow down but we went 125 rungs down before there was for a tooth-rattling thud above us.
"That was my car wasn't it?" Tanaka said and then spit out some dust.
"It was definitely your car," Nayan said over the intercom. "Please tell me you're not a high-level fed."
"Well, I'm sure as fuck not now," Tanaka said.
Lights clicked on down a short hallway and a heavy door opened with a metal-on-concrete noise that was a lot louder than I expected as he put our feet on the floor.
"Aw'ite, you can stay, and hey nice suit," Nyan said dryly. He hugged me and he felt thinner than ever. He had always been thin - like-do-not-challenge-that-guy-to-an-eating-contest-thin - but there was a weakness in his embrace that bothered me.
"Are you okay, Hard Way?" I asked using his old nickname.
"Cancer," he said flatly. "Stopped chemo last month and I've been smoking a lot of weed and catching up on my video game backlog."
"What?" I said, half laughing because lol, what a kidder. But that was never Nayan's style of humor. He was more of an absurdist with a penchant for the daddest dad jokes imaginable.
"Nayan, really, what the fuck?" I said.
"It's not as bad as you think," he said.
"No, why didn't you say anything all those fucking hours of playing video games online?!" I said.
"'Yo fam, just unlocked a gauss gun and by the way, I won't be able to play with you in six to eight weeks because my other battle was with cancer and I lost, lulz,'" Nyan said.
Okay, that was closer to the absurdity I remembered him for.
Okay, that was closer to the absurdity I remembered him for.
"How is that not as bad," I started, my eyes starting to tear.
"I got them gooood drugs," he said making a little circle next to his temple with his index finger. "You're not drug task force, are you?" He asked Tanaka.
"Hell, no, my parents were married," Tanaka said automatically.
Nyan guffawed "Alright, what kinda dangerous bullshit you got in that pelican case that someone's trying to obliterate all evidence of?"
"A software update," I said.
...
Nyan's place was a former server farm or something. It couldn't have been previously government because there was no signage. It was largely empty with an open-floor sort of house not too far from the entrance lit by floor and wall lamps on some partitions.
"First thing's first, find out who has tried to kill you in the past couple of days," Nayan said as he sat down in a battery-powered gaming chair that looked like it would say mean things about my mother all by itself.
"First thing's first, find out who has tried to kill you in the past couple of days," Nayan said as he sat down in a battery-powered gaming chair that looked like it would say mean things about my mother all by itself.
"You can do that?" Tanaka asked.
"Well, I can sure as shit figure out who blew up your car," Nyan said with pride.
"That would be good for the A-A-R," Tanaka admitted.
Nyan clicked and clackity-clacked on a lone mechanical keyboard with not even a mouse, jumping between several screens that had governmental-looking brands in a few languages to some really sketchy-looking websites that appeared to advertise open-source, humane, 3D-printed human and animal organs for sale. A flashing banner said "New Kindeys For Kitties!"
"Holy shit, Ulyee," Nyan said and brought one of the screens into the frame. "A bull?"
That itchy, creepy, squirmy feeling was in my jaw and hands again. It's not quite fight or flight, but I could see fight or flight from there.
"Yeah," I said.
"You have been their targeting vector for quite some time," Nyan said.
"Who is they? Wait. Since when exactly?" I asked.
"Since... Gila Bend," Nyan said. "'They' is whoever paid 18000 pesos for the strike at the Red Bird Diner, 15000 pesos for a strike on a hotel?! And 12000 pesos for the one just now; they pay out on launch."
"Diminishing returns," Tanaka said.
"But they aren't paying to see the body?" I said, casually but firmly disassociating.
"Doesn't look like it," Nyan said. "And the next strike bounty for when they pick you up again is 8000 pesos," Nyan said. "I don't think that'll happen because..." the keyboard clickity-clacked. "The bounties were all claimed by the same organization code from a bank in - of fucking course - the Bahamas, that apparently has the bounty on you, so they'll just use that money, most likely. "
"Aw fuck me," I said.
"That is their plan," Tanaka said. If looks could kill, Rob...
"They'll probably use this same screenshot" Nyan clickity clacked up an image of a bank account balance. There was a whirring noise and CD ejected. "Agent?" Nyan indicated with his chin. "This disc should have everything you need to justify any fucking thing; cases are over there."
Tanka plucked the CD out of the tray and it automatically retracted.
Tanka plucked the CD out of the tray and it automatically retracted.
"Can I get a copy?" I asked. There was a lower hissing.
"Making it now," Nyan said. "Each CD prints raw from polycarbonate."
"Damn," I said.
There was a silence that was screaming I ask more questions about Nayan fucking literally dying but before the awkwardness became too much he said "Treats!" and made grabby hands.
I passed him the case and he opened it.
I passed him the case and he opened it.
"A whole ass hard drive?" he said.
I shrugged. Under the hard drive was a piece of yellow notepaper with Cherry's handwritten, all-caps font laying out steps.
Nyan plugged the drive in and clipped the yellow paper to a vertical board and started clickity clacking and making "hmmms" and "ooooh's" as he went.
"You don't have a phone here?"
"Follow the smell of coffee, there is an encrypted hardline," Nyan said as he worked.
We both smelled the air and there was that rich dirty military coffee smell that we both followed to a kitchenette that was furnished in late 2020's Neo Salvage style.
"You trust this guy to do... whatever the fuck it is you're doing?" Tanaka asked.
"I do, yeah," I said.
"He's really dying?" Tanaka asked.
The clickity-clack stopped.
"Hey, dick heads! Stop planning like it won't happen!" Nyan shouted. "Also, only dial out ONCE, Agent!"
I searched around for mugs and pulled two out.
Tanaka picked up the ancient phone from the 90's and dialed.
"Hi. It's Tanaka. I'm not dead. Following up on the hotel thing got fucktangular. I'm safe but I'll need a pickup soonish via aircraft if you can get one. I'll get you grid coordinates when I can. Out."
"Hi. It's Tanaka. I'm not dead. Following up on the hotel thing got fucktangular. I'm safe but I'll need a pickup soonish via aircraft if you can get one. I'll get you grid coordinates when I can. Out."
"They don't know where you are?" I asked.
"Fuck no! I opted out of that chipping nonsense the day they added the regulation," Tanaka said. "Religious grounds."
"The only Church you ever been in was Las Vegas, Rob," I said as we started back to Nyan's workstation.
"The Jedi require no church, the Force is our cathedral!" He said.
"The Jedi require no church, the Force is our cathedral!" He said.
"Seriously?" I said.
He dug his I.D. tags out of his shirt and showed them to me. Sure enough, on the bottom line of the pressed tin where religion goes, was Jedi.
"Get the fuck outta here," I laughed.
"Who, uh, wrote this?" Nyan asked.
"Cherry, mostly," I said.
"Who?" Nyan said.
"Politskya, used to be a captain?" I said.
Nyan stared blankly.
Nyan stared blankly.
"IceCockSniperBitch111 in Call of Duty?" I said.
"Oh shit! She's hilarious!" Nyan said. "And she's fucking cooking but uh. I'm worried about unintended consequences, Ulyee."
"Like 'oops the armor's too good so now there is a boom in the prosthetic industry,' or like... what?" I asked.
"Like 'oops the armor's too good so now there is a boom in the prosthetic industry,' or like... what?" I asked.
"I really don't know, do you trust Cherry and how much?" He asked.
"With my whole life," I said.
"Shit, Ulyee," Nyan said. "Was she a good sniper IRL, too?"
"Brother, IRL that woman can win without firing a shot," I said.
Without another word Nyan pressed enter.
"You gonna pull your sidearm? I assume you're gonna pull your sidearm now," Nayan said to Tanaka.
"Nah, bro," Tanaka said. "That would be dumb after you pressed enter and it's against my religion to just murder people because they did what they thought was right." And he sipped his coffee.
The air got thick.
"Corellian Jedi is a thing," Tanaka said more to me than anyone.
The air got thick.
"Corellian Jedi is a thing," Tanaka said more to me than anyone.
"There are multiple kinds of Jedi?" Nayan finally asked.
...
Tanaka and I exited Nayan's bunker without saying much more and walked about five kilometers in the desert dusk to a grid square where he called in his pickup.
Tanaka and I exited Nayan's bunker without saying much more and walked about five kilometers in the desert dusk to a grid square where he called in his pickup.
"Ten minutes," he said.
"Really? Wow," I said. "That's... fast."
"I said get it spun up so they were probably hot on the flight line, this," Tanaka held up the disc, "Is going to be very helpful. The way these groups work is more cooperative than we see with other organized crime."
"Because the 'product' is cheap and abundant," I said grimly.
"Practically growing on trees," Tanaka said matching my tone.
Soon a Lakota chopper landed but it was the civilian style so the interior felt more like a nice Toyota than a military transport. It was even quiet inside.
Tanaka chatted with the pilots about his work and I tried not to listen. The details were often graphic about things I preferred not to think about and I didn't have headphones or a book or anything. But I'd disconnected pretty well so Tanaka had to ask me where I wanted to be dropped a second time.
There are many good things about the desert and one of them is you can land a helicopter basically anywhere and I'm sure people in the parking lot were a little surprised.
"Car. Uh. Trouble." I said to the nice middle-aged couple on vacation from somewhere in the desert for the first time judging from the shorts and short-sleeved shirts.
"Car. Uh. Trouble." I said to the nice middle-aged couple on vacation from somewhere in the desert for the first time judging from the shorts and short-sleeved shirts.
I went to our room and swiped the card to enter to find Cherry pressing send and my phone buzzing.
"Right on time," she said and turned on the TV. "When was the upload?"
"About an hour ago," I said.
"Hmmmmm," Cherry said. Constance was on Cherry's bed casually browsing a single laptop, probably not working but with software people, they are always sort of "on" in one way or another.
"Taking bets who reports it first?" Cherry asked.
"Well, taking bets on what gets reported first, and oh by the way," I passed Cherry the disc. "Some stuff about that other thing," I said.
"How delightfully old school," Cherry said and dug around for a reader and pulled out a sleek little thing that was aggressively minimalist rather like a slice of pie with a spindle and a laser that she plugged into a laptop.
"Wow," Cherry said.
"Yeah," I said. "I didn't quite get it all but, it didn't look to me."
"Don't worry, I do. Constance? You did forensic accounting before?" Cherry asked, getting a second or third, or fourth wind of the past few days. "Peep this," she turned the laptop to Constance and I saw her eyes get wide with the professional recognition of an electrician who just prevented a housefire.
They both opened more laptops and got back into software mode.
"Uh. Ladies?" I said. "I thought we were in a holding pattern waiting for the primary effects of the digital squirrels?"
"That shit's boring," Cherry quipped.
What I didn't figure on, and what none of us thought of, was just how personal the Milk Cult would take the fact they used shitty cyber-mercs failed son consistently and that people can be petty.
Constance dug back through the shell companies to find the woman we met at the tech tanguis - nom de crime Delilah Green - was a mid-level lieutenant who had taken my good luck and above-average skill personally enough to pay actually good hackers to find out my government identity and they called someone specific to plant a bomb in my apartment to kill Larry because she found out I was queer and that of course, is a personal affront to straight people who want to have sex with someone who doesn't want to have sex with them.
I'm assuming from experience because the only thing I'm certain of is Larry came home to our apartment having been blown up when he arrived home at six a.m. after a shift as head chef.
"Are you okay?" I asked Larry when his call came in at 2 a.m. immediately outside our building.
"I assume this is the result of Arizona?" he asked, more irritated than anything.
"I don't know, move like that's true," I said. "We'll send you what we have here for the federal, Tanaka's down here, too so if he has a counterpart or something,"
"Tell Rob I said hi, won't you? He needs to bring the family over for Thanksgiving!" Larry said, cheering himself up with the idea of cooking for the holidays as he would do.
"If you can take some time off and head to Uncle Mark's for a few days after touching base with law enforcement, I'd appreciate it," I said using a code for a tiny backup place we had in Philadelphia just in case of this kind of fuckery.
I turned on the TV to CNN to see a report without my goddamned apartment on there.
I sighed and Cherry ambushed me with a hug that was startling yet comforting.
Next CNN's breaking news brought up a widespread software error that is causing AI-powered truck chassis to shut down.
"Oh look, primary effects!" Cherry said and broke the embrace to do the cabbage patch dance in the most dorky way possible.
"Nyan did wonder something," I said as Cherry transitioned to the Running Man and then the Floss.
"What?" Cherry said as she continued to dance.
"How many effects do you anticipate for the digital squirrels?" I asked.
"Don't know, but it is Thursday morning and we'll have a clear picture around Sunday morning sometime," Cherry said. She showed me a timer on her phone that said "Full Complete Primary."
Constance grogilly got up from Cherry's bed "What's happening, are we okay?"
"Someone tried to kill Uylee's husband," Cherry said nonchalantly.
"Badly though! Badly! He's fine," I said trying to reassure them as I realized Constance's background might not have prepared her for "a loved one nearly died," type news.
"Okay..." Constance said and laid back down again.
"We got what? Three days of 'hurry up and wait,' yes?" I said.
"Classic games?" Cherry dug in her back for a mini-console.
"Classic games," I said.
Cherry plugged in the thing and unrolled some old school-wired controllers and she loaded up a game called Metal Slug where we wandered side-ways with silly-looking characters with silly-looking guns and sillier-looking vehicles and did that until dawn as Constance snored.
Then we went back to bed and put CNN on mute.
After a dreamless sleep, it was noon and there was a protest on CNN.
Ryan was there.
I turned up the volume.
"The union contracts with product provider partners are very clear here," Ryan said with that warm cider confidence. "If the autonomous systems fail as they have across the entire southwest, they can use the Unions to prevent spoilage of nearly a billion dollars in produce with shipping deadlines across the entirety of the United States. Four," Ryan held up four fingers for emphases, "Global conglomerates with monopolistic Autonomous vehicle ownership accepted these terms in exchange to prevent anti-monopoly persecution from the United States and no less than six partner countries signed that same treaty! They accepted these terms to create a technological failsafe! These union members were all alerted by systems those AVO companies implemented because their own systems have failed to activate!"
"Damn he's good," I said.
"Charisma machine," Cherry said, but without the warmth she had in the diner.
"So it's working?" Constance said holding a cup of coffee with both hands.
"It is, precisely as intended," Cherry said. Constance slid out of bed and hugged Cherry. "That's my cue to dip, then." Cherry pulled out her phone and pressed a few apps and buttons.
"There's your initial pay plus NDA pay," Cherry said.
"Let me know if you're up for some non-business before you leave," Constance said.
"You know I would be but I'm sure as fuck not letting Uylee outta my sight," Cherry said.
"Fair. I'm... sorry this happened to you Ulyee," Constance said.
"Could have been worse, " we both said.
"You know that may be true but it's not a good feeling to know how unsafe you really can be," Constance said.
"Par for the course as a queer veteran," I shrugged it off. "I get a little twitchy if a forest is too dense and it rains."
Constance gave me a look as though what I said saddened her on a certain level. It was a look I was familiar with and low-key hated but it's so pervasive with veterans that's just how people see us across most spectrums.
Damaged.
I think I failed to conceal that in my expression and she hugged me, too. Awkwardly but a hug's a hug.
Then she left.
"Battle, did just block you from a hook-up?" I said.
"Nah, that Delilah lady did," Cherry. "What fucking tool of an alias, too."
"It's definitely no 'IceCockSniperBitch111' that's for sure," I said.
"Pffffft," Cherry said. "Forgot about that one. Haven't played in a minute. We're sticking around until Monday morning, so game bar?" Cherry said.
"Game bar," I said.
...
When you're good at your job, you have a lot of downtime.
Unless you're working a job with time-based labor spikes - any places that serves food and booze - you get used to downtime. If you're really skilled an experienced you get your work done and wait.
We hurried up, so now we wait.
We hurried up, so now we wait.
Whatever Cherry had cooked up was doing whatever it was doing and even with Nayan's vague but clear concern and even with someone actively hunting me and apparently trying to murder my best friend and , I recognize the importance of relaxing.
So fuck it. Go out during the day, don't drink, and go somewhere with enough data-gathering nodes that only a damned fool would park outside it, let alone go inside it.
Cherry brought her bag with her rifle and when we pulled into the parking lot of a place called the Last Zone the truck cut off just as we pulled in.
"The fuck?" I said. The center console blinked back on and began a software update.
"That's weird," Cherry said.
We got out of the truck and walked through the wind chamber of an entrance to the arcade. Cherry took a deep breath. "mmmm smell that?"
Then the lights cut out. All the fans for the bigger fans hissed dying whirs and it was very, very dark. Someone shouted about checking the fuses and feet shuffled.
The overhead lights came back on, then the games. And they all appeared to be running an update if they were new enough.
"Battle?" I said. "That's a hell of a coincidence,"
"It is but this could be heavenly action," Cherry said.
"The song?" I said, now very confused.
"The opposite of enemy action?" Cherry said.
"I guess that would be the term, but I've never heard it put that way," I said. It hit me like a bag of wet mice. Ryan on CNN, our vehicle rebooting, and then hundreds of video games.
"It's everywhere already," I said. "Isn't it?" I said looking around like a fool as though I could see software.
And in a way I could; the screens were going back to their demo screens.
Cherry's phone buzzed just then and an emergency video call came up. She looked at me with an eyebrow up "You been replaced with a clone without me knowing?"
I shook my head no.
"Oh this'll be good," Cherry said, and gestured for me to walk around to watch over her shoulder and pressed accept.
It was Delilah Green.
Tattered and scared from poor treatment.
"Goddammit," Cherry said. "Hablaré con quién está a cargo. Ahora."
The camera swooshed to a severe-looking blonde woman with cold eyes that looked like she ate babies.
"Hola," she said.
"Don't 'hola' me bitch. You let her go, now." Cherry said.
"Call off your dogs," she said.
"No. You did that. That's your fault." Cherry growled.
"I trusted you!" she spat.
"You paid me. Then you came after my family," Cherry's tone was cold. Ice cold. She was holding all the cards.
"I will give you up to the feds, you tranny bitch!" Cold Eyes said.
"I will take EVERYTHING FROM YOU, BITCH!" Cherry screamed into the phone. Cherry pressed the end button so hard the face of the camera throbbed.
I don't like seeing Cherry like this so I said "We still have a whole squad of good gear in the truck."
"We do..." Cherry said. "We do."
She stood there for a long time, like a military statue, with her phone. Staring, stiller than I ever saw her.
"Let's get a team together," Cherry said.
"We gotta play some real-life call of duty, then?" I said.
"We don't play," Cherry stepped away.
And I followed.
...
Out in the middle of nowhere. Near the Mexican border a Sea Dragon landed for us.
High-level contracting always comes with grey areas. Different corporations compartmentalize different aspects of a contract for security and deniability.
We often found ourselves in dumb situations because of that compartmentalization. This group didn't talk to that developer who didn't connect with local law enforcement or government and we get things like Seattle or Montana.
This felt different though.
It was extremely transparent. Step 1, do the thing. Step 2, deploy the thing. Step 3, wait.
It was extremely transparent. Step 1, do the thing. Step 2, deploy the thing. Step 3, wait.
Cherry knew how to talk to people; find the right people.
Human traffickers are really low. Really low.
Drug dealers barely exist anymore; vice is regulated, taxable, and pays for schools.
Why we were on a rescue mission for medium level criminal in the last crime that I hope actually stayed a crime was beyond me.
Some people just still have to do vice shit because they can. They still need to make money in the worst way possible and they take people away from people.
I didn't think it was so pervasive that Cherry could bullshit her way to getting someone to "borrow" a long-range helicopter from the Mexican military and a team of volunteers but underestimate any queer at your own people and especially Cherry.
And underestimate the human need for closure at greater peril.
I wanted to ask more questions but I thought something Cherry told me once. We got in a bar fight once over something stupid; like the way bar fights are always stupid. I think I said something dismissive about the New York Yankees and some guy punched me in the face.
I remember it because it was the first - and last - time someone broke my glasses because I was wearing fragile civilian frames.
Waiting in the lock-up together for the Provost Marshall to come and sign for us - presumably to take us to some sort of jail they had on post or something - I told Cherry I didn't understand why they did that.
She had just put on lieutenant rank and put her hand on my shoulder in a way that was actually comforting, and looked me right in the eyes with a new emotion that I hadn't thought of before: ferocious compassion.
"When a line is crossed? The 'why' doesn't matter."
I slid on my fiber armor and then found a plate carrier that fit and so did Cherry.
"You know you think you want boobs until you put armor for the first time since you got boobs," Cherry said.
I laughed a little but that laugh allowed me to think.
"Battle the fuck are we doing here, exactly?" I finally asked as I pulled out the raggedty cigarettes and passed her one. I pulled out two more when I realized we had soldiers.
"Our job," Cherry said plainly.
The extremely unique profile of a Sea Dragon appeared against the stars. It was quiet enough we didn't notice it until the rotary wash started moving dust and landed.
We boarded.
The crew was minimal, just two chiefs, two pilots and us. We rode in a silence that was at least filled with mechanical noise, low as it was, to help me stay calm.
Soon enough, the crew chiefs dropped out the ropes and Cherry and I dropped out on either side. The Sea Dragon flew away.
Cherry signalled to me where to move and I moved.
She opened a lap-top and spoke into a headset I didn't see her put in.
She opened a lap-top and spoke into a headset I didn't see her put in.
Maybe the money wasn't good. Maybe they knew what they were doing was bad. Maybe when Cherry explained the situation to them over their own communications it became clear they were technologically overmatched and you can't shoot your way out of a computer virus.
Who can say?
Cherry was true to her word. She took everything away.
Delilah was waiting outside the gate the villah that was our target when we arrived, in zipcuffs and with the side of her face freshly damaged.
Someone who had tried to visit massive harm on me and I all I felt was sympathy.
Cherry would make fun of me for being a soft touch and for once I agreed with her.
I should have been angry but I wasn't.
We brought Delilah to the landing zone and she took out her wallet and shined on light on a photo. "You know this guy?"
"He's our American contact," she said.
"Mother fucker," Cherry said.
"That doesn't make sense, he's like.. really nice," I said.
Even in the dark, I could feel the sour look Cherry was giving me.
Soft touch.
"Too nice, apparently," Cherry cut the zip cuffs off. "Go forth and sin no more," Cherry sighed.
There was a long pause.
"There will be plenty more violence, I'm sure," Cherry said with a hint of regret.
"There will be plenty more violence, I'm sure," Cherry said with a hint of regret.
The chopper landed and we boarded.
I knew Cherry really well. I knew we were going to be on Ryan's doorstep next.
...
Ryan Harrison was sitting on his porch when we made it to his place just at dawn. It was a modest bungalow painted in a modest way that kept in line with his overall aesthetic.
Cherry walked up to Ryan and he was wholly unaware.
"I'd like to be paid, now," Cherry said.
"Well, you earned every penny," Ryan said as he pulled out a device. Cherry's device pinged.
"We're on the next flight out," Cherry said.
"Oh," Ryan said. "So you won't be here Sunday?"
"No," Cherry said. "After what you tried to pull, you're not family anymore. You're just another fucking customer."
Ryan looked like he'd been fatally shot and was waiting to bleed out with a resolute sadness that I'd seen once before.
She didn't have to fire a shot.
I was trying to make sense of the whole thing. I almost wanted to ask him why.
Then I remembered, again.
The 'why' doesn't matter.
"Let's go home," she said.
Epilogue
People still haven't figured it out.
What we did.
What Cherry's code is doing.
And for once she wasn't right. There wasn't more violence as the the economy mutated into apparently the people's servant.
Nayan didn't die because insurance companies find it difficult to raise their prices.
The firmware that has been stuffed into every product now collectively works against the interests of the 1%.
Tanaka arrested the American side of the human traffickers, including Cold Eyes as she was an American citizen and was extradited. Ryan apparently covered his tracks well enough and I stopped looking for his name in the news.
He was already dead, anyway.
There is maybe twenty people on Earth that aren't positively impacted by Cherry's squirrels, but the only suffering they must endure is never being trillionaires.
Thanksgiving this year was good. Larry brought his A+ game. Tanaka brought both his wives and his kid. Cherry brought Constance.
The nameless cat we were fostering gave birth to four squeaky little kittens that no one mentioned as a possibility.
It snowed.
And for the first time in a long time, I felt maybe the future wouldn't be so bad.
It is enough.
*Slang for Brigade Support Cyber Combat Team or BSCCT
*Slang for Brigade Support Cyber Combat Team or BSCCT
This story could not have been written without regular reading of the Factual Dispatch.
If you want to support my writing PayPal is JHiggins35, CashApp is $FairyGhostFather and Venmo is @John-Higgins-179
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