Luck and Death at the Edge of the World, the Official Pirate Edition (35 page)

To hell with it.  I’ll start the scenario over, try to think of a different strategy.  I’m say “home,” but nothing happens.  I look down and see that the ground appears dangerously close.  Sim is designed to render every detail of experience directly to your brain, as though you were experiencing it for real.  I do 
not 
want to experience impact.  I command again “home, home, 
home!
” but we continue to fall.  I see people look up at us, mouths open, just the way they would in real life.  I’ve pretty much resolved myself to the crunch when the simulation begins to dissolve.  A moment later I find myself standing – disoriented, but at attention – in front of a desk.  Behind the desk is a California National Forces officer, a General.  He smiles at me with a mixture of smugness and what seems like genuine warmth.

“What the hell?”

It’s an inarticulate thing to say, but I’m a little stunned and it’s all I can think of in the first moments as the room materializes around me.  In the old days I would have saluted automatically and shut up, but that was then and this is now.  I’m not in the Forces any more.  I’m a civilian and within the rather narrow limits ofCalifornialaw I’m entitled to do and say whatever I choose.  What I choose is to start asking questions before the officer can begin talking.  I’m hoping to take control of the situation.  I’m off balance and I want to put him off balance.

“Who the hell are you?” I ask aggressively.  “What’s with the hijack?”

I’ve heard of sim-jacking, but only as a vague rumor.  Seems it’s true.  The officer smiles at me again, indulgently this time, not ruffled at all.

“My name is not important, only my rank, which you can deduce from my insignia.”  I look at the four General’s stars tattooed near his shoulder.  “The specific rank doesn’t really matter, of course.  The real point is that it’s a higher rank than yours.  As for the sim-jacking, it was simply the most efficient means, and the most secure, by which I could summon you here to have this conversation.”

The General is a big man, pumped and cut, wearing fatigue pants and a sleeveless khaki shirt.  His features are the usual CNF mutt-mix of racial markers:  light brown skin, negroid nose, piercing blue eyes with a slightly Asian tilt, and straight dark hair cut short and barely flecked with grey.  There is a long line of insignia tattoos running the length of his right arm.

“This is a sim,” I say, “anyone can be a General in sim.”

Being here has a dream-like quality.  I was demobbed five years ago and haven’t been to a Forces base since, but I can tell I’m on one now by the smell alone:  gun oil, sweat, dust, and testosterone.  Diesel exhaust and cheap cooking.  The subtle aroma of men stoked on adrenaline, fuel for their aggression and their fear.

The General doesn’t seem at all upset by the fact that I’ve questioned his authority, even his authenticity.  He stands, drawing himself up to an impressive height, but his bearing is still friendly, as is his expression.  He tilts his head slightly to one side.

“You’re right, anyone can be a General in sim, but only the CNF can sim-jack you the way I just did.  If you know a civilian hacker who can do that, I want to meet them.  There’s always a job around here for talent.”

He’s right, of course.  I have some of the best hackers in the world working for me – I’m thinking of Carmen and Prender – and neither one of them could have pulled this off.   I try to get my bearings in the anonymous, unmistakably military office.

The blinds are pulled down, but the windows are open behind their yellowish fabric and they sway slightly in the breeze.  From outside I can hear the rapid pop-pop-pop of small-arms fire.  Somewhere in the distance a mine goes off and someone screams.  Maneuvers.  Outside people are practicing, learning to kill other people.  Even in practicing some will die, like whoever tripped that mine a moment ago.  I’ve put a lot of effort into getting away from this world, into forgetting it entirely, and being pulled back here is making me angry despite the smile on General Friendly’s face.

“I want to go home.  
Now
,” I say, biting down on my rage but letting a little show through.  My anger doesn’t faze the General at all.

“I’m afraid I can’t authorize that.”

“Can’t or won’t?” I ask, trying to figure out whether he’s in charge or just a flunky.  He shrugs, as if it makes no real difference.

“Can’t, actually.  I’m under orders like you are.”

I lean across the desk at him, just to emphasize that I’m not under his command or anyone else’s any more.

“I don’t follow any goddamned orders.  I was demobbed years ago.  Honorable discharge, lots of commendations and tats, all that crap.   I’m a civilian now.”

For once the General seems to be getting tired of me.  He sighs slightly and his smile weakens.  Maybe he just doesn’t like what he has to say next.

“Gatineau Burroughs, it is my duty to inform you that the California National Forces have invoked clause 242(f) of your Duty Contract, which permits the CNF to recall you to active duty, with or without your consent, for any period of time and for whatever duties your commanding officers deem necessary.  Giving you notice of this recall – in writing or verbally, as I’m doing now – is the final step which renders the recall effective.”  He gives a smile that seems almost wistful.  “Welcome back to the Forces 
Captain 
Burroughs.”

I stand in shock for a moment.  The odors around me change as my own memories somehow taint the sim:  horse dung, burning buildings, rotting meat.  Human meat.  I look up at the General but the sim seems to have stalled and his sightless gaze follows a trajectory over my shoulder as he stands motionless.  The light filtering through the blinds, which had been bright and pleasant, turns dun, then rosy, then a harsh red, as Tijuana burns.  I can still hear the pop of small arms fire from the sim, but it’s augmented by an array of other sounds that come from deep inside me rather than from any program:  terrified wordless screams, the thud and thump of mines and artillery, chickens squawking in panic, coarse shouts of homicidal joy, the thup-thup-thup of helicopters, a baby crying, dogs barking in the distance, the crackle and crash of buildings burning, the whinnying of horses.  Then, as suddenly as they came, the memories are gone and the General snaps back into motion, speaking as though he had never paused.

“I’m sure I don’t have to remind you that refusal to comply with re-enlistment constitutes the offence of desertion.  That’s a capital crime under the Penal Code of Military Misconduct, punishable by termination.  You will receive your specific orders shortly,” he says casually as I try to clear my nostrils of the smell ofTijuana.  “This contact was for the purpose of notifying you of your recall so that you can set your affairs in order.  In doing so you should take into account your imminent absence from your civilian occupation and, or course, the possibility that you will not survive your assignment.”

“That’s very considerate of you.”

The General doesn’t respond to my irony at all and a thought that’s been nagging away at the back of my mind suddenly jumps to the forefront:  he’s an AI.  Any human General would have threatened to bayonet me by now, the way I’ve been goading him, but the AI isn’t emotionally engaged.  All the facial expressions and vocal tones have been computer-generated simulations, crafted to simplify the AI-human interface:  meat like me gets along better with digital life when it can look wistful or sound apologetic.  It doesn’t make him any less a General, though.  There’s no rule against AIs holding rank.

“You will be required to report for duty in approximately two weeks.  We suggest you take no longer than one week to make any arrangements that might be necessary, just to leave a margin of safety.  Incidentally, in light of the experience you’ve accumulated since being demobilized, you’ve been granted a promotion to the rank of major, effective immediately, with the commensurate benefits and pay increase”

I glance at my arm and see my new rank insignia appearing like magic, a reminder that we’re in sim.  I know this is just the flip side of the threat implicit in his speech about desertion.  Run away and we will find you and kill you.  Cooperate and we’ll promote you and, if you’re lucky enough to survive your mission, you’ll have much improved pension rights when it’s over.  I look away from the tattoo mirage, back at the General.

“Can you give me any idea how long I’m likely to be ‘absent from my civilian occupation’?  Assuming, of course, that I survive my assignment.”

The simulacrum of a General looks thoughtful for a moment.

“It’s difficult to say.  The objective of your assignment is straightforward, but there are various means by which you might achieve it so your course is uncertain.  It is therefore difficult to make a quantitative estimate as to your absence from civilian life.”

He’s talking more like an AI now, letting me know that he’s aware that I’ve figured out his secret.  He lets his mask slip just enough to get his message across, but not so much that he’ll alienate me.  Subtle.  The CNF has become more refined since I left it.

“So, indefinitely,” I reply.

“Unfortunately, yes.  It is also my duty to ask you if there are any particular CNF personnel, whether on current duty or discharged, whom you wish to conscript to assist you in your assignment.”

“That’s kind of hard to say without knowing what my assignment is.”

“True.  Nonetheless, waiting until after your briefing to make personnel decisions means that any inactive soldiers will receive very little notice of their recall and will therefore have minimal time in which to set their own affairs in order.”

“Without knowing my assignment I can’t be expected to pick my team,” I insist.  “All the same, I do have a question.”

“Yes?”

“Do the personnel parameters allow for the recall of dishonorably discharged soldiers?”

“Usually that is not the case,” the General says, sitting back down.  He picks up a pencil and taps the top of his desk with it, then looks up at me from under his brows and points it at me.  “With respect to this assignment, however, due to its National Security Rating, the regulations permit you an unusual degree of latitude.”

“In that case, General, my only personnel request at this moment is for Jameison, Jerome, Sergeant.  I’m afraid I don’t recall his ID.”

“Four zero zero six zero one,” the General says without hesitation, confirming once and for all that he’s an AI, with instantaneous access to CNF data.  “Dishonorably discharged for refusing to follow the direct order of his superior, Burroughs, Gatineau, Captain, ID three eight five zero zero zero.”

He pauses for a moment, as though his neural nets are having a difficult time deciding on the next logical step.  Finally he speaks again.

“May I ask why you are requesting the presence of a soldier who refused to obey a direct order – one of your 
own 
direct orders – in the past?”

“Sure,” I say.  “He was right.”

Nas Hedron
  is a writer, editor, and artist.

He is the author of such books as 
Luck and Death at the Edge of the World
 and 
The Virgin Birth of Sharks
.

He is also non-fiction editor at 
International Speculative Fiction
, a quarterly magazine, and he manages editorial services at 
IndieBookLauncher.com
, which provides editing, cover design, and ebook production services for independent authors.

He reveres, in no particular order:

• Vincent Price
   (actor, icon, gourmand),
  
• Salvador Dali
   (painter, human exhibit),
  
• Andy Warhol
   (painter, partyologist),
  
• Franco Mondini-Ruiz 
  (installationist, magician),
  
• Kenzaburō Ōe
   and 
  Kōbō Abe
   (novelists and madmen – the first won the Nobel Prize and the second ought to have),
  
• Tadanori Yokoo
   (poster artist, alien), and
  
• Jack Johnson
   (heavyweight boxing champion and maximum disturber of the peace).
  

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All Nas Hedron fiction is available for instant download from 
Amazon
, 
Kobo
, and 
Indigo
.

For more information on Nas Hedron's fiction, visit 
www.NassauHedron.com
.

For more 
Luck and Death
 bonus material, visit 
www.LuckAndDeath.com
.

The Fallen World Books

• Luck and Death at the Edge of the World
   (Book 1)
  
• Felon and the Judas Kiss
   (Book 2)
  
• Los Angeles Honey
   (Book 3)
  
• In the Empire of the Monkey King
   (Book 4) 
  Coming Soon
  
• Not Afraid of Spiders
   (Book 5) 
  Coming Soon
  

Standalone Fiction

• The Virgin Birth of Sharks
  
• Siren Songs in Deep Time
  
• Carey Pressley's Gone Again
  

Many humble thanks to 
Peter Watts
 and 
Ian Watson
, who read early and late drafts respectively, for their encouragement and detailed notes.

A big thank you to Geoff Bennett, Longo Hai, and 
TTG Music Lab
 for the awesome score, effects, supplementary recording, additional vocal performances, and sound engineering for the Brace + Erase MP3 (you can listen to it or download it free at the 
Luck and Death home page
), also used as the soundtrack for the 
Brace + Erase video
.