I Am Automaton 2: Kafka Rising Page 12

  They couldn’t have done it without Carl. Peter didn’t know how his brother sensed the house on the other side of the fence when the radar didn’t register squat. Other than making a quick hop across the fence (which no one needed to know about), Carl was cool, collected, and damned effective.

  Only he could have caught up with those coyotes in the tunnel, and they had one heck of a head start on him. Carl was becoming some kind of a super soldier. On top of all that, he seemed to calm down. He wasn’t brash or reckless. Maybe he was evening out and everything would be okay.

  Carl sat in the truck with Mackler driving. Mackler seemed upbeat with the success of the mission and less weary of being near Carl than usual. If he knew what was eating Carl as they drove back in silence, he wouldn’t have been so comfortable.

  Carl was thinking back to the moment when he caught up with the coyotes in the tunnel, when he raised the RPG-7 and took aim. When he pulled the trigger and the rocket whizzed down the tunnel, it was a sensation that he could only describe as pure exhilaration.

  It wasn’t the adrenaline or the excitement. Hell, he didn’t even think he was actually pumping adrenaline. He experienced a clinical kind of calm, like a skilled hunter confident in his craft. The excitement was the knowledge that the coyotes were going to be snuffed out within seconds.

  When they were, it was like a violent orgasm that racked his mind, body, and soul. It was satiety from a thirst for blood and death, and he drank deep in their demise by fire.

  He knew this sensation was on some level…no many levels…wrong. True, they fired at him, and he returned the favor, but it was unnatural for him to savor these kills.

  He thought about telling someone about these feelings and the dreams. The company shrink was a hack. He wouldn’t know what to do with this. He considered telling Peter, but things had gone so well. Peter had finally relaxed his finger over the button of Carl’s kill switch.

  Carl showed them all that he wasn’t a danger to them. Betancourt would be happy. No, he decided he wouldn’t tell anyone about these sensations. Not just yet, anyway. If the feelings got worse, if he felt he couldn’t control them…then he would tell Peter.

  At the moment, he felt in control.

  At the moment.

  ***

  “So, what you are telling me is that Sergeant Birdsall’s ability to communicate with the drones may be deliberate, by design, for the purpose of wiping out the human population all at the behest of this face you saw when you used the RGT on him at Camp X-ray?”

  Fiona cleared her throat. “I know it sounds speculative, sir—”

  “Speculative isn’t the word,” said Colonel Betancourt.

  “But, sir, we don’t fully understand this technology or who created it. We don’t understand why Sergeant Birdsall is becoming an enhanced soldier from his brain tumor or why he can communicate with the drones.”

  “So you think that our finding the crash site in the Congo was no accident.”

  “There’s that distinct possibility, sir.”

  “But there’s no evidence of that, Captain. In addition, we can’t jeopardize this program and the RGT technology based on something you thought you saw and your nightmares. Do you know how important RGT will be for national security when applied under the Second Patriot Act?”

  “But, sir, with all due respect, you are assuming that this technology was found, rather than planted.”

  “Planted in a crash? That’s preposterous. The crash clearly indicated that an accident had transpired. Besides, we’ve taken precautionary measures. Sergeant Birdsall has a kill chip in his head. If he starts to direct the extinction of the human race, we’ll just flip the switch. Once RGT is ready to go, we can discard the drones. They’ve been more trouble than they are worth anyway.”

  “Regardless,” Fiona continued, “I believe that we are taking an awful risk with technology that we don’t fully understand from an unknown entity.”

  “Captain, we’ve had this technology for decades and no space aliens have come looking for it. We will stick to our objectives until I say otherwise, or Congress yanks funding. With OIL out there on the loose, it’s more important than ever to bring RGT to fruition. Am I clear?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “And by the way, you look terrible. Take some time off. Rest up. Blow off some steam. Maybe the nightmares will stop.”

  “But, sir, I don’t think—”

  “That’s an order, Captain. I am going to be granting Sergeant Birdsall a pass for one week. We’ll be watching him. Take some time off.”

  “Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.”

  Chapter 7

  Fort Bliss

  Debriefing Room

  11:15 HRS

  “I would like to congratulate you on a successful mission,” said Betancourt officiously to Peter, Nolan, and Carl. “Not only did you discover this weapons smuggling operation, but you interceded and neutralized the operation without any American casualties or collateral damage.

  “The President is very pleased with the news. It appears that the program now has found its role in keeping our borders safe.”

  “Thank you, sir, for saying so,” said Peter.

  “You and your men earned it, Captain. Sergeant…”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “How were you able to detect the activity going on in that house?”

  Carl took a brief moment to consider the question. “I can reach out and sense living things, sir. People, animals. On patrol, I picked up on all of those pulses.”

  “Pulses?”

  “Yes, sir. I can feel them like drum beats and together in rhythms.”

  “Remarkable. And while on patrol, you were…reaching over the fence?”

  “Yes, sir. It’s kind of like radar. I was able to do this without crossing the fence.” Carl noticed Peter’s drum beat accelerate next to him.

  “Yes, but in a way you were ‘reaching’ over the fence.”

  “Not corporally, sir.”

  Betancourt paused, frowning. “Well, that’s good enough for me. That detail doesn’t leave this room, and the Mexican government can never prove it anyway.”

  “Yes, sir,” they all confirmed in unison.

  “Sergeant.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “I need not remind you that when on leave, you are to refrain from using any of your…abilities.”

  “Yes, sir. I understand.”

  “I know some of them have become second nature to you at this point. When you are out in public, you are to keep them under wraps. There’s no telling how the public would react if they found out the Automaton was walking in their midst. It could be dangerous, for them and for you.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Did you hear?” Betancourt said shaking his head and changing the topic. “They are making action figures of you guys.” He chortled at the thought. “Don’t let it go to your heads. Sergeant, I want you to submit for some follow-up neurological testing. Then you all get one week’s leave. You earned it.”

  “Thank you, sir,” Peter responded for the group.

  “Dismissed.”

  Carl waited until they were far enough from the debriefing room and Betancourt. He nodded to Nolan, who then promptly excused himself.

  “Well, he sure seemed pleased,” said Peter without realizing why Nolan had made himself scarce.

  “He didn’t seem all that pleased to me,” Carl replied.

  “What are you talking about? That was him practically jumping for joy,” Peter jested. “Hey, at least we weren’t getting chewed out for once.”

  “A pat on the back and then straight to the lab.”

  “Oh, Carl, you’re being too sensitive.”

  “Pete, when are they going to stop treating me like their science project?”

  “He just wants follow-up tests. Carl, we’ve been through this. This has nothing to do with treating you like the enemy. Your skills are unprecedented, and they’re developing. They just want to try to f
igure out why and make sure you are okay in the process.”

  “I feel like a dog on a leash.”

  Peter didn’t know quite what to make of that statement. “Carl, we’ve been through this already. We are all the property of the U.S. Army.”

  “No, I mean I feel like they are holding me back.”

  “What do you mean? You just exposed and stopped a major weapons smuggling ring. You’re not still harping on your demotion, are you?”

  “No, rank means nothing to me at this point.”

  “Then what are you talking about, Carl?”

  Carl started to finger the scar on his head.

  Peter saw it. “It’s just for now. I’m sure that if you keep up the good work and don’t give any sass, they’ll eventually remove it. It’s just a precaution.”

  “They don’t trust me.”

  “They will.”

  “Do you trust me, Pete?”

  “Of course I do.”

  Carl noticed a brief quickening in his big brother’s pulse. “Could you do it?”

  “Do what, Carl?”

  “Push the button. Pull the trigger. End me.”

  “Carl, I never asked for—”

  “Answer me, Pete. Can you do it?”

  “If I had to, yes.”

  “Just like that?”

  “Why are you asking me this? You have no intention of defecting or murdering your own team, do you?”

  “No, of course not.”

  “So you’re the same old Carl that I know and love. You are a good person. There would be no reason for me to press the button…unless there’s something you’re not telling me.”

  Carl noticed his own pulse momentarily quicken. “No, there isn’t. What would I have to tell you?”

  “You tell me, Carl.”

  “This is turning into an inquisition.”

  “I’m just trying to tell you that everything’s going to be okay. Go get your tests like a good lab rat and then we can go see Dad.”

  “He’s probably having a cow watching the news.”

  “Hey,” Peter elbowed Carl playfully, “do you think my action figure is going to be bigger than yours? I think so.”

  “I don’t know. I am the Automaton, you know. Maybe mine will glow or something.”

  “Yeah, but I think the Captain Peter Birdsall figure will sell more.”

  “No way. The Automaton may not be the leader, but he is mysterious. He has powers.”

  “Yeah, the power to piss me off in a single bound. Just remember, bro, every super hero has his kryptonite.”

  Carl felt his scar itch. “Now you sound like a super villain, bro. Picture this: the all-American older brother, the popular athlete, Captain…yet it’s not enough. You see, secretly he has been harboring resentment of his once wimpy little brother who now, due to a freak accident, is faster and stronger.”

  “Really, now,” replied Peter sardonically.

  “And he waits, biding his time, until he can find the one weakness of this great patriot. Then the government hands him one…”

  “Carl…”

  “A kill switch for a chip implanted in his brain, because the government doesn’t trust him.”

  “Oh, so now I’m the bad guy,” replied Peter playfully.

  “Who do you think they’ll get to play us in the movie?”

  “Oh, so now there’s going to be a movie?”

  “Why not? Action figures, video games, a movie. You know it’s going to happen. ‘I Am Automaton,’ the movie,” said Carl in an announcer’s voice.

  Peter rolled his eyes, “Oh, brother. Spare me.”

  Carl put his hands up in front of his face as if framing a scene. He spoke in a deep, grave voice. “In a world where terrorists run free and cartels are threatening our borders…”

  “Jesus, Carl…”

  “…in a world of economic and civil unrest, one man stands alone…”

  “Here it comes…”

  “…to stand up for truth, justice, and the American way…THE AUTOMATON.”

  “Sounds like a throwback to one of those cheesy Arnold Schwarzenegger action flicks from our grandparents’ day.”

  “What, I think it would be great. Maybe we could play ourselves,” Carl mused.

  “Now you’re really dreaming.”

  “Why? In the twenty-tens, Navy Seals were starring in movies.”

  “I’m glad your mood seems to have improved. Get your ass to radiology so we can blow this place. I want to see Dad.”

  Carl nodded and started towards radiology.

  Peter was still worried about his brother. Although things seemed to be getting better, he sensed that there was something Carl wasn’t telling him. Something that was frightening Carl, himself.

  Carl was still a little resentful and bitter, but who wouldn’t be after the Major Lewis fiasco. He was still green, and that was his first experience in the army. Betancourt appeared to be an honest man. Strict, but honest. Hopefully, Carl would see that and adjust his attitude.

  ***

  Carl had submitted to a physical examination and had given blood. It was still red. Now he lay on the MRI table, ready to be inserted into the long tube. Carl had done it so many times it didn’t even faze him anymore.

  “Are you ready?” asked the technician from her booth.

  “Yes,” Carl said.

  The table slid slowly into the tube, the top and sides of which were only centimeters from his body.

  “Okay, you know the drill. No moving.”

  “Yes, I know,” said Carl.

  “Here we go.”

  The rhythmic tapping began, which turned into rhythmic clanging as the powerful magnet did its work of reorienting his body’s atoms. He closed his eyes and let the rhythm of the clanging sooth him.

  It wasn’t like the beat of a human pulse or like the humming of their brains inside their skulls, but it was a mechanical beat. It spoke to something deep within him, a visceral connection.

  He tried to synch it with the beat of the girl in the booth, which was calm and even. How he wanted to quicken it, to taste the fear, to savor the terror…

  He quickly changed gears in his mind.

  He closed his eyes again, letting his mind wander to other places. After some time, the clanging of the electromagnet and the closed space of the tube gave him the sensation of hurtling through space at a great velocity.

  The tube became a vessel containing only him. There was the comfort of impending purpose. When he reached his destination, he would leave the vessel and take to his dark craft.

  His own internal rhythm began to quicken, and his body was electric. He emanated power in concentric waves. It warmed his body, like a car engine warmed up, preparing for high performance.

  “Whoa. That’s interesting.” The voice of the technician from the booth woke him from his reverie. The sensation of a vessel traveling through space abruptly ceased.

  “Is everything okay?” he asked.

  “Please don’t talk, Sergeant. We are almost finished.”

  The table slid out from the tube, and Carl sat up. “So what was that all about?”

  “There was some unusual activity in your brain,” the technician answered. “I am sending the file to your neurologist for analysis.”

  Carl stood up and stretched. “What sort of activity?”

  “Not what, but where,” she corrected him. “Your medulla and limbic system lit up like a Christmas tree.”

  Carl thought for a moment. “Aren’t those parts of the reptilian brain?”

  “I’m just a technician. You’ll have to discuss this further with your neurologist, Sergeant.”

  “Yes, of course.” Shit, a Christmas tree. He and Peter had to pick something up on his way home for their father. Christmas was two weeks ago, but this was their opportunity to celebrate with him.

  ***

  “Are you sure alcohol is a good idea for Dad?” Carl asked his brother, following him around the small liquor store. It
was one of the few businesses that kept storefronts and hadn’t shifted entirely to the internet. This was probably because liquor was often purchased impulsively, often last minute for social engagements or holidays.

  “Last I saw him, he was doing much better, Carl.”

  Carl looked uneasy. He was never a drinker. “Well, what do we get him?”

  “Dad loves his tequila. We’ll get him a bottle of good blue agave tequila.”

  “Blue what?”

  “It’s a rare plant that only grows in one area, but all the best tequila is made with it.” He saw Carl’s perplexed look. “Hey, while your nose was in the books, I was conducting some very important research of my own.”

  “Yes, you’re quite the scientist, Pete.”

  “It wouldn’t kill you to loosen up every once in a while, Carl.”

  Holo-ads floated in the air in front of the racks for various alcoholic products. Christmas music blared from a speaker overhead. The music reminded Carl of that day at the mall.

  He remembered driving his father’s car and turning on the radio to be bombarded with endless Christmas music. He remembered his mother waiting inside the mall, unaware that he had just pulled up. She had just gotten her traditional haircut and styling for Christmas.

  He remembered the man in the car revving his engine in the driving rain. He remembered pulling out of the way as the man careened past him and into the mall entrance. He remembered the flash of light, and his car being thrown.

  “Do you think of Mom often?”

  Peter was holding a bottle of tequila, appraising it. “All the time, especially this time of year.”

  “When she was…died,” Carl said, “everything changed. For all of us.”

  “The world is changing, Carl, whether we like it or not. We have to do our best to keep up. And we, you and I, are doing our best to make sure the world doesn’t go down the shitter.”