I Am Automaton 2: Kafka Rising Page 16

  Were they grateful? How could they thank him if they had no idea what he had done for them? The whole country was turned inside out.

  “C’mon…please…”

  Bart laughed in his face. “I thought sergeants were supposed to bark orders, not beg.” The posse laughed heartily. Carl felt some heartbeats accelerate. They were nervous. Maybe one of them thought this was about to go too far.

  “C’mon, Bart. I think he’s had enough.”

  “I’ll tell you when he’s had enough. Let him go.”

  The two holding Carl let him go and he dropped to his knees clutching his ribs. It hurt to breathe.

  “Now drop and give me fifty, soldier.”

  Carl looked up at his tormentor to assess if he was serious.

  “Do it, boy.”

  Carl put his palms in the dirt and lowered himself, his lips touching the dirt. As he pushed back up, the sting in his side nearly made him pass out. To make things worse, Bart put his foot on his back and pressed until Carl was face first in the dirt. There was a heartbeat faster than all the others.

  “Bart, that’s enough. Let’s get out of here.”

  “I still don’t think he learned his lesson.”

  “Bart, we’re going to be in deep shit. Let’s get out of here.”

  “Pull his pants off,” Bart barked.

  The situation had just gone from bad to worse.

  “He wanted some action, I’ll give soldier boy here some action.”

  Two of the posse pulled on Carl’s pants. Now Carl felt his own heart rate thunder in his head. Even the cartels didn’t sink this low.

  “Bart, what the hell are you doing?” The posse member gave him a shove. Carl felt the cool breeze on the backs of his legs.

  “I’m not down for this shit,” said another. The posse had reached its limit.

  They all became quiet, as there was the sound of a car approaching. Headlights shined in their direction.

  “Quick, pull him up,” said Bart, “and for Chrissake, pull his pants up.”

  They scrambled to pull Carl to his feet. He felt his pants pull up and hastily buttoned in front.

  “Who is it? The sheriff?”

  The car pulled closer. It was a van.

  “Nah. Cemetery caretaker maybe.”

  The van pulled to a stop next to the pickup. Two people got out of the driver and passenger sides.

  “Can I help you?” Bart asked defiantly.

  Carl struggled to make out who the two people were, but the headlights behind them made distinguishing their features impossible.

  There was a flash of lights and loud pops as the two figures gunned the posse down. As the grips were loosened around his arms, Carl again dropped to the dirt. Other than the pain in his side and the weakness in his legs, he did not think he was shot.

  “Get him in the van…carefully.”

  He knew the voice, the pulse…the fragrance.

  “Yvette?”

  He felt more hands pulling him up. As something hard slid over his head blocking out the sounds of the world, he slipped out of consciousness.

  ***

  “Drive slowly,” Peter told the cab driver. He was looking for Carl, tracking the signal of Carl’s mini-com. “Okay, stop.”

  He got out of the car and looked around the side of the road. “CARL!...CARL!” No answer.

  He searched the ground as the screen of his multi-tasker blinked faster. He saw it on the ground. He reached down and picked up Carl’s mini-com. Its screen was cracked.

  “Dammit,” he muttered to himself. He cursed himself for letting Carl go alone. He dialed Colonel Betancourt. “Colonel, Carl is gone.”

  “What do you mean he’s gone?”

  “I found his multi-tasker on the side of the road. The screen is cracked.”

  “Return to base immediately. I’ll send out the MP’s to look for him. We’ll collaborate with local law enforcement. Road blocks, checkpoints—no one gets in or out of Blueberry Hill without us knowing about it.”

  “Yes, sir.” He terminated the call.

  He gave one last look around, but he knew something had happened to Carl. He thought that maybe he was hit by a car, and maybe he was taken to the hospital. He called up Christus Spohn Hospital on his multi-tasker and dialed the emergency room.

  “Christus Spohn ER.”

  “Hello, this is Captain Peter Birdsall of the U.S. Army. I was wondering if there was a Sergeant Carl Birdsall taken to your ER.”

  “Hold on, let me check.”

  He was placed on hold as a song from 2014 blared on his mini-com. Great, oldies.

  “No, there’s no one here by the name of Sergeant Carl Birdsall, Captain.”

  “He’s missing, and he may have been involved in an automobile accident. Can you contact me if he’s brought in?”

  “I sure can, sir.”

  Peter sent his number to the person on the other end. “Thank you.”

  He walked back over to the cab and got in.

  “Take me to Fort Bliss.”

  ***

  Carl woke up in a dark room. After a moment, he felt his own warm breath on his face and realized that he was wearing something over his head that was blocking the light. He reached up to feel what it was. It was some kind of helmet, like for a motorcycle. He gripped it on both sides and was about to pull. He felt the rhythm of a pulse in the room…

  “I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”

  He turned and saw Yvette sitting in an old armchair, the moonlight barely illuminating her shape. He was on a couch. She reached over and turned on a lamp.

  “Yvette? Where am I?” His voice sounded strange to him. There was a kind of strange reverberation.

  She leaned forward and looked right at him. “You are safe now, Carl.”

  “You killed those guys.”

  “They were going to kill you…or worse.”

  Carl remembered his pants being pulled down.

  “What’s this on my head?”

  There was another pulse in the room. “We’ve taken the liberty of designing a helmet that would block any transmissions to that chip you have implanted in your brain stem.” It was a man’s voice. Carl saw a small, but well-muscled man standing to the side of him dressed in black. Apparently, they were in some kind of apartment.

  “And who the hell are you?”

  “You can call me Night Stalker.”

  Carl chortled. “What, did your parents read too many comic books? How do you know about the chip in my head?”

  “We know everything about you, Carl,” said Yvette. “We also know that you are being used by your government. But they don’t fully understand your condition. The authorities have found the dead bodies of those cowboys by now and you are missing. I wouldn’t remove that helmet if I were you.”

  “My government,” Carl emphasized. “So now I know you aren’t American. Who are you? And why would you know any more about my condition than the army or my doctors?”

  “Who we are, at this moment, is unimportant,” said Yvette. “As to how we know about your condition…you are not the first.”

  Carl sat up. His body ached, but the pain was gone. He felt…stronger. “How long was I out?”

  “You were unconscious for two hours,” Yvette answered. “Let me guess. You feel almost as good as new. Better even.”

  Carl rubbed the back of his stiff neck. “How did you know that?”

  “Carl, we have records indicating that throughout history, there have been others like you.”

  “How is that possible? I don’t even know why this is happening to me.”

  “All throughout history, scientific and cultural advancement has always gone hand-in-hand with superstition, fear, and hysteria. The Dark Ages, the Renaissance, the Enlightenment…even in times of great progress and growth, society has subscribed to the darkest of superstitions, outlandish old wives tales of witches, vampires, and boogiemen in the night.”

  “This is a great history lesson and
all, but I don’t see how—”

  “Why don’t you let her finish,” threatened the man who called himself Night Stalker.

  “You must forgive him, Carl,” Yvette implored. She shot the man in black an admonishing look. “Night Stalker’s talent is not diplomacy.”

  “With a name like Night Stalker, I’m not surprised.”

  “Retinal Gateway Technology is one of those advancements,” she continued, “but concomitant with that advancement are the undead drones and, well, you.”

  “You’re saying I’m the boogieman?” His modified voice was unnerving and made his question ironic.

  “Where do you think this technology came from, Carl? Do you think your government created it?”

  “Are you suggesting they stole it? From who?”

  “Not exactly stole,” Yvette said, “found is more like it. And believe me when I tell you it is not of this earth. As you now know, they plan to install it into televisions and monitors all over the country to spy on the populace. That was why they took your father.”

  “So what you are telling me,” said Carl, “is that the United States military is using, what, alien technology that they just found?”

  “There was a crash site in the Congo during the Tutsi-Hutu conflict in 1994. It was reported as the plane crash of the Hutu leader, but there was something else. An unidentified craft of unknown origin.”

  “A spaceship?” Carl asked incredulously.

  “Villagers in the area became infected by a mysterious virus…”

  “THV,” Carl interjected.

  Yvette nodded. “They became cannibalistic, attacking the other villagers. Those who were infected through bites turned into cannibals themselves…the undead. The problem was neutralized and your military salvaged the craft. During analysis of the technology found on the craft, they found RGT.”

  “So that’s the connection.”

  “Your military developed the infantry drone program, weaponizing the THV, and received funding in a time when terrorists were hiding in caves in the Middle East, where conventional armies and weapons couldn’t reach them. The approval for the program was immediate.”

  “And the RGT?” Carl asked.

  “The First Patriot Act enacted under President George W. Bush had been repealed. America was not ready for Retinal Gateway technology. The climate for it had been poisoned. But as long as they had funding for the Infantry Drone Project, they had the resources to develop RGT.”

  “Then the Second Patriot Act is about to be enacted thanks to the Order for International Liberation,” Carl added.

  “Correct,” said Yvette. “Now the climate is conducive to RGT. The military has developed it to the point where it is ready for application. Under the Second Patriot Act, your government can observe the populace—reading their thoughts, their memories—all without having to disclose how they are doing it.”

  “All in the name of national security,” Carl concluded. “How do you know all of this? Who do you work for?”

  “We work for your government,” Yvette answered simply.

  “But how…what do you mean…son of a bitch!”

  Carl leapt to his feet and across the room to where Yvette was sitting and he had his hands around her throat in seconds. “YOU ARE OIL.”

  Suddenly his skull thundered with pain. Electricity erupted in his helmet and he staggered backwards. Night Stalker took his hand off a button and delivered a front kick into Carl’s solar plexus, sending him falling over and behind the couch. He stood up gasping for breath, the sounds coming from the helmet sounding inhuman and monstrous.

  Yvette was rubbing her neck. “So now you see Night Stalker’s talent. I wouldn’t do that again.”

  Carl spat the words out, still catching his breath, “So what is this…I’ve traded one leash for another? You bastards killed my mother…I’ll take my chances…with the kill chip.”

  “We don’t want you dead, Carl. If we did, Night Stalker would have killed you already.”

  “So, what is it you do want?”

  “We, too, were used by your government, Carl. They used us as a salient enough threat to justify the Second Patriot Act. They’ve used us to destabilize dictatorships in the Middle East so that radical groups fill the gaps, and now that they are on the cusp of passing the law, they are hunting us down with the Infantry Drones. They used you too, Carl, and now they’ll perceive you as a threat. You went AWOL, as far as they are concerned. You are dangerous and at-large. With RGT ready for application, they no longer need the Infantry Drone Program. You have become a loose end that needs to be tied. What happened with your mother was regrettable…”

  Carl hissed at them through the helmet.

  “But maybe we can help you save your father.”

  “How?”

  “I want to introduce you to Simon Belmont. After meeting him, I think you’ll see that we are no al-Qaeda. We fight for freedom. With RGT, your country’s people are in danger of losing it without even knowing it.”

  “And what if I don’t want to meet this Simon Belmont,” Carl said spitefully.

  “You are free to go at any time. You can take your chances with the army, but you won’t last very long and it won’t help your father.”

  “Why should I trust you? You killed my mother.”

  “I didn’t kill your mother, Carl, but I can take you to the man who can help your father. You also swore to protect the citizenry when you enlisted in the army. Right now, the government is trying to take away their freedom. Big government at its worst, poking its dirty fingers into everyone’s business.”

  “Now you sound like my father.”

  “Carl, you were the victim of treachery in your own military.”

  “Peter.”

  “Excuse me?” Yvette looked confused.

  “My brother, Peter. I have to tell him what’s going on. He needs to be involved.”

  “Where was your brother during the operation in Xcaret when everything went wrong? He was missing when you needed him most and then, just like that,” she snapped her fingers, “he reappeared…convenient.”

  How did she know all of this? “My brother is a good man.”

  “Where was he when they were taking your father away like an enemy of the state? Did he lift a finger to help?”

  “You don’t know my brother.”

  “No, Carl, it is you who doesn’t know your brother.”

  “This is bullshit.”

  “Time is wasting, and I can’t guarantee your father’s safety,” Yvette said urgently.

  “How do I know this Simon Belmont didn’t mastermind the mall attack that killed my mother?”

  “I assure you that he didn’t. There are factions in OIL that are unruly and extreme. We are not a part of that faction. But if we don’t help your father and do something about RGT, I don’t know if we’ll be able to control them.”

  Carl’s head was swimming. Here he was, talking to OIL operatives, and they’re not only accusing the U.S. government of using them, but now they’re saying that they are on his side. It wasn’t all that far-fetched. The government used the Taliban against the Soviet Union in Afghanistan, but the Taliban then turned on the United States.

  In this case, Yvette was saying the U.S. turned on OIL. Maybe the government learned from its past mistakes…or maybe it didn’t. Then there was the RGT installed on his father’s television. No one had notified him of the surveillance, and now his father was in custody like a terrorist.

  None of this added up. He didn’t trust these two OIL operatives, but he didn’t trust the army or the government either. He knew his father was in danger.

  “Okay. Take me to your leader.”

  Night Stalker chuckled at the statement uttered in the helmet’s other-worldly voice.

  “Screw you, Night Crawler.”

  “Come,” gestured Yvette, “we have no time to waste.”

  “One day you won’t have that button,” Carl said to Night Stalker as he passed him.<
br />
  “One day I won’t need it,” retorted Night Stalker.

  Carl left the apartment. Yvette glared at Night Stalker. “You aren’t threatened by this kid, are you? Don’t push him. We need him.”

  “I’ll back off for now,” assured Night Stalker, “but he won’t always be in the dark and one day I’ll have to deal with him.”

  “Are you frightened?” she taunted him.

  “Just trying to be practical,” he said coolly.

  “Be practical and pull the car around,” she ordered.

  His eyes met hers, there was an unspoken understanding, and he left the apartment brushing Carl’s shoulder as he passed.

  “What’s his problem? He is in desperate need of some people skills.” Carl quipped.

  “He’s a killer, plain and simple, and the best,” said Yvette. “He doesn’t need to be nice.”

  “Well maybe he just met his match,” Carl said with a hint of menace, as he followed behind Night Stalker.

  ‘That’s what I’m counting on,’ Yvette thought to herself.

  ***

  “You are sending Barry Birdsall here?” asked Fiona incredulously.

  “He will be detained at Camp X-Ray until we take his son into custody. The MP’s found five dead bodies in a graveyard in Blueberry Hill, and they match the description of the men Sergeant Birdsall and his brother tussled with at a local bar.”

  “Are you suggesting that he murdered these men, sir?”

  “It doesn’t look good, Captain. He’s missing and potentially very dangerous. We are considering utilizing precautions—”

  “The kill switch.”

  “We may have no choice. Captain Birdsall mentioned a woman his brother met at the bar who seemed to know who he was. She told him about the RGT in his father’s television. If he’s been abducted, he’s a security risk.”

  “If he hasn’t been abducted, he knows about the RGT. He’ll be pissed off and looking for his father and you’re leading him straight to Camp X-Ray. He knows I’m directing the RGT research. He’ll be coming for me.”