OBSOLETE PROTECTION
A short prelude to Book III
by
David J. Agostine
***
©2012 All Rights Reserved
Digital Edition
***
OBSOLETE PROTECTION
Sparks, Nevada
31 October 2044
HE WAS NOTHING WITHOUT his job. Being a troop leader was the only thing he liked to do- the only thing he was good at. He had so much time and energy invested in his third career. Now, it was as if all he had worked for over the past fifteen years had vanished in a flash. With his identity stripped away, the person left behind was not much of a person at all.
The man had sacrificed greatly for precious few achievements. He had no family or friends around to comfort him; they were all bartered away for a few colored ribbons and an endless stream of war stories. His only daughter had not spoken to him since she moved off planet to take a geology position with the USEA- his fourth wife had left him soon after that. He was the definition of alone, and that loneliness now enveloped him like a suffocating smoke, rising from a fire built with logs of ambition.
Today, the former Chief Commander of the Nevada Sixth Regiment of the United States Security Police was reduced to a crying heap of fat and muscle, convulsing on his living room floor like some spoiled child. He was not taking his first day as a Class Four Citizen very well.
The disciplinary hearing had been quick, so quick, he had no time to prepare any workable defense. The bastards at executive command wouldn’t even make eye contact with him, as they read their statement and stripped him of his title and all his dignity in the process. There was no doubt he was a scapegoat; the one who had to take the fall for the public outcry. So many people had died; he did not dispute the charges, but still felt he had done what was necessary for the sake of his green zone. Death Valley wasn’t even a part of his territory; at the time of the incident, he had been covering for old Kurt Phillips, the Southern Nevada troop commander. When he issued the order to engage, he acted without pause; making an informed decision based on the intelligence he had available. The herd of vagrants were headed due east and if they turned north once they crossed the border, they would become his zone’s problem.
In his own mind, his actions, however abhorrent, were fully justified, as there was no way his zone could have handled another stream of refugees. They surely would have reduced Sparks and Reno to a hellhole of violence and chaos like they had done just two years before in Phoenix. That city no longer existed. It was now aptly called ‘Ashes,’ as nobody entered its ruins by choice, and there was little chance of a happy life behind the city’s vast concrete walls and miles of razor wire. The inhabitants of Ashes lived in conditions worse than animals, kept in line by automated sentries, controlled remotely by the newest series of Cyber-cops from their underground bunkers, miles outside the city limits. It was a prison for the unwanted of humanity. The once great city of Phoenix was now a land of the walking dead, never to rise from the ashes. Marcus would be damned if he would allow it to happen all over again in his own territory.
He should have been hailed a hero, instead he was now infamously referred to as “Marcus the Maniac,” at least as far as the US and international Cloud news channels were concerned. The media only talks about one side of the story- the side with the flashiest headline to attract the biggest part of the swarm. To hell with the Cloud and their zombie followers, incapable of thinking for themselves- he was still a human being and deserved more consideration. His personal rating, once protected from Cloud voting due to his position, was now open to the swarm. As a result, he received over three million negative votes in the twenty-four hours since the verdict was announced. Nobody in the Cloud bothered to talk about facts, just opinions; never taking into consideration the hard truth- truth that people didn’t even want to think about. How many refugees had he saved from starvation and from the gangs? Unspoken among the swarm, was the fact he had spared them all a fate worse than death when he gave the order for the S-choppers and the NG Predator drones to open fire. “It was the only humane thing to do.” He repeated the words on his lips, trying to convince not only himself, but also his silent guardian that seemed to be taking an interest in his every move as of late. “Why don’t they realize that?” He had made the difficult choice between killing them quickly or watching them suffer and die slowly as they crossed into the gang controlled red zone surrounding the Oasis Valley.
He spent several hours agonizing over the details before he scrambled air support. Even if the refugees managed to survive the perilous hundred-mile walk through the blistering desert, they would soon come face to face with pure evil. The knot-head warlords that controlled the red zone would order armed raids on their camps, just as they had done during past disaster migrations. The females would be taken prisoner to be sold on the sex slave market and any undesirables would be killed. The young men who survived would then become initiated into the gang and soon become a part of the same raiding parties that continually harassed his own people around the Carson City settlements. “When I was a kid and you saw an animal suffering with rabies, you acted like a man and put it out of its misery, not only to spare it the pain, but also because you didn’t want to have to kill it later on, when it tried to attack you.” He was not ashamed of his actions. He alone gave the command to open fire, and apparently he alone took small comfort in knowing the herd of nine-hundred refugees did not experience any pain during their final moments of life. Their end came as microwave bursts raised their core temperature to one-hundred and forty-five-degrees and their brains stroked out. He wept from the privacy of his command post while watching the incoming halo transmissions from the aircraft’s HUDs- as silently, rows of bodies fell limp in waves across the scorching desert sand- their poor souls finally at rest. Some had been walking for so long, their legs continued to move in rhythm for several minutes as they lay on the ground. It was the march of the dead, an image that would be burned in his memory for all eternity.
Some dipshit captain streamed the whole thing to the Cloud, and it quickly attracted the swarm. Soon millions of people were plugged-in with their cranial interface watching the carnage live in their mind’s eye. It was recorded and rebroadcast to the rest of the public on the halo channels and within an hour, Marcus became the most hated man in America.
Marcus managed to sit up with his back leaning up against his couch. He instructed the house computer to increase the light level to twenty-five percent and at last raised himself up off the floor, only to collapse again into his favorite recliner. On the arm he traced the contours of the synthetic leather and thought how the ripples resembled the lines in the desert sand. He was not ready to stop dwelling on his personal injustice just yet. “Those sons-a-bitches knew there would be more earthquakes and eruptions, but no, they had to stay in their green homes and pray to mother earth for salvation. California assholes, they got what was coming to ’em.” His eyes quickly filled up with fresh tears and Marcus began to sob into his hands, “Ahh shit, I didn’t mean that. I am sorry… please forgive me. I had to make a decision. I am sorry for those people and for the poor kids, but dear God, nobody can take any more damn refugees. They would have been raped and killed or eaten for food or worse, used by the gangs for some sick blood sport. They are safe with you now Lord. I don’t know if it was right or wrong and I would gladly give my life for theirs, but I had to do it, if not for them then for Nevada- it’s the only decent place left in this godforsaken country.” He wiped his eyes with the sleeve of his shirt and seemed to harden inside.
It was then that Commander… no, make that Level Four Citizen, Marcus Adario decided that life was no longer worth living and he would keep his promise and offer himself up to the Lord as repentance.
His eyes fell to his sidearm lying on the coffee table; it was the MRK-35, the best nonlethal-tech pulse gun on the market. He shook his head and spat, “Freaking liberals, the only thing I will get from that is a rash and a bad headache.” He remembered that he couldn’t even use his famed old 45 Colt from his childhood that he kept stashed in his underwear drawer, as they had stopped making bullets for it after the race wars of 2016. He was sure some people still made old fashion ammunition at home, but who had time to apply for all the permits you needed to purchase gunpowder? He also recalled the day he had turned in his old 308 hunting rifle. It was not much use to him after most of the deer had died off from disease and starvation; he also had been in desperate need of a new water recycler that he received in exchange for the old weapon.
Marcus got off his ass and began to search his apartment room by room, looking for something, anything to end his misery. He could find nothing useful, “Think, think- no razor blades,” not since they had lasered out all his facial hair for his department’s CPU interface. Not even a kitchen knife could be found. How long have I been eating ration packs for? When was the last time I had real meat that I needed to cut? He thought about all the ways that people had killed themselves in the olden days: Stick my head in the oven? No, his stove ran on solar electric. Leave my car running in the garage? No, his Audi ran on hydrogen cells and batteries. How about overdose on some pills? Nope, no more prescription drugs- not after the pharmaceutical companies were sued into extinction and gene therapy cured all people’s ailments. I could hang myself? No fucking way he would dare do that, it was a felony hate crime just to make a noose, and if he tried, his home sentry system would stun him and call the cops before he even got it around his neck. Drown myself? Now that was really funny, he lived in the desert and even if he had an old bathtub, it would take several months worth of water rations just to fill it up halfway. Marcus then laughed for the first time in recent memory, “What a world this is,” he cried out loud. “I couldn’t leave it even if I wanted to.”
He then tried to convince himself that perhaps becoming a level-four-citizen wouldn’t be that bad. He would have to suck it up and ask forgiveness in the Cloud- beg the swarm to decrease his negative rating enough to shop again at Walmart or dine out in public. If he got enough positive votes, he might even reach level-two status and still be able to make a living; maybe even publish a sim-book. Could he do it though? Could he suck up to the people he detested so much- the ones who could no longer think for themselves? The swarm loved to tear people down, but they also liked to build them up again, if one showed enough remorse and agreed to join the hive-mind of humanity. He didn’t think he could do it- bring himself to sign the Terms of Agreement and receive the implant that would use his brain as part of the living global hard-drive. Nope- he would forever remain unplugged- the swarm could go fuck themselves.
He did have one ‘post incident’ job offer to consider. It was a crazy idea- yes, he qualified for the position during the short time he spent in the Coast Guard, but it would be a drastic change in responsibility. His options were running out though, if he didn’t make a decision soon, his Amero account would have no credits left and in less than six months he would starve to death.
He entered the bathroom and stood in front of the mirror, noting how old he looked- difficult to believe he was once so handsome in his youth that girls would follow him home from school and try to peek in his windows at night. No, he was old and hard now, and at seventy-three years old, in his opinion, was not much to look at. He hadn’t started his gene regeneration treatments until he was forty-nine, which made his physical appearance that of a forty year old. He was young enough, however, to take this new job and had another fifty or so years left of life. That was plenty of time to start over in a new place, where he wasn’t called names like butcher, murderer and baby killer. This job offered him a new beginning; a chance to escape his troubled past.
“Lisa, call T.J. Kenneth at USEA. Voice only please.”
The computer, who he referred to by her female persona, chimed a confirmation tone, then a few seconds later a man’s southern accented voice came over the house acoustic system, “Marcus old boy, how are you sir?”
“I have seen better days, but otherwise fine, I guess. Thank you for asking sir.”
“Still using the halo communications, huh? What’s the matter, don’t want to share your brain with the swarm?”
“Not going to happen- I just decided. How about you?”
“Hell no, it is against my religion, although I hear the porn is great when you are plugged in.”
“I am not that desperate... Yet...,” Marcus added with a smile for himself.
“Please tell me that you are accepting the position.”
“Well T.J., I have been thinking, plenty of time for that with everything going on lately, and I think I would like to give it a shot. I only hope I am young enough to adjust to space life.” Marcus paced back and forth with his hands clasped behind his back.
The other man sounded genuinely pleased. “Don’t worry about that Marcus. This is great news. I will have my admin draw up the offer letter and shoot it over to you. And welcome aboard- I am afraid you won’t have much time to put your affairs in order; you are scheduled to depart on December 13th.- aboard the Freedom’s Chance. Captain Tucker is a good man, and you two should get along well, so to speak.”
“It’ll be nice to get away from the media,” Marcus said with a sigh as he peeked outside through an opening in his curtains. “They are leaving marks all over my synth-o-grass.”
“It will be a new life, on a brand new world and God willing, maybe we won’t screw this one up.” His tone turned from reflective to serious, “Marcus you heard about the latest plague forecast right?”
“I heard the rumors,” said the other remorsefully. “But I don’t know any details.”
“Well let me tell you, I am happy my family and I are headed outbound to the old Mars workstation to finish up work on the Reliant. It doesn’t look good my friend; this RU426 virus is the real deal.”
“That bad, huh?”
“Yeah,” the man said solemnly and was silent for several more seconds. “Its voracity is beyond measure, the way it attacks the brain and the body’s nervous system. The people I spoke to at CDC say hope is slim for anyone coming up with a vaccine in time. The ones who can afford it will have to start living in clean domes until they can find a cure. The rest of them, well… God help them.” T.J. sounded grim and changed the subject to a lighter topic, “Okay Marcus, if all goes according to plan, the Freedom’s Chance should arrive at SkyRa in a little over sixteen years space-time, with five years to make camp, with the Reliant arriving in system around 2065 ST. You think you can keep everybody in line until we arrive?”
He laughed, “Hmm, that all depends. Any of those new age whack-jobs gonna be on board?”
“Only about half the ship’s complement, which should be around three hundred- mostly colonists though. They will be asleep for three-quarters the way there- slight chance they won’t wake up. We can always hope for a malfunction of the ship’s stasis system.”
“You have a twisted sense of humor. I think that is why we get along so well. It’s wishful thinking, but I have a feeling we are going to need all the healthy people we can right now. Who knows, maybe with enough time they will see the truth and join the Path of Light.”
“Perhaps, I guess time is one thing both of us will have more of from here on out.”
It was true what the other man said about time. Marcus did not know much about space travel, just what his daughter had taught him. He knew they would be traveling at somewhere around thirty-eight percent the speed of light- that would mean that time would theoretically be slower for the people on the ship as compared to people on Earth. So for each day he lived sailing through space, almost four days would pass on Earth. In addition, most of the crew and colonists would be put in a frozen stasis sleep and shot full of drugs to further slow down body functions. Aging happened to be one of those body functions that most people happily agreed to slow down.
The stuff of science fiction was now commonplace, even for the people stuck on Earth- that is, as long as you could afford one of the new home stasis caskets. Between regeneration treatments, gene therapy, stasis units, and space travel, people were beginning to live a long, long time. Just like in biblical times he thought to himself ironically. The end will be like the beginning. But unlike the people who had once been charged with populating the Earth, most of the longevity customers were from the wealthy class; Hollywood big shot types, hell-bent on giving us the privilege to buy another crappy halo-movie or trying to get the attention of the swarm with mundane scandals that seemed to surround their vapid existence. Shame, but you didn’t hear about them prolonging the life of our best scientific minds as much as you did these attention mongers. It wasn’t enough that most of Beverly Hills and California’s wealthier citizens were spared any hardship from the recent wild fires that engulfed half of the state, now they were all cheating death as well.
The other man cleared his throat. “I know I told you this before, but don’t listen to what those assholes on the Cloud are saying. You did what people wanted done- what had to be done- what other people didn’t have the balls to do.” He added, “It is just plain sad that now they don’t even have the common decency to say so.”
“Thank you my friend, I appreciate it,” Marcus reflected for a few seconds. “I guess in the end only God knows if I did the right thing or not. Perhaps that’s why they say the road to Hell is paved with good intentions.”
“I like to think there is a bigger plan for us all. Maybe for you, it is out among the stars.”
Marcus walked back into the living room to take another peek out the window. He stopped dead in his tracks and looked speechless at the shimmering shield and sword on display above his mantel. It had been so long since he last used the sword- its presence in the house had completely slipped his mind. The most ancient form of suicide- was the one he never considered. Good thing. Apparently fate had again stepped in and was pointing him in a new direction.“You take care of yourself T.J. and watch out for Nevada while I am gone, after all it’s the only decent place left in the world ya know.”
The other man chuckled warmly, “I will buddy and please do a good job, because now you will be guarding more than just land and food, but the hopes and dreams for all of humanity.”
Marcus removed the sword from the ivory stand, feeling the electric impulses traveling up his arm and enveloping his arm in static. He then hefted the shield that carried the crest of the NTR- his own kind. His body tingled with an invisible shroud of atoms, protecting him against all things- except his own feelings. “I will try my best T.J.”
“That is all anyone can do- Godspeed.” The chime sounded, indicating that the other had terminated the call.
And that was that.
Commander Marcus Adario had a new life to begin in a few days. If all went well, sixteen years from now, if he survived the flight, he would become the first Path of Light Chaplin to set foot on a New World.
He said aloud, “Is this what I am supposed to be doing?”
The answer came to his mind in a hissing voice, “Yes-ss.”
###
If you liked Obsolete Protection- follow the story from the very beginning in the full length novel, Boys of the Great BB Gun War. On sale now at all major book retailers.
The early 1980s were a peaceful time in rural America. The conflict in Vietnam may have ended, but for many children of US veterans, future wars against the enemies of freedom seemed all but certain. A few kids vowed to prepare themselves.
BOYS OF THE GREAT BB GUN WAR is a gritty account of how three clever and seemingly innocent boys gathered an army of young followers to hone their skills for military combat. Together they will explore the limits of human cruelty and acquire the weapons to turn their small farming town into a war zone.
Brad is a brilliant tactician, cunning and calculating- He will stop at nothing to get power over others and keep it.
Joel is a student of warfare, Nazi loyalist and expert in brutality. He has a knack for inflicting pain and torment on his friends- His enemies find no reprieve.
The third boy is charming and good-natured and is the tie that binds them. Marcus Adario has unique abilities and a closely guarded secret- He has lived before and something other than his scattered memories has followed him here to this lifetime. Marcus learns that unseen angelic beings with questionable intentions are guiding his fate and that he is no stranger to bloodshed.
When a practice battle against a group of rival kids goes too far, some adult relatives come looking for payback and realize the boys of “Freedom's Faction” have armed themselves with more than just BB guns. The FF must now fight a war on two fronts, as another group is also searching for the boys to recover a stockpile of stolen weapons- The US Army.
In the end, only divine intervention can save them.
CONTENT ADVISORY: THIS NOVEL CONTAINS ADULT LANGUAGE AND GRAPHIC DEPICTIONS NOT APPROPRIATE FOR CHILDREN UNDER THE AGE OF 18.