Authors: Brenda Cooper
MIND EXPEDITIONS
The bright light shining on the podium
made it impossible to see the myriad student faces out there, but I knew what they would look like. Earnest. Curious. Un-blooded. They’d wear designer jeans and glasses that let them go far away if I bored them.
A woman with wisps of flyaway hair and a linen suit coat over linen shorts over black boots introduced me. “Please welcome private first class Eleanor Practice to career day. She’ll tell you about her first job in Continental Security.”
That was my opening. “People used to join the forces to see the world.”
Soft laughs floated up from behind the screening, blinding light.
“But I’ve never been out of San Diego. Thank you for inviting me. After my talk, some of you may want to join us, some may decide you don’t like the idea after all.
“The—event—happened on our first virtual mission. I thought it would feel like a video game. The team was me and Alvar from Mexicali and Louisa from Toronto. We came from three countries and never met in person.”
I knew what they looked like well enough that I’d recognize them on the street. But I did not know how they felt or smelled or walked. They might not recognize me.
“We were in the Yucatán, trying to stop a drug ring, help Mexico rebuild. Our weapons were databases and wireless mesh, data blockers, and listeners.
“An agent on the ground had thrown a hidden mesh net over a small valley. We used it to watch a poor family’s house. Palm roof, pressboard walls.” I swallowed, seeing it again. So poor. “The father and the two boys carried drugs for the valley kingpin, the mother cooked tortillas and fish soup. There was a little girl in a wheelchair. Maribel. She was the reason for the drug running. Money for Maribel’s treatment.”
I had hated the assignment then.
“Louisa and Alvar and I talked while we watched, tried to say tough things so we wouldn’t get sentimental. We wanted to stop the bosses.
“We were gathering evidence. It wasn’t for us to act. We had no bodies there. International law kept us from listening inside, of course, but Mexico is a hot place and many conversations happen outside.”
The audience was very quiet. I hoped they were listening. In the wings, soft light fell on the blonde’s face. She watched.
“We expected Americans and arrests. The men that came were Mexican. We recognized at least one of them as a drug runner. They hung in the shadows, moved like black shadows, like the devil.” I shouldn’t say such things. “Like special operations. Trained. They slid against the house, planted charges near the doors and windows and then stood on a hill under a tree, watching and smoking and laughing.
“It began to rain. I hoped the explosives would grow too wet. It was my job to put the father in jail; not to see him murdered. He loved his daughter.
“When he opened the door, the house bloomed with fire.
“He fell right there, his face black and his clothes charred and smoking.
“The older boy ran out. The mother followed, carrying a small figure, and screaming as she set the dead body of her youngest son onto the fecund forest floor. She ran back toward the house, tugging on her husband’s body.
“A man on the hill emptied a rifle into all three of them. Even virtual shots heard through wireless in a recliner sound like death.” I swallowed and looked out at the crowd. “Not like a game.”
“They left them, the house less than half burned, rain falling onto the husk of it and making a column of white steam.
“We heard a scream from inside. ‘Maribel,’ Louisa said. And then ‘Eleanor.’
“Alvar agreed. ‘You are the fastest.’
“He couldn’t know why this would be hard for me. It didn’t matter. I went. We blessed the wireless. Burnt wires would have blinded us. One of the phones had melted, but the other sat in its charger. Its camera didn’t see her. Their own wireless access point—provided by the criminals they worked for—pinpointed her chair. The chair had her vitals. She breathed, but she had stopped screaming. I imagined her burned and bleeding as well as paraplegic, wanted to leave her there and let it be over for her.”
There was a tear on my cheek. I hoped the auditorium lights weren’t picking it up.
“But Louisa whispered in my ear and Alvar said, ‘I’ve called help.’
“I had a team. Maybe someday Maribel would have a team. The doorway smoldered and we had to pass her parent’s bodies. Her mother had cleared the space for her before she died. We’d have to be fast and precise. I sent signals to her chair. Forward and back. Testing. When I knew I could do it, I lied to the chair and told it to expect a hill and go fast and hard.
“The chair burst through, raced too fast down the ramp, teetered, didn’t fall. The signal was better now, so I guided it a few more yards and left her in shade to wait for help.”
I paused and waited, then spoke softly. “Maribel is alive and in school. Her parents’ employers are in jail.”
I waited for the audience to react. A clap, then another, then another.
I rolled my chair to the front of the room to take their questions.
PART FIVE
Military Science Fiction
FOR the LOVE of
METAL DOGS
The sky threatened rain
. I pulled my coat tight against a cool wind as I watched the dog handler head toward me up the small hill. He was a pretty-boy, body-builder style, maybe ten years younger than me. His golden blond hair contrasted with slightly oriental eyes. The dog trotting just behind him was a Belgian Malinois, a dark fawn color with a darker snout and ears, and a small white star pattern on his chest. “Welcome to base camp,” I called out when they got close.
The specialist stopped about five yards from me. The dog sat right at his feet, watching me with no more than mild suspicion. It still made me nervous. We had never been a dog family, and I found them unpredictable and a tiny bit frightening. Dogs always knew that, too. I think the soldier noticed me stiffen, since his face grew a slightly mocking grin. “I heard you were camp mom.”
“Try again.” He was gorgeous to look at, but in my experience good looks and brains were often available in inverse proportions to each other. I watched him struggle through possible responses to my challenge.
“Specialist Lawson.”
At least he could read a name tag. “Emilie. And you are?”
“I’m Pebble.” He pointed at the dog. “And this is Sacha.”
I would have believed the names more if they were reversed. “Why Pebble? That’s a name for small things.” Which he wasn’t.
“I knocked out an enemy dog with a rock.”
“And they didn’t call you David?”
“That’s my real name. Didn’t make a very good nickname.” He stood in front of me, silent, looking ill at ease. When I didn’t pick up the conversation, he pointed to Buster. “Tell me about him. We’ve never worked with robodogs.”
He didn’t sound like he wanted to, either. Not that I particularly wanted to work with this pair. In fact, I’d heard the flesh handlers like Pebble looked down on our partners and us. They didn’t like being upstaged, and lately, outnumbered.
But Buster was the closest thing I had seen to brains with no beating heart. I’d take him at my side over any human I’d worked with yet. “Buster can do almost everything Sacha or you or I can do.”
Pebble looked dubious.
“I’ll show you. Willing to put Sacha to a test?”
“After I introduce him to you.” He signaled the dog, who came up close to me and sat. “Lean down and greet him. Pat his flank, not his head.”
All military dogs are soldiers, and I wasn’t about to show him disrespect even though I didn’t like flesh as much as metal. The way he held himself told me he wasn’t much happier than I was, but he held still while I patted his shoulder and upper back, his coarse fur tickling my arm. Pebble said “Friend” to the dog, who twitched his nose quite casually.
“Ready?”
“A race?”
I shrugged. “We can start there.”
“Where?”
“How about to the building with the showers and back?”
Pebble grabbed the dog’s leather harness, pulled out a small pen-like instrument, and shone a red dot on the back of the shower building. “Touch. Return,” he told the dog.
I simply told Buster, “Go to the showers and come back as fast as you can. Don’t hurt the dog.”
“Okay,” Buster said.
I nodded. “Go!” I said.
Both animals sped away from us, Buster a streak of black and Sacha a streak of brown.
Pebble looked thoughtful. “I wish Sacha could talk.”
“He states facts and confirms orders. It’s not a conversation.”
“I bet he can tell you if he’s hurt.”
I nodded, hearing a painful truth in his voice.
He stared at the dogs, already almost halfway. Both fast. “When are we going in?” he asked.
“Rumor has it the day after tomorrow. Not like it’s my choice. Or yours.”
We were both specialists. I could have had a higher rank, but if I allowed that I’d lose the ability to handle dogs.
He would have had a mission briefing and know as much as me. This was a NorAM eco-peace mission into the wilds of British Columbia. A nest of property-rights protestors had decided to create a city in spite of the fact that the whole county had been turned into a nature preserve for black bears twenty years ago. “I hear they pissed off the Canadians by importing serious weaponry across the border.”
“Not to mention that they’ve flattened a few miles of forest. We run spy drones over the place every day. They’re growing. Two bands of Rightsers joined up already, and there’s more rumored. The plan is to get in there before it’s too big to be a skirmish. Can’t have a full-on war inside Canada’s borders.”
Buster was ahead, but not quite as far as I expected. They’d neared the shower building, neither animal looking much like it was about to slow. We watched as the dogs both stopped—barely—and turned. Buster’s turn wasn’t his best move. Sacha’s turn was invisible—from here it looked like he was going one way and then he was going the other. Liquid vs. metal. Even though Buster was still ahead and pulling away, Sacha was faster than I expected.
“Is he enhanced?” I’d heard stories about GMO dogs.
Pebble shook his head. “Just through years of breeding. His ancestry goes back to 2018 in the canine breeding program—he came from a line they bred for SEAL teams.” Pride swelled his voice even though Buster was skidding to a stop at my feet, and Sacha was at least five lengths behind.
“Is Sacha trained to detect?”
“Explosives and people.”
“Can he beat Buster? Shall we try that next?”
“I’ll bet on him.”
Sacha won on human scent, and Buster took him on nitroglycerine, TNT, and two common training taggants. “That’s enough for now,” I said. Buster had proven himself, and besides, I could smell the grill. “Dinner?”
“After I feed Sacha.”
Buster drank sunlight. Even in the gray northwest there was plenty for him, and more stored in his batteries. He could operate in pitch dark for a week.
The dog got his dinner, but Pebble and I had just filled our plates with soy burgers and salad when the loudspeakers in the mess tent went off.
“All hands to the amphitheater.”
Pebble started to set his plate down, but I leaned over and whispered, “A soldier never wastes calories.”
We ate standing up while Captain Jules Thorne gave us our orders. He started with the attack teams—twelve Special Forces pairs with one dog each. “Send the dogs in first. We have spare parts for them but none for you.” He always said that, and we always pretended to laugh even though I hate the order. He looked at me. “Lawson. You’re leading Specialist Baxter and his dog, and taking Estrogen with you. Northern perimeter watch, starting at 19:00 hours.”
I bit back a bitter reaction. We’d be out of the main attack, probably because of the green team with the real dog, maybe also because I was a woman. Captain Thorne told me it was because I was mouthy, but I didn’t think so.
Pebble didn’t notice my mood, but instead he grinned at me. “Now we can test the dogs in the field. See who wins then.”
So he really was stupid.
“The field isn’t a test,” I told him as we waited in a small clearing for the other two members of our team.
“It’s the best test ever.”
“Being sidetracked might get us killed. How many field ops have you and Sacha done?”
He looked proud of himself. “This is our third operation together. But Sacha’s been deployed for three whole tours.”
Goddess save us all. I pursed my lips and stamped my feet against the growing chill. Buster and I had been together for two years, and I gave my dog a long appreciative glance. At the moment, he wore one of the smallest milbot dog bodies. When he sat in shadow he looked like flesh and blood. His limbs and head were black, his tail and body a burnished charcoal gray with silver toenails.
Estrogen lumbered up and slapped me a high-five with his huge meaty hand. “Emilie. We will be taking Buster and kicking some ass.”
I grinned and leapt up to plant a kiss on his blocky, rugged cheek. Inappropriate in the military, but there were no officers around, and Estrogen was as gay as they made them and so proud of it he’d picked up the nickname and made it sing for him. Besides, he was at least ten years younger than me. Which didn’t stop me from enjoying the rough feel of his skin and the slight hug he grabbed me into for the briefest moment. Besides, any risk that came with the kiss was worth it; Pebble looked stunned. I grinned.
“Pebble—meet Estrogen.”
“Es . . . Estrogen?” he managed to stammer.
“Yep,” the big man said. “Did you meet Buster yet? Best dog ever.”
“Essie . . . he’s a handler. Got his own dog.” I pointed at the edge of the little field, where Sacha and Buster sat together.
Estrogen squinted. “That’s a real one.” He grinned ear to ear and headed off.
Since I could speak through Buster’s speakers, I used them to say, “Fuck you.”
Estrogen just waved.
The captain had named me leader, so I gathered them up for a short pre-trip lecture. “We’ve spotted sentries out here three times in the last two days. New sightings from the sats will be beamed to our glasses. But don’t trust them—the sats miss a lot on these trees. The drones are better, but the main attack team will get those. I’ll send you Buster’s view of things from time to time.” I looked hard at Pebble. “Are you ready?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Ma’am my ass. I put Buster in front and let Sacha stay with Pebble for now. Wet cedars surrounded us, cutting off some of the light and some of the rain. The rich loamy dirt smelled like forest and our footsteps were nearly silent as we walked over the rotting carcasses of last year’s leaves.
I traded out which dog was on point every half hour. This was Buster’s third turn, and neither of them had alerted for anything. I alternated between paying close attention to the darkening, dripping damp we were plowing through and watching the main attack team close in on the compound via my Virtual computerized glasses. They had a longer name, but I could never remember it. They were the most direct way for Buster and me to interact, and the whole camp used them for comms and cameras as well.
Dusk started slipping pools of darkness under the trees, but Buster had excellent night vision we could all use if we wanted to see through his eyes. I didn’t overlay it yet since it made me slightly nauseous.
We walked until the colors all grayed. Even clouded over, the night sky gave some light to the clear parts of the trail, but in most places the trees were thick enough to give the night an eerie, swaying blackness.
Buster stopped dead in front of me and sat down. His silent signal made me put my hand back flat to signal the others to stop.
They were quiet, even Sacha.
I blinked at my glasses. At first nothing looked different, but then Buster’s view came alive in a small square on my right lens. I blinked twice to make it bigger. Just the path, sloping slightly uphill, and the long shadows of trees. Words scrolled along the bottom of the picture. “Two traps. People behind traps.”
A red dot blinked on my right lens. A warning from Estrogen.
More unfriendlies?
An unmanned aerial vehicle popped up to my side, hovered. The size of my head, and close. It whirred softly, like a hummingbird.
If I got a good look, I was probably dead.
None of our intel said they had UAVs. Maybe the nasties had jail-broken some 3D printers.
It targeted Estrogen with some kind of beam weapon.
Estrogen turned toward it and a flash of light from the drone illuminated his wide eyes and stole some of my night vision. He raised his gun, but crumpled before he used it.
“Get,” I told Buster.
My dog leapt at the machine, six feet of angry milbot and a lot heavier than the insta-drone. He bore it to the ground and grabbed it with his teeth.
Estrogen didn’t move.
A woman screamed. Deductive reasoning suggested she had to be an enemy. I was the only woman on our little team.
“We’re under attack,” I said to my glasses, and through them, to the captain. “Estrogen is down. Unknown number of enemies. We got a drone.”
Buster bit down so hard on the drone it crunched.
I looked for Pebble just in time to see him head off the path between two trees. Damn green soldier. Probably running after his flesh dog.
I stayed in a low crouch and tried to assess the situation.
Buster let out three warning sounds in quick succession, little yips with a high tone that flashed red onto my lenses. I ducked and rolled right. Pain exploded in my foot.
“Attack,” I commanded Buster through clenched teeth.
My legs curled into my belly of their own accord and I clutched my right foot. At least it was still there, although my fingers found a hole in my leather boot near the toes.
Buster poured into the woods. He had the smarts to choose the best tactics given the information he had. Looked like he was following Pebble. Good thing—the fire in my foot made it hard to think.
I glanced over at Estrogen. I wasn’t close enough to tell if he was breathing.
I didn’t get closer; any enemy left watching would expect that.
Rain poured onto the canopy of cedar above me and dripped down in thin streams.
The screaming stopped.
I listened to my own breathing, listened for Estrogen to move or call out.
Rain fell. Cedars rustled and swayed in a light wind.
A bird sang.
Buster poked his blessed black nose out from between two trees and gave me an audible follow signal.
He wouldn’t give an audible signal if there was anything really bad nearby.
I barely managed not to cry out as I stood, even though I kept the weight off of my damaged foot, which throbbed as if it had its own beating heart.
“Come,” I hissed at Buster. This body was so small there was no elegant way to ride him. I put my hurt foot sideways across his neck and tucked the other one up his back flank for balance. It was something he and I practiced. We managed. If I was lucky, he wouldn’t scrape me off on any trees.
A hundred yards down the path, Sacha stood over a dead woman dressed in jeans and a tan shirt with two guns on her waist and a machete that had clearly fallen from her hand when the dog had taken her down.