Conscription (Ch 2) : A short story
Five Miles Downrange :
Three “Business” Announcements:
Be on the lookout in October for announcements in GOODREADS for an upcoming KINDLE giveaway of Gruff Ending. Just in time to get ready for Halloween.
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…and one “Reader Announcement” :
Warning. The following is rated M for Mature. As I said before, unlike Blue Summer or Gruff Ending, this is not the result of a Monster of the Week campaign or story. The contents of our campaign work could be considered mature in content (drugs, death, violence, etc.) , even though I try to leave out profanity and gloss over the details - Conscription is definitely on the mature side in action and language.. Some of the following may disturb readers, so I am putting this out there for the more sensitive crowd. Contents may be considered NSFW in some locales.
Comments are welcome. Likes are appreciated. Hate, as always, is ignored…unless it’s constructive.
Without further ado…
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Conscription
JES Campbell
II
The car ran for about thirty minutes before needing to stop for recharging. Guiding itself through the sparse highway traffic, it pulled off onto an exit that Theo was unfamiliar with. He watched as faded signs passed by the rain-kissed windows highlighting decrepit buildings and driveways to places such as SUNOCO, EXXON, and BP. Some land plots still had portions of collapsed pump islands, the roofs of which jutted above scrub tree lines like the bones of some forgotten beast.
It found a charging station not far from the highway exit, pulling into the dimly lit area Theo saw that it had a half dozen of the metallic pads. The car chose the farthest one, its programming mandating it to make room for others that may come behind it while recharging. As soon as the tires touched the pad, the car came to a stop and Theo could hear a soft hum of the wireless power exchange from below him. The screen came on and informed him that it would be fifteen minutes until a full charge, feeling unexplainable exhausted, he settled in for a cat nap while the charge timer progressed.
Theo had barely nodded off when there was a knock at the window. Startled that the car’s proximity alarm, a standard in all law enforcement vehicles, had not activated he scooted sideways across the compartment away from the noise. His hand shot under the jacket he was wearing, wrapping his fingers around the butt of the flechette pistol in its holster. Not that it would do much good, as the windows and doors of the car could stop the impact of a bullet.
The man outside the car wore a black jacket with reflective striping, his face masked by a thick, rubbery filtration mask which seamlessly attached to the helmet wrapping around the man’s skull. The mask’s eyes were red, indicating infrared or some similar viewing technology had been built in. Reaching into his jacket pocket, he held up a familiar looking credential badge, and Theo could see his alarm was unwarranted. It was a Cycle Patrol Unit. One of the few service elements still funded by the State, Dispatch used them to patrol the hinterlands of population.
The CPU held up a flat courier package and walked it to the front of the car, placing his credentials on a space on the front of the car. There was a beep of acknowledgement, and the package was inserted into a slot that appeared on the front of the car. Theo could hear inner mechanisms sterilizing the package as it passed through some unknown passage before the leftmost front seat popped open in the compartment. Theo retrieved the package from the seat and watched as the CPU walked to an adjacent pad and hopped onto his cycle. Much like the car, the electric cycle started without a sound, and its pilot lost in the black bulk of compartments sped off through the early morning with no headlamps.
Theo gripped broke the package seal and withdrew a folder inside. It was an intelligence report on Eric Stratton. An official dual-seal letter attached informed him that this was the latest information on the target, and Theo’s heart sank when he saw that Stratton was listed in Citizen Category A-2 - Protected Status.
“Computer.”
The screen blinked, displaying the time and that they had another five minutes to full charge.
“Display probability curve for case number, “ he looked at the column of numbers displayed on the side of the binder, “ES129875P45.”
The date was quickly replaced by a grid display of varying curves and tangent lines. The overall display was to demonstrate to overseers the probability curve of mission success.Theo was only concerned about a couple of the readout values.
“Highlight Ellis Factor.”
The computer highlighted a series of bell curves in the scrawl of lines, and Theo breathed a sigh of relief. The Ellis Factor was developed to demonstrate the belief in the correctness of the information known of a subject. The lower the curve, the lower the probability the data driving the course of the case was incorrect or that there were too many unknowns to accurately inform the selected service member.
“Highlight Media Factor.”
The computer highlighted another curve, this one much lower than the Ellis Factor. It showed the media interest , representing the mainstream and social media impact of the course of the case.
Nothing to be concerned about. Theo thought, If there was a care about from a social conscious or entertainment point of view, there would at least be a blip on the screen.
The car indicated that it was charged and began to drive away from the pad through the misty rain. Theo poured through the file .
Eric Joseph Stratton , Age 28, Citizen Category A-2. Family immigrated through the Open Borders Act, hence his protected status. Site of immigration was Eurasia, which really could mean any one of the countries across the northern part of the Eastern Hemisphere, but it really didn’t matter from a legal standpoint - an Immigrant was an Immigrant, and the shifting boundaries among countries by war or criminal activity was not a factor in among a person’s right to come to America. As long as they demonstrated their commitment and community affiliation, there was a path to becoming a Citizen.
Employment history was wide ranging, starting from waivers to conduct factory work as young as twelve, and more recently working menial labor in the Holland Reservation. Through either Interweb or personal contact, the suspect gained access to a line of credit from a Marion Hauser, also of the Holland Reservation. The charges allege that Stratton used this line of credit to establish a false identity of Elias Karlson, purchasing several items that were out of character for Hauser and were marked as suspicious given the lack of background for the fictitious Karlson.
The file included images of the intended apprehension site. It was a typical ferro-concrete one-story home, front access. The home itself was on a cul-de-sac with other similarly constructed homes. Some of the shots were recent overheads, indicating to Theo that one of his benefactors was utilizing a Public Eye, an automated drone used to patrol a scoped area to listen, record, and inform. The pictures from the Eye showed the reflections of heat sources surrounding the house in its infra-red imagery, the Tribal Police.
Theo closed the file to ruminate on the situation while looking out at the misting rain.
****
Sometime in the past fifty or sixty years, a special interest group had invested in purchasing the island which the Holland Reservation now found itself positioned on. Probably, not long after the purchase, someone had reached out to the Chesapeake Preservation Group to utilize their patented Swarmivarista (“Swami”) technique used to cleanse densely polluted waters. Indeed, Theo owed much of the East County fishing industry to being Swami’d into existence. The issue was, once the technique was used, the refuse that is dredged up from the filtration system needs to go somewhere. Looking down at the causeway that linked the mainland to the reservation, Theo thought that he now had found out where much of it had gone.
The causeway was built up from the grey-ish blocks of Swami refuse, stacked upon one another to form the sides of the causeway. Over this, the State had paved a two-lane highway. As the car carried him along it, he could make out along the seawall, and further out into the Bay, yellow disks representing hydro-electric buoys that were undoubtedly channeling their power to the reservation in order to maintain its self-sufficient existence.
The car drove along this for about forty minutes before the island itself came into view. More of the Swami-related blocks made up the base of the island, which was dotted with wind turbines and a multitude of clone houses that Theo had viewed in the file. Sea-birds ran to and fro along the manufactured beachfront, dodging the Chesapeake’s waves. At one time Theo could have named the bird’s breeds, but his mind was busy with other impending thoughts to waste its precious cycles trolling through youthful memories.
After a number of minutes passing through look-alike neighborhoods, all displaying years of neglect in their worn and chipped facades and unkempt lawns, the car pulled into the cup-de-sac displayed in the files Theo had received. A half-moon of four Holland units sat around the end of a short driveway leading to the house in question. Theo thought he could make out the Public Eye hovering amongst the treetops, its round bulk reflecting the blue and white flashes of the squad cars.
The car pulled up alongside the farthest car, and as Theo donned his mask, the door popped open. He had barely emerged from the car when a female dressed in a similarly patched jacket approached him carrying an e-clipboard in her gloved hand. Much like the CPU earlier, she was dressed head-to-toe in the rubbery State-supplied armor. Her helmet masked the entirety of her face and was decorated with various sensors and lenses. A familiar harness draped the front of the upper portion of the armor, housing her camera feeds.
She flashed her credentials, “Greetings, Citizen. Theodore Martin ?” Her voice was mechanical, subverted by the suit’s electronics. Somewhere, buried in all that silicon on her face, he imagined there was some kind of solid state translation device that amplified her speech patterns to ensure accurate transmission to non-native speakers.
“Greetings,” he replied, stunned at the number of vehicles present for a simple arrest, “yes, Theo, that’s me.” He produced his own credentials, which Veronica scanned with the e-clipboard.
“Veronica. I am your handler on this arrest, I’m simply here to provision you with needed gear and to observe as required under statute 4592 of the Federal Code. Are you ready ?”
“Yes, I suppose.”
She escorted Theo back behind the vehicles to a large, dark van. From inside, she produced a similar harness that she wore, snapping into place over his upper body. He felt the pinch of the upper connection at the nape of his neck, the harness providing a feed of his status to some control element downrange.
Veronica checked her e-clipboard. “Your health status seems within the boundaries for this event. Your camera and filters are a go...please provide a box check.”
“Test, one, two, three..”
“Satisfactory callback along the mandibular connection. Checklist complete, shall we proceed, Citizen ?”
“Let’s proceed.”
The two walked back past the Tribal units dressed in uniforms identifying their Holland Authority status. Some were armed with rifle-like weaponry, the barrels painted that noxious orange similar to Theo’s flechette pistol. He gathered that these were bean-bag rifles, albeit, that these had been modified to enable rapid-fire. Technically, non-lethal, but continued exposure would definitely pulverize a person.
They approached the house side-by-side, and Theo noted that the exterior exit door’s lower window had been broken. The bottom portion was shattered, glass lining the interior of the exit shelter.
“Veronica, can we call in for an volumetric extractor ? With the exit door exposed, who knows what toxicity levels are present in the living area ?” He brushed aside some sprickets that had gathered along the broken edge of the window pane, several of them dotted the base of the house, lapping at the cool moisture gathering there.
“No, Citizen, the property itself belongs to the Holland Reservation and is thus out of our jurisdiction. Only Eric Stratton’s person falls within our jurisdiction.” One of the lenses decorating Veronica’s helmet spun within and Theo got the sense that it was zooming in on the broken panel, recording it.
“Fine.” Theo walked over to the house’s identification plate next to the rounded exterior of the entrance door and placed his gloved hand upon it. From outside the house, he could hear the chiming indicating their presence. No response occurred.
“For the record, I have attempted to identify myself through normal means to the household. Failing receipt of an answer, I am now escalating.” From within the harness, Theo produced a green, transparent,, jell-like device which he adhered to the identification plate. The plate’s charge powered it on, and soon he was looking at a blank screen with a complex array of buttons. He pressed one of these, and the interior chime was overrode by the sound of his voice amplified throughout the house.
“Greetings Citizen. I am Theodore Martin, on State business for the apprehension and arrest of Eric Joseph Stratton under Maryland Code 8-301. Please present yourself at this time.”
There was no answer. Theo looked at the enigmatic Veronica, whose mask fully concealed her reaction. He had hoped to read some body language, and failing to do so, repeated his order with no response.
Theo sighed, “Escalating to intrusive surveillance, noting for the record that the accused has not responded.” He punched a series of buttons on the liquid screen, and soon the pair were viewing the interior of the house.
The interior of the home was not unlike Theo’s, and the camera angle appeared from outside the entry portal into a mostly bare living room. A ratty couch sat across the room, accompanied by an equally ratty looking chair. Ancient milk cartons and foldable trays made up the rest of the furniture. Through the bone conductive microphones enabled by the harness, they both could make out the droning sound of a ceiling fan off-camera in the yellowing light of the view.
Something else was causing a sound, just under that of the fan. It was almost a keening sound, being committed in a rhythmic fashion. Theo flicked his hand across the screen, and the interior camera panned to the right.
Dark, curving streaks painted the floor. A shoe haphazardly pointed outward from the corner of the hall.
“Code one-eight-seven, escalating to engagement. Request backup and medical personnel immediately be sent to this location.” Theo hit an override switch and the entry door unlocked. Upholstering his pistol, he and Veronica stepped inside the chamber and awaited the decontamination process.
Replaying the next event in slow motion, Theo could see that a length of monofilament wire that had been stretched across the room from the rotating inner door to the entrance. Invisible to the camera as he observed it, someone had attached a spool of the wire to the opening mechanism, with the far end linked through a series of micro-gears to a nail-headed spring device. Once activated, the nail sprung forward and actuated the firing pin on a shotgun shell that had been placed in a length of pipe. The Second Amendment waiver, it seemed, only addressed the ownership of a firearm - not ammunition.
The shotgun shell blast caught Veronica and slammed her against Theo, knocking him off -balance. They both crashed to the floor. Simultaneously, their harnesses sent alerts out to the various Dispatch stations in East County and Holland Reservation which were combined with the Public Eye’s sensor readings of a probable discharge of a firearm, to determine an appropriate response.
Theo rolled over and grabbed at the collapsed Veronica, pulling her to a seated position. Through the tears in her suit, he saw pools of red welling up around the pale blue skin of her midsection.
Blue ? Why did they send a Fair Witness out here ? Sure, that explains her name, but...
Theo could hear Veronica’s intake over the speech module. “Citizen, get in there and finish the arrest. I am fine for now. For the record, noting that I am disabled at the entrance to the alleged Stratton location.”
“Are you sure you are okay ?”
She covered the flayed area with her e-clipboard and the volume of her mechanical voice increased. “Move, Citizen !”
Theo clumsily untangled himself from his and Veronica’s position and proceeded into the living room. The yellowing light from the adjoining kitchen had produced shadows across the space, and he could make out the tube from which the blast had emanated, designed to kill any intruder. The drag marks began in the kitchen and into the hallway. Theo could make out the sound now, whomever was making it was lost in some type of prayer. Pistol out, he proceeded into the hall.
The hallway was about fifteen feet in length, and just about each foot of it was decorated in a macabre display of viscera and blood up to his waist height. Two bodies lay on the floor, gutted, their entrails pulled out forming on centric circles along the kickboards. Other parts, Theo thought he made out a set of lungs and someone’s heart, had been smashed against the walls with great force. On the far end of the hall, a woman’s corpse stared at him mouth agape, an eye clearly missing from the face. A claw hammer was impaled into the ceiling, with what Theo could only attribute to brain matter hanging loosely from the claw end. He felt bile building in his throat.
What in the fuck is this ? What type of person could do this ?
The prayer from down the hall continued. Theo progressed, sliding on the wet floor, trying not to disturb the scene as much as he may have already. He pressed against the far door, ostensibly where the master bedroom would reside.
Stratton sat cross-legged on the floor, mumbling in meditative prayer. His arms, from fingertip to mid-elbow were stained in blood.
“Eric Stratton.”
More mumbling.
“Eric Joseph Stratton. I am placing you under arrest Maryland Code 8-301. You have the right to remain silent...”
Stratton continued to ignore Theo, continuing his rapid reciting of prayer while staring out into space. Theo turned from the spectacle.
“Requesting extraction. Apprehension not possible due to perceived mental imbalance, requesting additional psychiatric assistance for Eric Joseph Stratton. Will require coroner support. Two deceased inside home, one female...”
From behind him, Theo heard a sudden movement as Stratton leapt to his feet. In his right hand he brandished a machete. He seemed to still be repeating the strange chant. Theo spun, bringing up the flechette.
“Stop !”
The pistol coughed, ejecting fourteen needles clustered in a hexagonal pattern towards the quickly approaching Stratton. The majority hit him in the upper right shoulder, injecting him with neurotoxins that immediately sent his body into spasms. The machete clattered to the floor, quickly followed by Stratton.
Theo walked over to the prone body and kicked away the machete. Stratton was not breathing.
Oh shit.
Dropping to his knees to preform CPR, Theo chanted his own prayer,“Four four three, four four three. In need of further assistance.Eric Joseph Stratton in cardiac arrest. Four four three.”
In the front room, there was a loud crunching sound as an extraction crew ripped the entry door off its axis. Veronica’s limp body rolled out into the front yard into the damp night air.
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© 2020 JES Campbell
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved. No portion of this short story may be reproduced in any form without permission from the author, except as permitted by U.S. copyright law. For permissions contact:
JES Campbell@fivemilesdownrange.net
Cover by JES Campbell
