Best Science Fiction and Fantasy of 2019. Worthy of a Post. Worthy of Purchase.
Good friend, LaShawn Wanak, wrote a lyrical, dreamy story that was picked up for the BEST OF anthology (see link below…it was first featured in APEX magazine).
Writes editor John Joseph Adams…”The BEST AMERICAN SERIES is the premier annual showcase for the country’s finest short fiction and nonfiction. Each volume’s series editor selects notable works from hundreds of magazines, journals, and websites. A special guest editor—a leading writer in the field—then chooses the best twenty or so pieces to publish. This unique system has made the Best American series the most respected—and most popular—of its kind.”
To order this anthology, click Best of SFF 2019.
LaShawn’s story was first featured here…but why just read hers…there are so many great stories in this anthology.
Sister Rosetta Tharpe and Memphis Minnie Sing the Stumps Down Good
Five Female Science Fiction Authors You Need to Read ASAP
I write this post in honor of International Women’s Day and I hope it might spur you to pick up a novel or download an audiobook that you might not have read without a little urging. You won’t be disappointed!
With that said, here’s the list:
- Octavia Butler
- Ursula K. Le Guin
- Margaret Atwood
- N.K. Jemisin
- Julian May
Octavia Butler, author of KINDRED, passed away in 2006. She was one of a handful of women to win multiple Nebula and Hugo Awards, as well as the Arthur C. Clarke Award. If you’re starting out and want a great taste of Butler’s writing, order or pickup BLOOD CHILD AND OTHER STORIES The novelette, BLOOD CHILD, won both the Nebula and the Hugo. If you’re a fan of graphic novels, try this version of KINDRED: GRAPHIC NOVEL
Ursula K. Le Guin, author of THE LEFT HAND OF DARKNESS passed away last year. Many love her for her fantasy, but she is perhaps chief among our mothers in the pantheon of many fathers who have written the most important science fiction in the last 40 years. She was the first woman to win a Nebula award and a Hugo, for THE LEFT HAND OF DARKNESS. My review of the novel is here. Much adored by her fans is the THE EARTHSEA CYCLE novels that were intentionally targeted at the young adult audience (Le Guin was encouraged by her publisher to do so.)
Margaret Atwood, author of THE HANDMAID’S TALE, for which she won a Nebula award, The Arthur C. Clarke Award and the Booker Prize, has a contemporary fan base since her novel was adapted to television by HBO. That novel is worthy of your attention, but so are many of her others, like ORYX AND CRAKE, the first in the The MaddAddam Trilogy.
N.K. Jemisin is blowing the socks off the scifi community with her brilliant story-telling and characters that breathe prophetic. The Broken Earth Trilogy belongs on every scifi fan’s shelf. She is the first author in the history of the Nebula to win three awards in three consecutive years. For a dip into her writing, try some of her short stories, many of which are award-winning and/or brilliant in their own right. This collection is what you need. HOW LONG ‘TIL BLACK FUTURE MONTH: STORIES
Julian May passed away last year and will be the most obscure recommendation I make. I do so because I recently discovered her and feel her scifi to be completely wonderful, different and imaginative in a way I had not expected. She’s written a series called The Saga of Pliocene Exile which is a riveting tale with fantastic and memorable characters. I reviewed THE MANY COLORED LAND in the Fall. You can read the review here.
Women bring a unique voice to the science fiction landscape and they have mostly been welcomed by those who love the genre. They are still out-numbered on the shelves of your local bookstore and it’s good to be reminded of the best.
Who are your favorite female authors within the genre? I’d love to hear who you love.
KNOW THY ROBOT, Original Fiction
Leti unlatched the feeder from its holder and squeezed a few drops of tea between her lips. Coffee was not going to help, not when her stomach was churning like Jupiter’s poles.
Christian hovered at the viz, monitoring the debris field from which they had just emerged. “I believe we’re through the worst of it, Leti.” He settled into his seat and strapped in.
“You think?” she said.
“Yes, Leti.” He answered confidently, a confidence she did not trust.
For eleven hours, she had steered the Artemis through a shitload of space junk, losing a portion of the landing gear, an escape pod and one and a half blasters. Essentially, she and her two crew members were limping through space, totally defenseless. It brought Leti no comfort that the Sino-Nihon, her main competition, would likely beat her to the drill site.
“God, I miss my porcelain mug.” She squeezed up another mouthful of tea, moving the lukewarm liquid along the seam of the pouch, pushing the dab between her lips. “Fucking space. I’m so pissed off right now.”
“You are sleep deprived,” Christian said.
“My brain’s not firing on all cylinders, that’s for sure.”
“That’s a funny saying,” Christian said.
The expression was her grandfather’s, who in his youth had worked on all things automobile. He was a mechanic, one of the last of a breed of humans on Earth put out of business by robots. He switched to fixing bots by the end of his life. He was lucky to have been clever enough to understand the complex machinery operating in the earliest AI.
“We could not have anticipated this anomaly.” Christian had read something into her silence. Now he was trying to reassure her, yet not invalidate her feelings. He was programmed to be an encourager and a diffuser of tension, which on occasion, left Leti feeling massively grumpy.
She punched the empty feeder pouch into the trash chute and slammed on the blue button, the one that sent all of her waste and hers alone, since Christian didn’t create any waste, into the compression tank. She snarled at her co-pilot. “We mastered this scenario in our training. What happened to us is inexcusable.”
“That’s not true, Leti. Unknowns can be found in all corners of the cosmos. We may have mastered the training scenario, but we are not masters of the universe.”
She let out a coarse laugh. “You made a joke, Christian. Do you know who the Masters of the Universe are?”
“No, Leti. I do not.”
“Search the net. I think you’ll be pleased,” she said.
“Fair enough, but I won’t embark on such a search until you deem us safe,” he said.
Leti glanced over the readouts. “I deem us safe for now, as safe as we can be under the circumstances.”
Christian waved her over. “There’s one more thing. Can you come here?” He pointed at the viz, tapping the screen lightly. “You can see it for yourself, Leti. Come here, Leti. Leti, come here.”
And now she wanted to smack him. Who was the corporate numbskull who had programmed in such redundancies? Come here, Leti. Leti, come here. What the hell? Recognizing she was in a horrid mood, she closed her eyes for a moment, unbuckled herself and moved in behind him.
He was still tapping the screen. “The debris. I think it is all rock, probably a small body.”
Leti squinted at the tiny blobs on the screen. “By small body, you mean small bodies.”
“I mean it started out as one small body. I am working out a theory on why it became a debris field. This debris field was not on any of our maps.”
“Well…I sure can’t tell if it’s all rock…How the hell can you?”
Christian gave a slight lift and tilt to his head to look back at her. He blinked once. A deliberate and programmed blink. “It’s a guess, but as we were passing through, I took the opportunity to scoop up a few fragments with our research net. I will analyze what we collected, after which we might be able to determine their origin. In the meantime, you should get some sleep, boss. You know what they say, early to bed, early to rise, makes a woman healthy, wealthy…”
“…and wise, I know,” she said. Christian was a collector of old timey sayings. “Is the Sino-Nihon still on the radar?” she asked.
He flicked across the screen to the radar readout. “It appears as though they’re descending.”
“So they are gonna beat us. If that’s the case, I might as well rest before we go any further.”
She pulled off her magnetized boots and strapped herself into her bunk.
Four hours later, Ty woke her. Ty, Artemis’ third crew member, was her personal assistant and a different breed of AI than Christian. He existed in an aluminum cylinder and rode around on four magnetized wheels. Ty performed most of his duties with mechanical arms and though his body was the carapace of a bot from an earlier era, his intelligence chip had been upgraded for the trip to Titan.
“You are due at the bridge in approximately five minutes,” he said. Ty’s programmer had given him a low male voice, weirdly sexy.
As Ty readied her boots, she pushed off the bunk and glided to the sink, knuckling her eye sockets as she drifted. Eye irritation was the rule in space, mostly due to the lack of moisture. Sleep deprivation always made it worse.
She squirted a bubble of recycled water into her wash cloth and rubbed it over her face. Glazed anew by micro gravity water, she reached under the sink. She knew where her pouch of Scotch was by feel. She squeezed out a shot and swallowed it down. The throat burn jolted her awake.
“Did Christian find anything interesting?” she asked Ty as he helped her dress.
“There was metal wreckage in the debris he collected, along with rock.”
“Weird.” she said.
“Indeed, Ty said.
“What was the name of the unmanned ship that crashed on Titan last year?”
“Two years ago, Santa Maria, the Vatican’s unmanned space vessel disappeared into Titan’s atmosphere. We don’t know if it truly crashed. Six months ago, Freya, the Nordic research vessel exploded somewhere above Titan. Two humans and one AI were lost.”
“The metal could be pieces of the Freya. Has Christian done a full analysis yet?”
“Christian maintains a working theory,” said Ty.
“Give me the synopsis.”
“Based on the velocity of the debris as it hit us, Christian suspects the Sino-Nihon might have intentionally blasted apart a small body of some sort.”
“And not warned us?”
“That is correct,” said Ty.
“What about the metal?”
“Perhaps, the Sino-Nihon was damaged in the process.”
Leti whistled through her still-wet lips. “Crazy theory…Strike it from the log until we verify.”
“I will strike it from the log,” Ty said.
Leti pulled her sub-zero parka out of the hatch. She had lowered the internal temps to save fuel.
“Call coming in,” Christian said as she entered the bridge.
“From where? The mining company?” She trudged toward her seat.
“From Earth, your hometown. It’s your ex-husband.”
“Great,” she moaned, settling herself. She zipped up her parka until the metal pull was floating under her chin.
“I’m about to connect. You want visual?” Christian said.
“Not really.” Leti ran her fingers through her greasy hair and used her sleeve to scrape some of the water off her cheeks and nose. She waited for Blake’s face to appear and lifted her hand in greeting as he came into focus.
“Can you hear me?” she asked. “Can you see me?”
“Yeah,” he said.
Blake’s new wife was toiling in the background, cooking something over the stove. She wore a pink robe. So domestic, Leti could almost smell the coffee.
“How’s Tommy?” she asked, then remembered her manners. “How are you and Bing?”
“We’re fine. He’s fine. Trying to figure out a few things for the summer. Tommy wants to go to that soccer camp I told you about, so we need an extra six thousand.” He wasn’t really looking into the camera. In fact, it appeared as though he was reading something on the table.
Asking for money, hurried communication and lack of eye contact. What an asshole.
“What are you reading or watching?” she asked.
“What?” he said.
“You’re not looking at me. You’re multi-tasking. Right?”
He scratched above his left ear and forced his eyes on her. “It’s business, Leti…the business of parenting our child. I didn’t call to be social.”
“I’m going to differ with your opinion here. Even though I’m a billion kilometers from Earth, I still have feelings…not to mention, I’m sacrificing for the Americas.”
Blake laughed. He had a beautiful, sonorous laugh. Bing approached the computer behind him and flicked him on the cheek playfully, after which her youthful face took over the screen. “She’s right, Blake. Hi, Leticia,” she said, “How is it going up there?”
“Hi, Bing.” Leti allowed herself a smirk. “You hear that? Even your wife is nice to me.”
Bing exited the frame, waving as she went.
“Okay, okay…So HOW ARE YOU?” Blake said and though his heart clearly wasn’t in it, she decided to unload on him anyway.
“I’m a mess. This mission sucks. Christian and I almost wrecked the ship a few hours ago and the mining contract has just been forfeited.”
“Wow. I’m sorry. How is Christian doing? It sounds like you’re not happy.”
“Christian…he’s fine. Always upbeat, perfect in every way, an ideal partner.”
“Okay…Well…Will you think about the soccer camp because I have to get to work soon.”
“Yeah, yeah…I’ll transfer the money. Is Tommy there? Can he talk?”
“In the shower,” Blake said.
“What do you think?”
Leti said nothing, so Blake filled in the silence. “It’s a bummer about your issues up there. It’s dangerous, I know…but you’re a great pilot. I’m sure you’ll figure things out.”
“I don’t know shit out here…I make it up as I go…” She threw up her hands. “We almost died.”
Blake glanced left. He was disinterested or protecting himself from making an emotional connection. “I don’t know what to say, Leti. You love space. You chose this career.”
She snorted. “Well, one of us needed to make money for things like expensive soccer camps.”
And oh, Blake was focused on her now, glaring and hating on every inch of her semi-gloss face. “So. That’s great, yeah…awesome. I’ll monitor whether your money comes through. God bless the Americas, the corporation and all that shit.” He did not log out, but his face disappeared from the screen.
Leti planted her cheeks into her palms. By God she was the true asshole.
She heard Bing’s voice. “Leticia. Are you still there? Tommy’s out of the shower. I think he wants to talk to you.”
Leti lifted her face as she heard her son’s greeting.
“Hey, Mom.” He was wiping his spiky hair with a towel, seeming way too mature for fourteen.
Leti sprang into cheerful mode. “Hi-ya, Tom Tom. Is that you?”
“You’re not looking like that freshman I left behind. You sure you’re the same person?”
Tommy chuckled, pleased with her observation. “So, how’s it going out there?” he asked.
“Not like I planned, but I think the job will get done, one way or the other. On the up side, if I complete this contract, I’ll be set. No more long trips away.” She blinked a few times, trying to conjure some moisture. “Anything you want to tell me?” she said. “I’ll probably need to get going soon.”
“Dad told you about the soccer camp? The Canadian one?”
“Canadian,” she said. “Okay. That’s why it’s expensive. Anyway…Yeah, he told me. It sounds good to me. You have some friends going with?”
“Jordan and maybe Edgar.”
“How’s Español?” she asked. She had seen his mid-year report card earlier in the week.
“Not like I planned, but I think the job will get done, one way or the other.”
She laughed and shook a parental finger at the screen. “That’s an A+ for snarky humor, but don’t fail that class. Save yourself the agony of repeating.”
“I know,” he said. “Hey, you’re sort of breaking up.”
“Ok. We’ll talk soon. Only 9 months and 26 days and when I come back…no more trips, I promise! Can’t wait. Love you.”
“Okay. Bye. Love you too.”
The screen went dark. She was shivering.
“Christian. Can we bump up the temps? One degree.”
“No problem, Leti,” Christian said.
“Ty,” she said. “I think I need some of those eye drops?”
The robot motored to the first aid kit and pulled out a tubular bottle. She tipped her head back and prepared for the application.
He placed a suction cup attached to the bottle over her socket. She forced her eyes open.
“Ty…Am I a bad person?” she asked. There was no way to read Ty. His one camera lens, its black glass-like bulb, revealed nada.
“You do your duty,” he said.
He shot three or four drops into her right eye and waited to make sure the liquid had entered.
As he removed the suction cup, Leti pressed against her eyelid. “So I am dutiful, but does that make me a good person?” She rubbed the lid.
“You would do well to avoid rubbing like that,” Ty said.
“I know.” She opened her eyes for the second application.
“It makes you good by machine standards.” Ty shot the drops into her left eye.
She blinked repeatedly to incorporate her eye juices with the medicine. The coolness was soothing. She did not rub her lid this time.
“Thank you,” she said.
“Doing my duty is a great pleasure.”
Ty was the perfect slave.
Christian’s report, that some of the metal fragments were in fact off of the Sino-Nihon, were next on the agenda.
“I find it difficult to imagine the crew of the Sino-Nihon blasting away at a piece of rock to slow us down. They would not do something so dangerous and unethical. You’re talking about attempted murder.”
The group for which her competitors worked maintained a stellar reputation in the solar system. They were known to be aggressive in business, but not reckless. Not destructive. Five years before, Leti had considered accepting a job to fly for the Asian Space Cooperative, but South American Mining had wanted her badly enough to double their offer. Her choice to pilot for SAM was all about money. She did not consider the Sino-Nihon her enemy.
“So you are ruling out sabotage?” Christian said.
“I HAVE ruled out sabotage,” she answered. “Put it in the log.”
Leti and Christian flew their semi-disabled ship around Titan, as far away from Saturn as possible. Leti used the moon’s gravitational pull to draw lower toward the massive ice-rock, thus saving fuel. After a few hours, she needed to unbuckle and relieve herself. Ty assisted her, but even with his help, the process always took a while. Christian stayed at the viz and monitored their trajectory.
Before Leti had a chance to resettle, Christian reported, “We lost radar contact with the Sino-Nihon about seven minutes ago.”
“They’re probably way under the haze or on the other side of the moon,” she said.
“Should we look for them?” With a tilt to his head and lifting of the eyebrows Christian wore his best question mark face and blinked twice. Another adaptation? Christian never blinked twice like that. Maybe he was taking cues from her.
Regardless, the question was genuine and she needed to take it seriously. To spend energy and time looking for the Sino-Nihon would be off-script and frowned upon by her superiors. However, space law required that any space vessel always be ready to abort mission for the sake of saving lives. Few pilots had to be convinced of this international norm.
“We don’t know where they are, but we can scan for them as we approach the drill site,” she said.
Titan’s faint gravitational pull anchored them poetically in a yellow-orange methane haze. The colors here were view-worthy, absolutely, but Leti was focused on Titan. Titan, the moon of promise, that which was about to become the prize of Earth’s corporate giants. Rare minerals and methane, and other necessary elements for robot technology were assumed to be hiding under its frozen shell. She brought the ship through the haze and into a closer orbit. Christian had been working for 20 hours straight, so Leti sent him to recharge.
She tugged the hood of her parka forward, but still shivered. She turned up the heat another degree.
Ty commented. “Was it your wish to turn up the heat, Leti?”
“Yes, Ty. I turned up the heat,” she said.
“I will recalibrate our fuel needs,” he said.
Leti brought the Artemis around, circling the area where the Sino-Nihon had gone off grid. Visibility was next to impossible, but on her third pass, she spotted the vessel, buried nose first in the Kraken Mare. The wreckage was difficult to see because of the low lighting of the crashed ship. Low lighting meant there would be very little power for life support…it was a bad sign. Not that a crashed ship in deep space could ever be interpreted as anything but catastrophic. There were always challenges and unknowns associated with space travel, but one could usually count on precision engineering to figure a way through a disaster. The wreckage of the Sino-Nihon indicated that something both very bad and unexpected had taken place.
Leti contemplated her next moves. For her to fly in closer, she needed Christian’s help. Reviving him would be no easy task given that he had not recharged to full power, but moving quickly was crucial in case any of the crew had managed to survive.
She marched across to Christian and unplugged him from the recharge dock. She returned, carrying him to his seat. She buckled him in then gently tapped his cheeks with the pads of her fingers. The scenario reminded her of pulling her adolescent son out of bed. Christian, like Tommy, woke up slowly, reluctantly.
Christian’s software eventually buzzed to life and began pairing with the ship, alignment taking place within his spinal tube, from tailbone up. He moaned and nodded, in and out of consciousness though that comparison was not quite accurate. After about 5 minutes, he emerged from the fog as his cheerful self.
With Christian assisting her, they flew toward the Sino-Nihon, observing the wreckage 100 meters above the surface. She hailed the crew multiple times and waited for a response, knowing there might be a delay.
“Sino-Nihon. This is Artemis. Do you read? Are you in distress?”
Nothing. Not even the buzz of an open radio channel.
The Sino-Nihon was home to six humans and one AI. Three engineers, three scientists and one corporate executive. The crew had voyaged to stake a claim on behalf of the Asian Space Cooperative. The Sino-Nihon was poorly equipped for anything other than that.
“I think they’re all dead,” she said finally.
“All the humans are most likely dead and frozen,” Christian said. “Are there any AI on board?”
Had Christian not seen the crew manifest? “I think there is one.”
“If we were in trouble, we would hope the Sino-Nihon would come to our aid,” he said.
“Yes, but we know…”
“The AI might have survived.” Christian never interrupted her.
Another adaptation, perhaps? Not one she wanted to encourage.
“Maybe,” she said.
International rescue law included most AIs.
She let out a long breath. “With our current deficiencies, we would probably have to give up the mining site to rescue any AI. No mining on Titan. Do you know what that means for me?”
“No bonus?” said Christian.
“No bonus. No retirement,” she said.
Some bullshit feels were building in Leti’s chest and she hella did not want that creature to emerge. Take. Back. Control.
She had developed a technique for compartmentalizing emotions during her first year of pilot’s training and one particular visualization had gotten her through more shit-hole situations than she cared to count. It was always a feline she imagined, half-asleep in her lap as she stroked its silky back. If she sat there long enough, depending on the level of emotions, the vibration and the sound of its animal purring and the warmth of its body, it calmed her…
When she felt herself right again, she made her proposal.
“Let’s scan one more time,” she said. “If we see or hear any sign of life, we attempt a rescue. Is that valid?” Leti actually turned her torso to her First Officer to see directly into his green-pixel eyes. There was no blinking this time.
“Yes, Leti. I think so,” he said finally. “Your proposal is valid. Though a rescue will risk the profitability of our mission, if we can save a life, we must act. It is the moral thing to do.”
Nodding, Leti turned back to controls. She hated that Christian had brought up the money or had she brought it up?
They flew in, closer still. Leti hailed them. “Sino-Nihon. Do you read?” She repeated the message 20 times, at least, pausing to listen between each hail.
The silence yawned, howled and screamed. Leti peered through the viz, then the telescope viewer where she was able to see more details. The hull of the ship appeared to have buckled, likely due to its crash landing.
Christian shifted nervously in his seat. “Our proximity is unwise,” he reported.
She ignored him. “Have our ship record everything.”
She studied the wreckage, the rip in their hull and the obvious pummeling the body had taken, maybe as it had traveled through the debris field. It looked almost…pockmarked…
“They must have encountered the same debris field we did,” Christian said.
“You still believe in the sabotage theory?” she asked him.
“It explains what we see before us. The Sino-Nihon was hit by the debris that they created,” he said.
“To even mention this in the log will taint the memory of the dead,” she said.
“Then what shall we do?” asked Christian.
“About your theory? We forget you ever mentioned it.”
“No. About the bodies?” he said.
“We leave them. We change course and fly to the mining site.”
“What about the AI?” he said.
“It did not respond to our hails.” She glanced his way again.
“Though the body of the AI might be frozen, it could still be revived.” His fingers hovered over the controls. Was his hand shaking?
Leti paused, making the calculations in her head. “You’re right. It would also give us an answer about what happened to the Sino-Nihon. Of course, the AI will not be damaged if we leave it for a while longer. We will come back for its body, but first, we set up the mining infrastructure.”
Christian nodded, perhaps appreciating her decisiveness. Although he was programmed to counter her assumptions, he was also programmed to obey her orders. Deep down, he was just a robot.
For the next 15 hours, Christian and Leti maneuvered into Titan’s swirling atmosphere. They set anchors on two sides of the mining site, holding them in place 400 meters above target. They deployed the drill bot and watched it sink into the surface according to specs, after which, they set loose the hive of mini-bots. From the hive’s brain, data streamed into their ship’s computer. Based on the early readings, Titan’s wealth was going to exceed the company’s expectations. Leti sent the initial information onto headquarters along with a copy to her accountant. She was sure that after viewing the numbers, her bosses at SAM would set in motion the launching of at least two harvest vessels.
Her bonus was going to be huge. Half of it would go into her account when the data was officially analyzed. The other half would be delivered when she returned with the Artemis and her crew.
She raised her arms overhead and whooped. “We did it, Christian. We just made bank and we’re famous. You and I and even our buddy, Ty.” She patted the robot across his top. “We will be celebrated as the first. I can’t believe we did it.”
“Leti, you have ensured a valuable contribution to South American Mining and to the Americas. Congratulations, Leti.” He bowed from his seat.
“I couldn’t have done it without you, Christian.” Her screen was still filling with amazing numbers and as much as she wanted to celebrate with a squirt of Scotch, she needed to plan for the next phase. “We have a few hours for you to recharge before data collection is complete, and then, we head home.”
“Except we’re going back to the Sino-Nihon wreckage, to collect the AI, right?”
“Yes…” she said, “…we are going back to check for the machine.” She avoided looking at Christian while attempting to modulate her heart rate, knowing he monitored her vitals at all times. “That’s what I meant. In the meantime, you should plug in. We’ll need you in top form, so we can manage the rescue.”
Once again, Christian plugged into his recharge dock. After a few minutes of quiet, she unbuckled and walked over to where he sat, stiff as a corpse, his head bent and resting on his chest.
His skin was a glittering tan. He had been designed to look like a Latin pop star, one of any number that had populated Earth in the past 50 years. There was no denying what a work of art he was. She touched the back of his neck, as cold as the temps in her ship. She moved her fingers, feeling around his hairline above his left ear. She found the tiny latch and opened his main brain. She pulled out his red memory square and sat beside him at the computer. She inserted the square into the viewing port and re-watched their search for the Sino-Nihon. She highlighted the portions of their conversation that included the AI, being careful to make her edits artful. A sloppy job here might alert him to her meddling. After a few goes, she was satisfied with the result. As she was ejecting the square from the computer, she heard the buzzing of a camera eye. She glanced at Ty. He was watching her. She had forgotten about him.
“I see you, Ty,” she said. There was a slight tremor in her voice. “You probably don’t understand what I’m doing right now.”
She was hoping to draw him out, to understand his programming, what he might relay to the bosses, or more importantly, what he might relay to Christian.
“I aim to please, Leti,” Ty said. “I know full well that mistakes are a part of being human.”
“You feel I am making a mistake?”
Ty did not answer.
“I mean…you THINK this is a mistake?” said Leti.
“In this case,” said Ty. “I do not think. I only report.”
“But YOU used the word mistake. I did not present that idea. Therefore, you do have a thought about what I am doing.” Leti was nearly certain that if her actions were reviewed by the mining company, her decision would be praised as practical and perfectly legal. All this would be swept under the rug.
Ty spoke again. “Remember that you asked Christian to record everything with our ship’s cameras. The ship’s memory will not line up with Christian’s, nor will Christian’s line up with mine. What you have done will not remain a secret. Do you wish your decision to leave the AI body behind to be a secret?”
Shit. Leti turned and faced Ty’s convex lens, her own bloodshot eyes reflected in the dark glass. “Why are you telling me this?”
“I have been programmed to help you succeed,” he said.
“So what should I do?” she asked.
“That is for you to decide,” Ty said, as calmly as a priest might say to his parishioner.
ARRIVAL, Film Review Without Spoilers
I recently watched ARRIVAL for a second time through Amazon Prime. In my first viewing, I was in a theater and I loved it. This second go-around, I was not disappointed. I watched with a group of my cousins who are all film/scifi nuts. The viewing was free for Prime members.
ARRIVAL is rated PG 13…it’s somewhat creepy and suspenseful, but a middle school child or a sensitive viewer could probably handle the production. I’m not sure why it did not receive the PG rating. It unfolds without graphic violence and there is no explicit sexual content. One might call ARRIVAL a quiet film, but the subject matter takes it from the quiet realm into the epic and deeply thoughtful.
ARRIVAL was released in theaters to much acclaim in 2016. The film is based on a short story by Ted Chiang. Eric Heisserer wrote the screenplay. I hope to read and review Chiang’s short story in a future post.
The film unfolds with slow intensity primarily around one character, Louise Banks, played wonderfully by Amy Adams. Banks is a linguist recruited by the US government to learn the language spoken by aliens who have alighted in giant oblong space ships in twelve locations around the globe.
The story is a linguist’s dream and as a science fiction fan, I recall a number of novels that view first contact in light of language and communication. China Miéville’s Embassy Town is a good example. In a story such as this, violence is often threatened, but not center stage. Mysteries and the push to understand the other dominate the narrative.
Five quotes from the screenplay to pique your interest:
- “If this is some sort of peaceful first contact, why send twelve? Why not just send one?”
- “Language is the first weapon drawn in a conflict…”
- “Are they scientists or tourists? If they’re scientist, they don’t seem to ask a lot of questions…”
- “If you could see your life from start to finish, would you change things?”
- “Meeting you…was more important that seeing the stars…”
Five reasons to watch this film.
- It’s free if you’re an Amazon Prime member.
- If your family is into science fiction, ARRIVAL is a crowd pleaser which you can show to your kids with a clear conscience.
- Lots to ponder about language and linguistics, language and meaning, the puzzle and the importance of communication.
- Female hero with lots of brains and only a few characters to keep track of.
- Potentially leads to fruitful discussion about love, suffering, beauty, grace, even religion.
To buy this DVD, click here.
Operation Goose Trap (Original Speculative Fiction) by Susi Pritchett Jensen
Former Army Sergeant, Moe Chen, sent a message drone to Santiago Debussy and Geraldine Falcon on a scorching Sunday in late May 2062 offering each a job in the government sanctioned goose trapping operation. They were promised Japanese Yen as well as fuel coupons for the travel. They were to report to Lake Merritt, in the City of Oakland on the first Tuesday in June. The vets returned the drone along with their digital thumb prints, accepting the contract. Jobs were scarce in the post-war economy, especially cash paying ones. Currently, they were trading labor for room and board on a cattle compound in Moraga. They had not been paid with paper money since being discharged from the military.
The night before the trip, they laid out their gear, including body armor, though Santiago knew Geri’s preference for riding without.
“Can’t we just wear our leathers?”
“No.” Santiago lit a second candle for their reading hour. “You never know who might be lurking in the junk.”
Geri picked up the tattered copy of Heart of Darkness she had borrowed from the ranch library. She decided not to argue. Her boyfriend’s tendency to err on the side of caution was one of the reasons she had survived the war. Her reckless spirit needed to be checked periodically…she just hated that it had to be that way.
At zero six hundred hours, in the predawn darkness, they rolled their motorcycles onto the road, wheels crunching over gravel. The night watch swung open the compound’s gates and waved them through. They straddled and started their bikes, flipped on their high beams and began the descent into the ruins of Lafayette.
They arrived on Mt. Diablo Boulevard just as the Eastern sky was beginning to glow. There was no breeze in the low-lying area, so Geri slowed her motorcycle and unbuckled her neck guard. She was straddling a Yamaha XT250, an enduro bike, a souped-up cavalry leftover. Santiago, with his towering frame needed a much larger ride. He traveled by Harley, an Iron 1200, from the early 21st century. Following the war, he had paid for it in gold after negotiating for weeks with a Japanese collector. Santiago loved that motorcycle. More than half his free time went to tinkering with the engine, searching the local junk yards for spare parts, polishing the chrome. As far as vehicles were concerned, there was little left in the United States of the Pacific to match the beauty of Santiago’s Harley.
Rounding the newly repaired onramp, they pointed their bikes West on Highway 24. The air was unusually fresh this morning, free from soot and smog. Geri let out a howl and juiced her engine.
“Don’t get too far ahead,” Santiago said.
Geri gave him the thumbs up, stood on her pegs and took off. The light had quickened behind them, so she turned off her headlight and set her eyes to the forward field, scanning from the left to right. She watched for motion, 50 to 100 yards ahead, a cavalry instinct she would likely never shake. Overall, she liked what she saw, an actual path through the junk and no movement in the wreckage. For the first time since the middle of the war, the way into Oakland might be characterized as clear. Burned out trucks and autos still cluttered the thoroughfare, but road crews had worked to move enough debris to make a narrow lane for travelers. A small success of the new government, hiring a competent enough crew to move shit and pave over some of the melted asphalt. By no means was the ride perfect, but it was a damn improvement over the last time they had traveled the highway.
After a healthy rainy season, beauty was remerging. Set against natural grasses, lavender lupine, wild mustard and orange poppies blanketed the hillsides. She had seen traces of color around the ranch, though the cattle did a number on most of the foliage. Here, the wild flowers had multiplied undisturbed. She found herself feeling light-hearted, even joyful.
“…like Persephone emerging from Hades,” she mumbled.
“What?” said Santiago. “I couldn’t hear you. You want to slow down, so I can catch up?”
Geri down-shifted and slowed to 5 mph. She adjusted the microphone fitted inside her helmet. “I said, aside from all the scrap, it’s kind of pretty.”
“The flowers. Yeah, I noticed. Looks like the gov did some road clearing too. I wonder how the ranch will be impacted when the traffic starts flowing like the old days? Might need some more fire power to protect the cattle.”
When Santiago drew even with her, Geri sped up again. They continued for a few miles at her pace, making good progress toward the Caldecott grade when Geri noticed movement in the wreckage on the opposite side of the highway. She flipped up her visor and pointed. “Scavengers.”
Santiago lifted his binoculars. “Two males. Grade school age.”
Geri snorted. “Like they’ve ever seen the inside of a learning institution.” The boys stood atop a tipped-over 18-wheeler, circling their stick arms overhead.
“They must have heard the motorcycles. What do you think?” Geri slowed to a crawl. “Should we see if they need help. We could give them our lunches.”
“Hell no. We need those calories if we’re gonna work all day.” Santiago passed her on the left, waving her forward. “Plus, it could be a trap.”
She rode up on his flank and held him in her stare. “They’re war orphans.”
“They may be orphans, but we have no idea who or what lurks behind that rig.”
“Look how skinny they are. They have no energy to set a trap.”
“We do not stop. We leave them behind. We keep our appointment or we may not get paid.”
Geri watched the boys grow smaller in her bar end mirror. “Fuck.”
“We can consider stopping on the way back,” said Santiago.
For the next few miles they did not see another soul. This was the way of things in New California, a state with a population of fifty million, shaved down to four. And four million was a likely exaggeration, an attempt by the government to stem public despair.
As if reading her mind, Santiago mused, “You know, we might see crowds today. You gonna rescue all of them too?”
Geri flipped up her middle finger.
He laughed. “What’s that for?”
“For being anti-social.”
“I just want you prepared for the onslaught of need.”
“My armor is intact,” she said.
“Nope,” said Santiago. “Never has been and never will be.”
Geri kicked her bike into high gear and leaned forward.
She was fast approaching the detour in the highway where the tunnels had caved. She down-shifted and weaved between what looked like a few recently stranded vehicles. The route, unpaved but smooth enough for two wheels, followed Old Tunnel Road up and over the top of the Caldecott Grade. Geri revved her Yamaha and shot up the hill, her knobbies kicking back a spray of pebbles and dust.
Santiago took to the road more carefully and well behind to avoid the dirt-storm. He caught up with her at the summit. She had parked near a favorite overlook and climbed a boulder jutting out from the hillside. She sat, dangling her legs above the drop off.
Santiago took in the view from atop his Harley.
The Oakland Port teemed with tankers, waiting to be filled with California oil. Nearly all of it was being shipped to East Asia to pay off war debt. To the north, the Golden Gate bridge, half rebuilt and not yet painted, gleamed silver and beyond it, offshore rigs dotted the horizon. The new Bay Bridge lay in front of them, functional, but ugly. Maybe in another 50 years, the government would have enough money to rebuild the old beauty.
Santiago removed his helmet and pulled off one glove to scratch along his jawline. He had recently shaved his beard for Geri because she preferred him without. He was still not used to the feeling of whiskers growing back.
“The city is filled with people and some of them are hungry, like those orphans. How are you going to handle that?”
Geri scrambled off the ledge and returned to her bike. “I’m not going to handle anything? I don’t handle people, but I hate when kids suffer for what our fucking politicians decided ten years ago around a bottle of Kentucky Bourbon. And I will feed those boys on the way back,” she said, “You can’t stop me.”
They arrived at Lake Merritt at 8:20 AM. The lakefront was overflowing with war vets. A cloth banner, tied between two newly planted Oaks, bore the words: Operation Goose Trap.
Geri sputtered a few chuckles into the mic. “Got to hand it to the military—they know how to brand an event.”
“We are the military,” Santiago said.
“Which is why I have the right to criticize their stupidity.” Geri pulled a rag out of her pocket and wiped the dust off her visor. “It’s okay to make fun of your own fucking family.”
“Speaking of family—the brothers are here.” Santiago kicked the Harley onto its stand.
Clement and Oscar Everett, two of their cav buddies, stood along the shore unfolding a giant net. When Santiago broke into a stiff jog, Geri knew she might not see him for a while. He called over his shoulder. “Gonna say hi. I’ll be back in a few.”
Despite the early hour, the lakefront buzzed with a festive vibe, maybe due to the promise of food, maybe because the sun was love bombing the city with warmth and light. Men and women in uniform were herding hundreds of civilians away from Lakeside Park toward the ruins of the Catholic cathedral, where a flea market of sorts had sprung up.
The cityscape was slightly improved. Crumbling high-rises and torched apartment buildings still dominated the landscape, but some degree of demolition and cleanup had taken place. Empty lots prepped for new construction was the most encouraging sign. It was slow-going, this post-war recovery, particularly with the population depleted and food so scarce.
Geri leaned her Yamaha against a tree and unclipped her armor. Nearby, a patchy lawn was parking lot to a smattering of vehicles, civilian and military. A circus-sized tent had been erected beyond the lawn. Guards stood at each entrance to the tent indicating to Geri that it was somehow crucial to the operation and off limits to the public. She shaded her eyes and saw a woman waving a floppy hand. The woman stood in front of a brick-colored pickup, one of those large-cabbed versions. She shouted Geri’s name.
Geri lifted her arm high to acknowledge her old friend, Soledad Chamorro.
During the war, Soledad, or Soli, as her friends called her, rode with the First Cavalry as head cook. She was fearless, hard-working and absolutely gorgeous. In fact, Soli had won a local beauty contest in Santa Cruz before the world went to hell, not that she would have made claim to the title now. Most of the beautiful women still alive in the United States of the Pacific were trying to downplay their looks. Life was dangerous enough without such allures. Earlier that month, on Santiago’s urging, Geri had cut her hair as short as a man’s. She wasn’t vain, but she hated the fact that freedoms had been taken from her, like the freedom to wear her hair as long as she damn well pleased.
“It will be cooler, easier to care for,” Santiago had said, while buzzing the hairs at the base of her neck.
“You tired of picking nits,” she had replied, “my lazy ass boyfriend?”
The haircut in question had taken place about five weeks before. She fluffed the matted thickness atop her scalp. A few brown ringlets were beginning to coil around her ears. They had almost become an annoyance.
Geri yanked off her gloves and shoved them into her helmet.
Soli was filling pots at the water truck. A muscular man stood at her side.
Geri walked toward them, calling as she approached. “Hermanita…” She took the final steps with her arms outstreached wide.
Soli shut off the water and threw her one good arm around Geri.
“Geraldine!” She held on for a long while, then stood back. “Oh, my God. I love your hair. It suits your tough bitch image.”
“Just an image?” Geri raised an eyebrow.
Soli belted out a laugh while pulling Geri over to the man at the water valve.
“I’d like you to meet my husband, Donovan.”
Donovan stood at least 6′ 5″. His face was clean-shaven. He wore his blond hair long, tucked behind his ears. At closer inspection, Geri noticed his deformed left ear, a slice off the top. He also bore three scars across his left cheek, diagonal zebra stripes on an otherwise perfect face.
“Nice to meet you.” Geri held out her hand. “I served with your wife for three years in the cav. She’s a damn good rider and a more brilliant cook.”
Donovan smiled showing a number of silver capped teeth. He tapped them with his index finger.
“Deformed tongue,” said Soli, “the bastards made him gargle the acid. He was a spy for our side.”
A string of curses spewed from Geri’s lips, something unintelligible. She grabbed Donovan by the arm and held on. She bowed over and stared at his enormous boots, though her focus wasn’t really on them. She felt her hair follicles tingle across her scalp as a wave of rage overwhelmed her. That rage had taken on a graphic quality in recent months, scarlet and gray, a thick goopy substance, splattered across a blue-black canvas, an image so distinct, she could study it in her mind’s eye and in viewing the image, hear the accompanying soundtrack of an airplane, a barrel smashing to the ground, then the groaning of those who lay dying. And with the soundtrack, came the smells–blood, flesh and smoke. The terror and the horror of those acid drops stayed tucked into the soft folds of her brain tissue. Unlike so many others more badly damaged than she, who had moved on from trauma, Geri’s body refused to forget.
Donovan patted her shoulder. He wanted to say something to her.
He moaned the phrase I’m okay. His eyes expressed a sense of calm. Then, he lifted the full pot of water and carried it effortlessly to a butane-powered line of burners already loaded with covered pots.
“Are you having a flashback?” Soli said. “You sort of went AWOL there for a few.”
For the millionth time, Geri pulled herself together for the sake of remaining socially viable within the human family. “I get really fucking pissed sometimes. I can’t believe we did this to each other. Can you?”
Soli sidled up to Geri and reached for her hand. She wove her fingers through Geri’s and raised the sun-speckled back to her lips. This kiss, a mark of deep friendship and camaraderie, helped Geri relax. Soli was that kind of person. Her parents, who had died late in the war, had named her well.
Soli pointed to Donovan with her elbow. “Look at him. As strong as a bull.”
“He’s got a great chin, though looks won’t automatically get you Santiago’s approval.”
Soli did not object to Geri’s steering the conversation back to banter, nor did she object when Geri pulled her hand away. “You’ll both approve when you get to know him. He’s a good man. Plus, he can’t talk back at me.” And then, Soledad laughed, her sweet, choppy cackle of a laugh.
Geri allowed herself a smile feeling somewhat buoyed by Soli’s joy. “So how is your arm? Does it still ache?”
“Not as much as it used to. It’s inconvenient. It’s ugly, but the real bum is not being able to ride. I miss it.”
Geri gazed across the park. “How many are here from our division?”
“Hard to say. Maybe 25.”
“That many…” The scene around them was pastoral and calming. It was odd to think they were about to go on a massive killing spree, even though the victims were only water fowl.
“Have you and Santi already been assigned?” Soli asked.
“We haven’t seen the Sarge yet,” Geri said.
Soli tipped her head toward the large military tent. “He’s in there. No longer Sarge. Promoted to First Lieutenant. He’s leading this show.”
“I figured,” said Geri. “Did he contact you too?”
“Yeah,” Soli said. “He looks good, by the way. His prosthesis is robotic, so he must be doing well for himself. His daughter is working with him today. I think she’s government.”
“You always know the scoop, Soli.”
“This is the moment I would rub my hands together and tell you the real gossip, but that’ll have to wait.”
“You don’t have two hands to rub together.”
Soli laughed again. “Aw…that’s low. Don’t expect to get away with that shit around Donovan. Anyway, you better get your name in, so they’ll know what to pay you. We’re on the clock.”
“You need anything while I’m over there?” asked Geri.
“Just you and Santi.”
Geri parted with her friend and made her way toward the tent. She recognized dozens of vets along the way, acknowledging them with a smile or a wave. Eventually, she saw Santiago.
He lounged on the grass with a group of veterans. but was too busy talking to notice her approach. “We live in our own private trailer, a nice one. We eat protein every day. It’s safe and the boss is looking to expand…I’m sure some of you would be welcome if you wanted the work.”
“And…The place smells like shit and blood,” Geri added, having come up behind him.
Santiago smacked her calf, across the back of her leathers. “Damn, woman. You’re ruining my pitch.”
Oscar jumped up from sitting to give her a hug. Clement followed, though more slowly, given that his right foot was a clunky prosthesis. The conversation kept on, a lot of chatting around where they had been living and working. At a lull in the conversation, Geri tapped Santiago, “We need to get our asses registered. The sooner we get on their list, the sooner we get paid.”
Moe Chen could not have been more happy to see them and introduced them to his daughter as, two members of my division who didn’t lose a limb. As per their request, both of them were assigned to Soledad.
Santiago threw his arm around Geri as they walked back toward Soli’s truck, but when he saw Soli from a distance, he let go and started toward her at a jog. When Santi reached her, he lifted her off the ground and spun her around. Soledad laughed and laughed until Santi let her out of his bear hug.
“Well, that was something,” said Soli. She beamed at them both, “and now my apron is untied.”
“Hey Geri, not only is my apron a mess, my freakazoid hand is getting in the way. Can you tuck the sleeve into my belt and fasten it. Some things are impossible to do with one hand.”
“Sure.” Geri moved closer to Soli, pulled her friend’s sleeve tight, and threaded the cuff through her silver-studded belt, tucking the end into one of the belt loops.
“That’s a lovely piece of leather,” Geri said. “Where’d you get a thing like that?”
“I got it off that dead fashionista—we were outside of Napa, defeated a thousand foot soldiers that day? Remember?”
Geri stared at the studs, trying to access the memory. “I don’t…” She shook her head. “Outside of Napa? You mean the Yountville Massacre?”
Toward the end of the war, the East was so broke and desperate for fighters, DC had forced its newly drafted soldiers to outfit themselves. They arrived dressed in everything from skinny jeans and hoodies to designer blazers and Nike trainers. It didn’t take long for Sarge to realize that the East’s new recruits were mostly untrained, easy kills….and that there was loot to gather off their corpses.
Geri had plundered her fair share, but to a large extent, she was able to put out of her mind which of her possessions had come from bodies. In the final months of the war, Geri and her comrades walked through battlefields in the same way her grandparents had meandered through shopping malls. Certain soldiers became experts at spotting treasures, Santiago and Soli among them because, unlike Geri, they felt no misgivings about taking wealth off the dead.
Justifications were made, like: If we don’t, someone else will or You think their side didn’t do the same? or What good is a gold band to a dead man?
Santiago had paid for his Harley in gold bands—gold pulled off and sometimes cut off the fingers of fallen soldiers. He had collected about 50 rings by the end of the conflict. The smith who melted them down hadn’t blinked an eye when Santiago brought them into the shop. The stack of 10,000 yen notes had been astonishing.
As if reading her mind, Soli said, “I say a prayer for this lady every time I pull down my pants.”
“You’re a damn Santa Maria,” Geri said. She positioned herself behind Soli and tied the strings. “So what are the pots for?” It was time to change the subject.
“Plucking and brining,” Soli said. “Some of the birds will go to people alive and kicking, but for those who want to eat their bird on the sooner side, we’re offering a plucked, gutted and brined goose, wrapped in plastic, ready to transport.”
“So all these pots of water have something to do with the process?” said Geri.
“You’ve never plucked a bird before?” Soli said.
“I try to stay out of the kitchen,” Geri said.
“It can’t be too different from slaughtering and skinning cattle, can it?”
Geri shrugged. “How long will a brined bird last in the heat?”
“I don’t know…probably 24 hours…”
“I want one of these geese…or maybe half a goose,” Geri said, “for those orphans we came across.”
What orphans? There’s an orphanage over the hill? If so, I know of some kids who could use a place…”
“No orphanage. That’s not what I meant…” Geri said.
“She saw a couple of kids…” Santiago had been connecting the butane tanks to the camp burners nearby. He had been content to let them converse, but no surprise to Geri, he wanted to chime in now. “They were crawling in the junk along the highway. We have no idea if they’re on their own or what. You know her, Soli. She would like to deliver a care package to every poor fuck in this godforsaken country.”
“Oh, Geri, Geri, Geri,” Soli said. “I love your heart, you know I do, but hungry people…they can be dangerous.”
“I’m aware.” Geri said. She picked up an armful of salt boxes and walked toward the burners. She carried them to the furthest pot and lingered there. She would not let them talk her out feeding those children.
A horn blew. The goose hunt was on. Everyone shifted their gaze to the lake.
Most of the pluckers were from their division, but the Cavalry Second and a few other random vets were to take on the trapping. Santiago, Geri and all their buddies had to wait for the first set of birds to get caught, so they temporarily abandoned their posts to watch events on the lake. Teams floated out into the water, four vets per boat while shore teams covered the lakefront, eight vets holding a net and waiting for the geese to flee the water. One individual threw out cracked corn, while the boats attempted to herd the geese to the shore. Initially, the gaggle resisted moving toward the nets. In the early attempts, most of the birds escaped, swimming or running, taking violent aim at any and all on the shore. The First Cavalry Division roared and catcalled as they watched their fellow war heroes running up and down the beach, the birds biting at their heel, wings flared, necks straining and hissing like demons.
“Whoa,” Geri said. “Why aren’t they flying away?”
“They’re molting,” Soli said. “They can’t fly in this season.”
Santiago bellowed. “Funniest show I’ve seen in years.”
After observing the chaos for half a minute, Soli ran to her truck. When she returned, she was carrying an old cell phone. She swatted Donovan. “Get down so I can sit on your shoulders.”
Santiago held out a hand to steady Soli as she swung her leg around Donovan’s neck. Donovan raised himself slowly, un-phased by the extra weight.
She held up the device and began recording. “This time round,” she said, “our descendants will be able to watch the taming of the Wild West.”
On the muddy shore, stage left, two female MPs moved in to help with the capture. They had wrapped jackets around their hands, had snuck up on a honking gander and begun wrestling the bird into submission. The gander did not go down quietly.
Santiago whistled out his teeth. “Not sure I want my descendants to see this.”
The geese never fully cooperated with the original plan, but the Second Cavalry was adapting their methods. Within 40 minutes, they had landed a few respectable catches.
Soli tapped Donovan, who lowered her to the ground. “Time to get going.” She motioned for the others to follow.
All their equipment was sterile, Soli had seen to it. She was now patrolling the various work areas making her last check. Santiago and Donovan were stationed at the pots of boiling water, waiting to dip the first birds that were bleeding out in the cones. Sixteen vets lined either side of a long wooden table. They would be receiving the birds from Santiago and Donovan. The first eight had been assigned to pluck the goose down for later sale.
Geri along with two others stood at the gutting block. Their job was to receive the plucked goose and extricate the innards, chop various parts off and seal the edibles into plastic bags. Bags of innards, minus the livers, would go to the second level ticket holders. The livers were being sold off to a Korean wholesaler at a premium.
Once the geese were gutted, they were set into brining vats, then rolled into a refrigeration truck where they would remain overnight. It was a complex operation. There were more plucking and gutting stations than just Soli’s. Over 300 vets were working at their site and supposedly five other locations around the San Francisco Bay, were attempting the same operation. Poor fucking geese.
Geri gutted and chopped all morning without a break. Right when she was pining for lunch, at about 14:00, Lt. Chen shut down the hunt, his voice crackling over the PA. Enough geese have been caught. We are not to endanger the remainder of the population, a future food source for New California.
The trapping had come to an end, but that didn’t mean Soli’s crew could stop. Their work went on for another hour or so until every carcass was plucked and gutted.
At 15:20, Geri pulled off her apron and stepped out of her rubbers. She wandered over to Donovan and Santiago at the truck. Clearly, the two of them had hit it off. Santiago was him asking yes/no questions. Donovan was nodding or shaking his head. Santiago had managed to figure out who Donovan had fought with and where he had done his spying.
Geri sat on a wooden block nearby and massaged her forearms. About a half hour later, Soli found them eating lunch in the sun.
“If it isn’t the queen plucker herself,” Santiago said, smiling at Soli.
“Team effort,” Soli said, though she made a point of bowing to the one who had praised her.
“What about you,” she asked Geri, “Did you have fun?”
Geri lifted her shoulders.
“Damn, you’re hard to please,” Soli said.
“Tell me about it,” Santiago said.
Geri threw a pebble at Santiago. They all laughed.
Soli wrapped her hand around Geri’s sore fingers. “Hey,” she said, “I know we didn’t talk about this before, but Donovan and I are putting a shell over the truck bed and sleeping here tonight. There’s enough room for one person to stretch out on each of the bench seats in the cab. I was thinking of inviting you to stay with us…but…” said Soli. “I mean…I’m serious. You should stay here tonight.”
“What do you think?” Santiago looked Geri’s way.
Geri studied Soli’s face. “You sure?” She did not doubt her friend’s sincerity, but understood the challenges of hospitality in this environment.
“Positive,” Soli said.
“It’s probably too late to outride the dogs,” Santiago said. “For sure, we couldn’t stop to look for your orphans if we left now.”
“It would be a death sentence for those kids,” Soli said. “Fresh meat would draw every hungry beast in the area.”
And of course, they were right. “Okay,” Geri said, “we’ll stay.”
“Anyway I’ll need baggers tomorrow,” added Soli, “and you’ll earn a bit more cashola.”
Donovan grunted and pointed to the truck.
“Oh yeah, babe,” Soli said and smiled mischievously at Geri. “Donovan’s reminding me about the sake. Moe gave us a bonus for the work, a good bottle of sake. We’d love it share it.”
The four of them spent the early evening at the mess, eating goose stew and drinking fresh orange juice from the orchards of Bakersfield, as fine a delicacy as the army had to offer, but in the late afternoon they heard the first howl. The dogs were on the hunt and would be upon them by dusk.
Little by little, the vets exited the tent, leaving its flaps opened and tied up to the poles to allow the animals to roam in and out without damaging the canvas. Most soldiers knew the pattern. The dogs would find their way to the camp, fight over any food scraps that remained. A few soldiers would find a high perch somewhere. At some point, they would shoot a dog or two for sport. The carcass would of course be eaten immediately by a rival pack. Geri had no stomach for this diversion anytime, much less after slicing into geese all day. The whole wild dog thing had always disturbed her. She headed toward Soli’s truck.
“Why hasn’t the government gotten rid of them?” Geri asked Soli, who had just showered and was setting up the cab for sleeping.
“Are you asking why the government hasn’t organized, Operation Kill Puppies?” Soli said.
Once she finished with the setup, she pulled the bottle of sake out of a duffle marked: Pots and Pans. “You’re sensitive, Geri and I wish I could comfort you with stories of goodness. But, it seems our idiotic civil war has set us back 200 years. With that said, I’ve heard that one of the government agencies is re-taming the choice animals and the rest of the packs are actually helping to enforce curfew. So…maybe we would be brutalizing one another more if it weren’t for the dogs.”
“So, we’re using the dogs to keep us from slaughtering one another? That’s pitiful,” Geri said.
“Desperate times…you know the saying…” Soli said.
The four of them sat in the cab, drinking sake while the shadows grew long. Soli told Donovan’s story, about his assignment with the National Army, how he had been planted by the Alaskan secret service.
“It was easy to hide his intelligence gathering initially, because there were actually a number of National draftees who were from western states, but eventually the Nationalists caught on. To prove your worth, they made you shoot secessionist POWs, against the Geneva conventions, I might add. Those National soldiers who refused were tortured as spies. Those who pulled the trigger got promoted.”
“Promotion in the Army ain’t all it’s cracked up to be,” Geri said, swirling her third shot and downing it.
Donovan grunted his assent.
A growl sounded outside the cab. The four of them went silent. Another growl and a rush of movement rocked the vehicle. Geri’s arm hairs pricked up.
In the dimming light, they watched two alpha dogs enter the slaughter area. Soon after, dogs came from every direction. One small pack was devouring remnants of the innards near Geri’s station. Another couple of opportunists had jumped onto the chopping block and were licking feverishly. Within seconds, more dogs entered the area, some unattached to packs, a few, too sickly to do more than cower at the periphery. On this evening, most of them would get a little something to eat. They all seemed to know that.
“Why don’t they kill the live geese?” Santiago asked Soli.
“They do,” she said, “but for the most part, when the birds are not molting, they fly away. When they cannot fly, they swim to the center of the lake. Look there.” Soli pointed toward Lake Merritt. It was difficult to see anything in the near darkness, but Geri could make out a number of geese bobbing in the water.
“I watched a dog take down a fat one last night,” said Soli, “but damn, that old bird put up a fight. I wonder if the meal was worth it.”
A growling match between two alphas had broken out near the mess. The growling became snarling as they circled one another. A thick-breasted Wolfhound lunged at a dark-haired German Shepherd. The Shepherd moved left and snapped at the hound’s front leg. He bit quickly, then retreated to the safety of his pack. Geri noticed a lanky female behind him. The bitch stood ready to defend, matted long hair and markings that reminded her of a Great Pyrenees, similar to one she had owned as a girl.
The Wolfhound curled around the Shepherd, trying to bite him in the flank, but the Shepherd spun left and bit again, this time taking out his rival’s other front leg. The hound hobbled and yelped, but lunged one last time and took a hold of the scruff of the Shepherd. The Shepherd let go of the leg and shook him off. The hound, fell sideways, stood shakily, then backed away. Geri heard the vets cheering, urging the animals on. She pulled two cotton balls out of her jacket pocket and plugged her ears. She closed her eyes and sank into her sleeping bag. She hated this violence. She hated what humans and animals had done to survive this war. She hated the fact that dying creatures would fill her dreams tonight and always.
Santiago cried out twice in his sleep and when asleep herself, Geri dreamt of her Great Pyrenees, fighting ocean waves and eventually drowning in the deep waters at Stinson Beach. On top of that, the sake hadn’t agreed with her.
She woke way too early feeling as though someone had rammed a spike through her temple. She needed coffee, which meant heading to the mess tent. She stumbled out of the truck and just as her feet hit the ground, she threw up. As she inhaled, the scent of dead animals and putrid lake water overwhelmed her. She heaved another few times, then shuffled to the latrine. Finding a stray tube of Crest in the john, she squirted a line of paste into her mouth, rinsed and spat. She splashed water on her face and felt a little better.
At the mess, she poured herself a coffee. Other vets appeared to be just as desperate for their morning cup, but damn the coffee was terrible, like dirt or that blasted yerba shit the army always mixed into the grounds. She poured another cup and carried it toward Soli’s truck. Santiago was emerging from the cab, stretching his arms overhead. His face was pale, but he appeared rested.
“Good morning, darlin’,” she said, handing him the cup and lifting her face to him.
He bent down and kissed her.
“The coffee sucks,” she added.
“Umm…and you brushed your teeth.”
“Sort of,” she said.
Santiago drank a long swig and swallowed hard. “That’s some terrible coffee.”
Geri laughed. “You ready for the next phase?”
He nodded. “Then we get the hell outta here.”
“My thoughts exactly.”
Geri was to man the industrial-sized shrink-wrapper. Santi was the muscle.
He carried the brined goose from the refrigeration truck to the shrink-wrapper. Geri turned the crank that folded the plastic over the bird, then melted and sealed the edges. The geese weighed about 20 pounds and were slippery as hell, so Santi’s job was not an easy one.
Geri figured that they had wrapped about 50 birds before he started complaining that his hands were going numb.
Fortunately, there were others working at the same task and the overall job was about finished. Those who had received a wrapped bird bagan to disperse. Citizens who had received nothing were brought into the mess to eat the leftover stew. Some of them were handed bags of innards. Most of the vets had departed that morning and those remaining were beginning to pack up. Geri and Santiago cornered Soli who was busy cleaning equipment. She stopped and nodded toward a sheet that had been thrown across one of the mess tables.
“I thought you’d get a kick out of that,” she said to Geri.
It was the Army banner, Operation Goose Trap, only someone had crossed out the T and written a C in its place.
Santiago elbowed Geri. “You’re not the only one who thought the branding lacked creativity.”
“To think someone had enough foresight to bring black paint,” said Geri, “Genius.”
Geri drew a map of how to get to the cattle compound.
“It might be a while before a truck like yours will be able to reach Moraga, but the government seems to be making some headway. Santi and I were surprised at their progress. When you do wind up at the front gate someone will open for you if you yell the magic phrase. Live free. Destroy DC, Geri said.
Soli smiled. “Very catchy.”
Soli and Donovan gave them long hugs as they said their final goodbyes.
After suiting up, Santiago tied the shrink-wrapped and brined bird to the Harley. They left Oakland at approximately 13:00. By 13:30, they were heading down Old Tunnel Road. Geri rode ahead at cruising speed. She eventually slowed to 40 mph when they reached the portion of the highway where they had seen the orphans. Santiago was a half mile behind her.
The flowers on the hillside did not capture her attention this direction. She was watching for people, taking note of hazards along the way. This was a terrible place for children, a playground from hell…at which point her mind wandered, but for only a second, not that it would have made a difference. She felt a tug and then a sting at her chest. Something yanked her backwards off her bike. She hit the ground hard as the Yamaha went careening into an automobile carcass.
Pain was shooting up her right side. She got to her knees and tried to stand, but a scrawny boy appeared out of nowhere and rammed her.
“What the…” She stumbled, landed on her arm. She cried out in pain.
There were two boys. The larger of them was kicking her in the gut. The younger was kicking her from behind. Thankfully, her armor protected her against the worst of their blows. She remained on the ground, guarding her injured arm as best she could.
The next thing she knew, she heard Santiago blaring his horn and screaming threats. Thank God for the Harley. It did make a hell of a lot of noise.
The boys backed off.
“Geraldine,” Santiago yelled. “I’m here.”
She must have been crying because her visor was fogged. She flipped it up and rolled to her good side. She made eye contact with the older boy and whispered. “Don’t piss him off any more than you already have. He’ll kill you.”
The boys ran and crouched behind a burnt out sedan about ten yards away.
Santiago was at her side now, still on his bike, but with one boot on the ground for balance. “That’s a bad thing you did,” he shouted at the boys, “Downright evil.” He leaned over and picked up the snapped wire the boys had rigged.
He looked down. “What kind of injuries?” he said gently.
“Maybe a broken collar bone, arm, possibly ribs…” Geri managed to get to her feet.
The younger boy was holding his knees and rocking back and forth. He was in bad shape. The skin of his face was cracked and blotchy from scabies and he was whimpering like a cornered animal.
“Do not scare them, Santi,” Geri said
The older boy smacked the younger one. “Shut up, you piece of shit,” he screamed.
“Wait,” Geri said to them. She raised her left arm. “I have food, something for you to cook and eat.”
Santiago uncocked his gun. “They could have killed you.”
Santiago put the Harley on its stand and got off. The movement caused the older boy to retreat further, but the younger one stayed put, cowering.
Santi cocked his weapon.
Geri flinched. “Don’t shoot them. They’re children. Don’t…”
Santiago kept his firearm raised. “They’re worse than vermin…”
She shuffled to Santiago’s Harley and began untying the goose, a longer ordeal with only one useful hand. “I’ll ride on the back,” she said.
“You’ll ride in the front,” Santiago said, “between my arms.”
“Fine,” she said. She pushed the bird to the ground and rolled it toward the boys. The plastic must have gotten punctured because the bird’s juices were leaking onto the soil. “We go now,” she said to Santiago. She swung her leg over the Harley. Pain flared across her back. She tried to breathe evenly.
Slowly, Santiago holstered his weapon. He saddled up behind her and revved Harley’s engine. They drove about 50 feet away, then stopped and turned.
“We should probably walk for a while and check for other wires,” Santiago said.
“Not sure I can walk. I might be going into shock,” Geri said.
Santiago removed his jacket and carefully wrapped it around her as they witnessed the boys, ripping the plastic, then tearing at the flesh. They were eating the bird raw.
Santiago moaned, exhaling dark, low sounds. It was his habit when expressing anguish whether awake or asleep. This spectacle, the spectacle of the boys eating the raw goose like animals…it would stay with both of them for many weeks. And, it would turn out, despite her physical injuries, that Santiago would suffer more than she. Sometimes, that was the way of things in war. Not all memories were easily forgotten. No drug, no booze, no fantasy could make the vision disappear.
“The meat won’t help them,” she said finally, “they’re so far gone.”
“The protein will sustain them for a time,” said Santiago.
“That’s not what I meant,” Geri said.
“Ok then,” he said. “We’ll go nice and we’ll go slow until we’re off the highway. We’ll get you home and take care of that arm.”
Geri leaned back into him and closed her eyes.