Atlas (4 page)

When done cuffing us, the figure walked out to our left, and in the ambient light I could finally see who we were dealing with. He had a tan stetson pulled low on his forehead, and wore green cargo pants and a white t-shirt. A rifle was slung over his shoulder. About ten more plasticuffs hung from his belt. He seemed human, but I supposed he could've been an Artificial—one of those robots that looked human but wasn't. Those eyes looked real enough, a touch of moisture in each, and when the man opened his mouth he had real-looking teeth.

"Welcome to the UC," the border patrol officer said in English. "Leave your shoes at the door. Don't pass go and head straight to mother-freakin' jail." The officer focused on me. "What are you looking at, huh Chico? Not happy about being de-port-tatoed? You picked the wrong night to Border Hop."

Great. Just what I needed. A power-tripping border patrol officer. Definitely human, then.

"Bet you thought you wouldn't get caught, huh?" His lips smacked loudly as he chewed gum and surveyed the three of us. "That you were going to make lots of money, huh? That you would hide in our cities, break our laws, and support your
familia
back home off our backs, did ya? Well I got news for you Hoppers. Ain't no jobs for you. Heck, I'm lucky I got mine. Robots got most of them. Without UC Ids, you illegals will never get the state subsistence you need to survive. You'll resort to robbery and thievery like most aliens. There's a reason, you know, that most crimes are committed by minorities and immigrants."

"I wanted to get caught," I said.

The man focused his glare on me. "You wanted to get caught. We gots ourselves a joker here!" He squinted one eye, and bent closer. "What happened to your face?"

"What do you mean?" I said.

"What do you think I mean?" he said with a snarl. "
Why
are you white?"

"Oh." I grinned widely. "Sailing mishap."

The officer jabbed me in the ribs with the butt of his rifle.

I doubled over.

"No lip from you, buddy." He turned toward the drones, which had shadowed us the whole time. "CPS One and Two, maintain guard."

He went over to investigate the pickup truck while the CPS drones hovered beside us.

"Geez," I said when I'd caught my breath. "It's like we're in the army already."

"So much for the UC being some wonderful utopia full of white ponies and happy leprechauns," Alejandro said.

Eventually another border patrol officer walked in from the desert. He was dressed in the same cargo pants and white T, with a tan stetson on his head. He was escorting the escaped refugees. They stood in single file, connected by a long nylon cord that ran between their plasticuffs.

"Is that all of them, Harold?" the
newcomer said in a deep voice.

The first officer, Harold, straightened up right away. "It is, boss."

Harold hurried over to him and fiddled with a wristwatch aReal, projecting some sort of holographic display. He turned his wrist toward the second officer, and the holographic display rotated. "Definitely illegals. Most of them have their embedded Ids torn out. As if that would help." He jerked a thumb in my direction. "I think that one got cosmetic surgery done. Probably vocal implants too. His English is too good. But the dumb bastard didn't have the smarts to remove his own embedded Id."

"It wouldn't have helped," the second officer said. "Turn on the Miranda Rights so we can get them processed. And don't forget to pay the drivers their kickback before we leave."

"Yes boss."

I glanced at Alejandro
and commented, quietly, "You hired
experts
, huh?"

Harold fiddled with the aReal wristwatch. "Damn it. Speaker's not working." He turned off the holographic display and slid on the pair of aReal glasses he had resting in his pocket. "All right, where the hell is that again... Miranda, Miranda, where are you? Ah, here." He glanced at me and the other refugees. "
Hola
."

He waited, like he was expecting an answer or something, and when no one said anything he read off the rights.

"
Tiene el derecho a guardar silencio...
" You have the right to remain silent...

When it was done, Harold came up to me with some sort of staplegun. He maneuvered around behind me and held the tip to my bound wrist and I felt a sharp pain.

Harold pulled away. "You've been served." he said with a wink.

"But I already had an embedded Id," I said.

"Well, now you have a proper UC one. All the data from your existing Id has been transferred over, so we know all the crimes you committed in your home country. But the best part is, if you ever get your hands on a UC aReal to check out your public profile, you'll find a special treat: A fresh felony conviction stamped in big red letters beside your photo. That's right, you start off your first day in the UC with the criminal offense of illegal entry."

"What's going to happen to us?" Alejandro said when Harold tagged him.

"What do you think, Border Hopper? You'll be moved to a detention center. There, you'll be questioned, processed, and deported. Thank you for your freakin' cooperation."

The other officer came forward.
I hadn't noticed this before in the dim light, but now that the officer was closer, I realized he had no face beneath that stetson.

I
'd thought his voice sounded a little too deep...

"These three are of age," the officer said.
Like the police robots south of the border, its head was a featureless slab of polycarbonate, serrated at the bottom, with a yellow bar down the middle and two glass disks stacked one atop the other where the forehead would be. The only difference was that this robot didn't have a laser sight—maybe the stetson covered it. "I'm tagging them for the EEI."

"Yes boss." Harold gave me a smug look, then chuckled, shook his head, and walked away
to staplegun the others. He muttered something about "cannon fodder."

The robot's featureless face rotated to regard me, Alejandro, and Tahoe in turn. Then the officer said, "Rade Galaal, Tahoe Eaglehide, Alejandro Mondego. I'm proud to inform you that you are now temporary residents of the United Countries. You are granted this temporary residency for twelve years, during which time you will serve the UC in a military capacity. Your active duty commitment is ten years. After you have completed your Military Service Obligation, you may qualify for permanent residency if your record is in good standing. Do you have any questions or objections?"

"Twelve years?" Alejandro said immediately. "
Caramba
. That sounds like a long time."

"Would you prefer to be deported?" There was no emotion in that question. Just cold, machine indifference.

Alejandro glanced at me, then lowered his gaze. "No."

"Good. The three of you are in luck, because the weekly trip from the detection center to the Military Entrance Processing Station is scheduled for 0700 tomorrow morning, allowing you to begin your service term immediately. Welcome to the UC, and have a wonderful evening."

We spent the night in a detection center, then at 0700 the next morning, two robots that identified themselves as PPAs, or Pacification and Protection Autonomous robots, escorted the three of us into a waiting van. The PPAs looked exactly the same as the robot border patrol officer from the night before, minus the clothing.

The AI-operated van stopped at detention centers along the way, and other draft-age illegals were herded inside so that soon we had a full complement squeezed into the passenger area. No one really said anything. It felt like we were going to prison.

When the vehicle finally ground to a halt and the back door opened, I was more than happy to step outside, but not so pleased with what I saw: I stood within a compound surrounded by a chain-link fence and topped by razor-wire.

Prison, indeed.

Three other Immigrations and Customs Enforcement vans were parked nearby. Beyond them, five buses dumped about seventy people each into the courtyard. I noticed that roughly three-fourths of the people seemed to be immigrants. East Indians, South Americans, Africans, Russians, Japanese, and so forth.

The PPAs in the courtyard herded us toward the main building. These robots wore dark blue blazers and trousers with black shoes. The black letters 'MP' were sewn into gray patches on their right shoulders.

As I followed the robots I looked out beyond the fence of the compound. I saw a paved road, and what looked like residential housing complete with hedges and gated white picket fences. It was the kind of sprawling suburbia I'd seen on Net vids set in the UC.

"Welcome to the Military Entrance Processing Station of New San Antonio," a PPA said by the entrance. "Please store any backpacks or aReals in the marked compartments then proceed to the scanning stations."

Alejandro, Tahoe and I had only the clothes we wore, so we headed straight for the full body scanners. Ahead of us, the alarm went off for one person and two PPAs escorted him outside. I overheard a few people whispering nearby. Apparently he'd failed the breathalyzer portion of the scan.

"Please exhale," a friendly female voice intoned when I stood inside the glass compartment. I did. "Thank you. You may proceed." The glass slid aside and I walked through.

Beyond the scanners there were long rows of seats, with different kiosks spaced at intervals, and uniformed robots moving to and fro. The whole place had the feel of an airport terminal.

A support robot moved between us, pointing out the
kiosks of the different branches. "Navy here. Marine Corps here. Air Force here. Army here."

"So, which branch,
hombres
?" Alejandro said.

I didn't really know which one to pick. As much as I hated to admit it, I hadn't really thought this far ahead. I'd adopted the whole 'I'll cross that bridge when I come to it' mindset, I guess because I never thought I'd actually make it here. Up until now, this was all just some distant, unachievable dream, but here I was, living that dream. I had this vague notion about joining a special forces division, and that's about it.

A girl halfway through one of the lines caught my eye. Long blonde hair, tanned skin, cute as hell.

"Navy." I said, and headed for her line.

I waited with Alejandro and Tahoe as the line slowly moved forward, hoping the girl would look back.

She didn't.

Some of the conversational threads I overheard in line:

"I didn't have a choice. My parents moved here when I was fifteen."

"They drafted me when I tried to board the plane home. How was I supposed to know I'd overstayed my visa?"

"Me?" This from a white dude. "I just wanted to get the hell out of dodge."

The girl I had my eye on reached the front of the line, exchanged a few words with the robot attendant, then moved off toward a side hall. Before vanishing from view, she finally looked back. She caught my eye and glanced down demurely.

Definitely hot.

The moments passed. Tahoe, Alejandro and I neared the front of the line.

"Guys, what do you think about the Marines?" I said, having second thoughts. Probably wasn't the best idea to base my branch choice on some girl I'd seen in line.

Tahoe shrugged. "Same difference to me. They still get to go into space."

"No no no," one of the people in front of me said. "If you want to go into space, you join the Navy, not the Marines. We're the ones who control the ships, bro."

Tahoe pursed his lips. "He does have a point."

I shrugged. "All right. Navy it is."

When I reached the front of the line the metal-faced attendant informed me that new reading material had been installed in my embedded Id.

"How am I supposed to read it without an aReal?" I said.

"You will be given access to an aReal," the robot said. "Enter Room #2 down the hall on your right. Fill the seats sequentially from the front."

"Don't I get a name tag or something?"

"Enter Room #2 down the hall on your right," the robot repeated, in the exact tone as before. "Fill the seats sequentially from the front." Damn robotic detachment.

I walked down the hall and eventually found a large auditorium with enough capacity to seat a thousand people. About a quarter of the spaces were occupied, filled from the front on down so that there were no empty seats.

I picked out Ms. Tanned Cutey right away. She was looking back at me—must have been watching the entrance the whole time—and when I met her eyes she smiled coyly and looked away. There were guys seated on either side of her. Chatting her up. Damn.

Well, I was used to facing hurdles, and I never let some man-made obstacle stop me before.

I'd made it this far, hadn't I?

I walked down the main aisle, and crossed the empty seats. When I reached the last empty seat I continued forward, excusing my way past the recruits toward the girl. I felt my heart rate increase.

She looked up at me questioningly as I came near. The guy just to her right was still talking, telling her a story about how he wrestled alligators or something on his ranch.

"Excuse me," I said loudly. "You're in my seat."

The guy looked up at me. He was a fairly muscular dude, not the type who would ordinarily back down when challenged. But he was on unfamiliar ground now, being given orders left and right by the people and robots around here, and I guess that put him in an obedient mindset because he got up right away.

"Sorry about that," the guy said.

I nodded politely.

As I edged past him, he added, "Didn't know you were together."

"We're not," the girl said right away.

I smiled at the guy. "Yeah, I just had to use the bathroom." I quickly took his seat before he could change his mind.

"Smooth move, big boy," she said.

"Friends call me Rade." I extended my hand, keeping eye contact.

She glanced at my hand, but didn't take it. Her lip curled slightly in amusement. "Sounds like some sort of insect repellent."

I lowered my hand. "Maybe it is. But look on the bright side, insects won't touch you when I'm around."

She smiled—a cute little dimple formed in one cheek—and offered me her hand. "I'm Shaw."

I waited a few seconds before shaking her hand, not wanting to seem too eager. "Nice to meet you, Shaw."

Her grinned deepened, as did those dimples. "Pleasure's mine. Us Navy types have to stick together."

"We do."

I glanced to my right and saw Alejandro and Tahoe sit down about seven places away from me, in the empty seats.

"What branch of the Navy are you joining?" I said.

I saw a warm twinkle in her eyes. "What rating you mean?"

"Yeah."

The twinkle became all-out mischievousness. "Are you sure you want to know? Not everyone can handle it."

I shrugged. "Sure."

She smiled. "Quartermaster. Also known as astrogator."

I nodded as if I knew what that was. "Okay."

"Always been a dream of mine to pilot starships," she continued, a little by rote, as if she'd been repeating that to people all day. "Going to faraway worlds and colonies is just a fun side benefit."

"You know the government would pay you to go into space, right?" I said. "Girl like you? They'd be tripping over themselves to get you to the colonies."

"Was that meant to be a complement?" she said.  "Or an insult?"

Whoops.

"Just making conversation," I said.

She frowned. "Like I'd ever agree to go to some far-flung colony world where there are seven men for every woman."

"Why not? You'd get your pick of the litter."

"Not my cup of tea. No thanks. I'd have to watch my back wherever I went. Besides, I don't want to be tied down, stuck in one place.
As I said, I want to pilot starships, make something out of myself. Anyways, how about you? What rating are you aiming for?"

"Special forces."

She quirked an eyebrow. "MOTH?"

I nodded. "If that's what they're called in the Navy."

"I'm sorry to hear that." She smiled that sexy smile again. Though it was a bit wry this time.

"What do you mean?"

"You're going to be surrounded by men day in and day out. They don't allow women you know, not like in the Marines. You might as well go to one of the colonies. At least you'll have
some
women there."

"Yeah, I don't know," I said. "It was kind of a last minute decision. Based on someone I saw in line."

"I hope that someone wasn't me."

"Not at all."

Shaw looked at me appraisingly. "Well, good luck. Navy spec-ops training is supposed to be the hardest there is, bar none. It has the highest wash-out rate in the entire military."

I nodded slowly. That prospect attracted me, believe it or not, and stoked the competitor in me, the part of myself that wanted to prove I was the best. Meanwhile the slacker in me wanted to take the path of least resistance and just cruise through the military.

I hated that slacker. I really did. He's the one who caused me to stay where I was for so long, in a dead-end city and country, too afraid to move on and change things and strive for something more.

I stoked the competitor. I could handle the hardest training.
I would.

At that moment a tall, gray-haired man dressed in camouflage gear entered at the front of the room. The theater hushed as he walked to the podium. "Your aReals, please."

There was an aReal visor connected to my seat by a thin cord. I grabbed the visor and put it on. My vision wasn't obscured, but the lenses were slightly dark, making the background of the real world diminish.

"Welcome to the New San Antonio MEP Station, recruits." He ran his gaze across the room. "I'm Gustav Reyjuk. A retired officer. A civilian. And no, I didn't invent the Carl Gustav." He got a few laughs at that. "The military hires me to come in and give this speech once a week. I'll probably be the last friendly face you see here on out. Other than your fellow recruits of course." The aReal had apparently scanned my embedded Id to determine my ethnic origin, because it was translating every word into New Spanish and displaying subtitles at the bottom of my vision. I navigated through the menus and turned that feature off.

"The friendly robotic attendant you met on the way inside installed a short, fifteen-hundred page document on your embedded Ids," Gustav said. "You can go over it in detail later, using one of the aReal terminals installed in the mess hall. In the meantime, I suggest you follow along."

Using the visor, I navigated to my private offline folder, and found the document, labeled
MEPS Guide
. I opened it. I noted that the military had bypassed the usual security protocol—as soon as I turned the aReal on I should have gotten a prompt asking me if I wanted to accept the document download request. They'd rammed this guide down the throat of my embedded Id, using one of those undocumented backdoors no doubt. Guess I'd have to get used to the military messing with my private data.

"I'm going to go over the most important points in the guide," Gustav continued. "You eat lunch from 1100 to 1200. You eat supper from 1730 to 1830. If you don't go to the mess hall during those times, you don't eat. The food is a buffet. Not exactly high class. If you like all-you-can-eat pancakes and gruel, then you're in the right place. As for your movements, you're restricted to the main lobby, the mess hall, this room, the brain scan hall, the medical examination hall, and the job selection hall. We're aware of your individual locations at all times, and the second you step outside any of the allowed areas, accidental or not, a PPA will escort you all friendly-like from the building and you'll be required to find your own way home. If you're an alien whose residency was granted temporarily on the basis of your draft, you'll be picked up by an Immigrations and Customs Enforcement van and booked for deportation."

He proceeded to go over everything we weren't allowed to do. No smoking. No slouching. No sleeping. No cussing. No looking an officer in the eyes. No disrespecting your fellow recruits. And so on. After a while I began to wonder what we were
allowed
to do. From the sound of it we'd be ejected from MEPS just for holding our breath.