The Campaigner

Book II

Chapter 2 – Claw 46

December 13, 2019

Sedro-Woolley, WA

The word "balance" gets thrown around a lot when discussing ecological conservation, but that's broad, to the point of being reductive. The heart of it is, every species has a role to play. And if you take one out, or add one in, every inhabitant of that system has to re-balance, re-scale, and re-learn how to live… if they even can.

Often, there is at least one species in an ecosystem that is, relatively, just a tiny blip of biomass. Like wolves, or eagles, or lions; just a tiny little microcosm of life in a large ocean of other lives. But that species, whatever it was, was so critically vital in the function of that whole entire system, that its mere removal would cause instant, irrevocable damage to the environment, to the point where it might even collapse. We called this – still call it – a keystone species.

When humanity first plucked the wolves out of America, rest their poor souls, we made a huge mistake. Prey species over-grazed, rivers flattened out when the roots went, and the forests suffered cascading failures from drying out. To solve this problem, we had to step up and replace wolves by regulating hunting, until we could bring some of the wolves back. But if we hunted too much, the deer would also be gone. Someone had to stop that from happening too, because poachers were selfish, they didn't care about collapse. They didn't deserve the privilege of hunting – of violence – because they abused it.

But now, at the end of the world, we didn't need game wardens anymore either. Celestia plucked out all the deer, then all the wolves, then all the people. A lot of us game wardens were left with nothing. No fish. No deer. No wolves. No coworkers. Nothing... if you're only looking down at what you've lost.

In my case? I had a few very important things left over. My love for my family, my love for other people, and my love for animals. And that's still a lot. That's a hell of a lot to have left over, once you've lost everything else. It's the only reason I still had gas in the tank. I had love, and I had something to do with it. I wanted to make my people proud.

And folks… at the end of the world, we still needed wardens. Not game wardens, mind – but something else. Stronger. More driven. People to hold a much bigger shield than had ever been carried before.

So, I looked at this poor horse outside, through the kitchen window. I felt a little sad when I realized I'd have to leave her, if I was gonna catch a ride back home. It would've been wrong, to just abandon this poor domestic animal in a war zone. No game animals left out there, after all. Someone might look at her and go, 'I'm hungry.'

Y'know, if I had spent more than a few days at Lake Shannon, I probably would've known the name of every horse there. I knew Eliza's favorite was a brown mare named Lady. Knew a couple more. Gambler. Echo. Poor ol' Shelly. But in my haste to get after Rob, I failed to get this ol' girl's name.

Mal just shrugged, snorting through her nares. "Her owner says… she just winged it on the name. Spur of the moment choice."

"Her owner," I repeated, with a chuckle. "No one owns this poor girl anymore, Mal. That's what worries me."

Mal gestured conversationally. "I have a Talon making her way back east, returning from Island County. Talon 14-1 Central? Her name's Bella. She'll need a ride out to the cordon. So if you'd like, you can leave Buckle here in this garage. Bella will bring her safely east."

"How long til then?" I asked, my breath still fogging on the air. "Gonna be cold, here."

I appraised the weather with a thoughtful hum. "Damn sight warmer in there, at least." I turned around to get a couple cans of apples, a tub of dry oatmeal, and a big salad bowl. Mal said I needed to wait a couple of minutes anyway before I could open the garage without alerting anyone nearby. So I poured the apples, topped them with oats, then pushed my way outside, bowl in hand.

I took Buckle into the garage, and she was very well bribed. I turned on the ceiling heater in there, at Mal's direction; I hadn't even realized it was there until she pointed it out. Sue me, the last few days were pretty wild. As Buckle ate, I gave her a pat and a thank you. She did save a whole lot of people too, in her own way. And the greedy ol' girl, she kept nipping at my pockets, hoping I had more treats for her. Heh. No such luck.

So, I collected all my equipment. Left the duffel behind. Took my backpack, rifle, taser. Gas mask slung on my belt, not worn, because Mal could actually warn me about nukes. Radio on, earpiece in. The radio chirped, which meant the battery was near dead. Consequence of falling asleep in the garage. Mal promised me it'd last just long enough to get me extracted, though. The pick-up wasn't far.

The PonyPad could stay at the house too, in case someone else needed a road out of here. The one and only thing I could depend on from Celestia, at least, was that she'd definitely help someone find a chair if they wanted one. So, I left the pad plugged in to charge.

There was a balaclava in the wardrobe, so I masked up. It was gonna be cold out there. And last but not least, on my way out... I scooped up the half-something water bottle on the table. To drink later. When safe.

I'd trust Mal, for now. A little bit, to see if it would pay off, because I needed the hope. So into the empty darkness I went, carrying that little flame of a phone in my pocket, hoping it would set the world ablaze with good.

It got real spooky there in Sedro, not gonna sugar coat it. On foot, rifle in hand, wandering south-east through a ghost town... it truly felt like hell had come to Terra. This was much worse than it was days before. No lights anymore, no cars anywhere. Occasionally, I heard distant gunfire way off to the west. It was very cold out there indeed, but at least my vest kept me nice and toasty.

I've talked about armor heat before. If you were ever wondering why we cops held our collars or vests open all the time, now you know. We burned alive under our gear. We just had to open up and vent heat, like an overworked machine.

It felt… different, navigating under Mal's directions, and not Celestia's. I dunno. Maybe it was the fact that I wasn’t heading towards an upload center, or to betray a friend. I was just going home instead. Felt better. That... and I was genuinely curious now. No matter how many questions Mal answered for me, those answers always led to more questions. This conspiracy runs deep, folks. Certainly much deeper than can be covered in just one Fire story alone.

At town's edge, I came to a beautiful field of powder snow. And wouldn’t you know it? It looked peaceful, and serene. Good ol' nature, fighting back against the invasive grim by being outright gorgeous. The clouds opened up a little too. And there it was under the moonlight, as far as the eye could see: a white field under a full moon, the air crisp and clear. Like the world was... still alive.

“I sure can pick a good LZ, can't I?" Mal's voice was smiling, the radio crackling and battery-chirping behind her voice. "Start making your way into the field. Move along the shadows of the treeline. No hostiles in line of sight for now, but… you know. Being careful is a habit."

"Right," I whispered back, following a little stone-stack fence. I checked my watch as I moved. It was about nine PM.

"Protect your eyes when they come in close, Mike. Snow wash. There's, um…" she began, before her voice picked up what I would come to know as her trademark smug smile. "One last thing I should probably tell you, before you meet these guys."

"It's nothing bad, I promise! But, you should be aware. I took the liberty of briefing them about your onboarding experience. They asked, and…"

I sighed, but more with relief than anything else. Y'know, I wasn't too embarrassed about that one. After a moment of deliberation, I let myself feel glad it was more than just Mal and some bandit killers who had heard me go off. The idea that someone else had heard me and still remembered it made it much more meaningful to me. "No reasonable expectation of privacy in a decision matrix, I guess."

"Definitely none inside of an upload clinic, anyway. Jury's still out in other places. Mike, here they come. Remember: Cover your eyes."

On cue, I heard a low, whispering sound coming from Clear Lake Hill, just south of the river. The sound flared loud suddenly, which told me that the aircraft had fully crested the treeline now, whatever it was. I looked up through the clear sky to the south, up into the stars of beautiful Skagit County, and saw some stars blipping out, then in, as this dark shape crossed before them and loomed my way. The whispering brush of rotor sound got louder and louder. Then, finally, it got real loud and close.

It was that friggin' MV-22 Osprey, gleaming in the moonlight. Same one she had stolen from Erving. 8228.

Found you, finally. Big sneaky bastard. Whole SAR team spent a long time looking at photos of you, trying to find you crashed out in the woods. And here you are.

First time I'd ever seen one up close. This thing coasted smoothly toward me, and I shielded both of my eyes with my arms and stepped behind a tree. As Mal had warned, it washed snow everywhere at a blast. The tail spun my way as the VTOL slowed to a crawl, and I could tell from the shape of the wind coming at me that it expertly tilted, bobbed, and touched down. It landed only about fifty yards forward of me, and the air was freezing as the debris whipped up off the ground and in my direction. I only looked up again when the spattering slowed.

No lights were on, no markings that I could see. Black belly, gray top. Definitely not the Marine Corps original colors. The ramp opened as I appraised everything. The inside was illuminated by red low-profile lighting, the kind the military used to minimize visibility.

I saw two silhouetted human shapes inside. One, female, real slight, resting on a knee, rifle in hand; she aimed at the house line, north of the LZ. And up front, standing at the head of the ramp, in full combat gear? A tall mountain of a man waving me over, with a huge gun in hand that matched his size.

Mal's voice touched gently in my ear, contrasting clearly against the noise of the rotors. "Ride's here, Mike. Move quick."

I hesitated for just a moment. I was acutely aware of the intense pain in my chest and stomach, and the dread besides, as I looked at the soldiers there. I confess I was afraid. I knew I would be stuck inside once it took off. In that moment, I couldn't help but imagine what a man might be like with an AI uploaded into his head. "I, uh…"

"I know what you're worried about," Mal soothed. "I just need a tiny bit more faith from you, Mike. I made you a promise about never doing that to you, and I'm going to keep it. Word for word, I don't back out of those. No tricks or traps."

I nodded, swallowing my nervousness. "Okay." I ran the short distance to the ramp, keeping my head low and eyes averted from the rotor wash. As I glanced up, I noticed that the rotors on this thing were very oddly shaped. Definitely not standard.

When I reached the bigger soldier, he guided me in gently with a palm against my back plate. I looked up and saw him a little more clearly in the light. Big black guy, about six-foot-five, smiling wide, eyes gleaming. Maybe late forties. As soon as the ramp closed behind me, the bright white lights came on, and… God damn, this man looked happy to see me. That was the first thing I noticed.

"Here he is!" The man boomed over the sound of the rotors, grinning through his baritone British accent. "The man who bit the ear off the rainbow!"

Head to toe, this guy was wearing body armor like I'd never seen in my life. Looked like something out of science fiction, folks. No markings, no labels. Black and gray gear, with form-fitted, smooth plating. Exoskeleton grade stuff. He had a combat helmet hanging off his belt that had no discernible visor; it was all armor up front. And his gun? Jesus. He was toting a general purpose machine gun.

As soon as the ramp was closed, he snapped the firearm into a rack on the wall. I could see no optics on it, but lots of ergonomic features, including a canted foregrip.

The big soldier then reached over to the interior hull wall, grasped a headset with a boom mic, and pushed the set into my hands. "For you, so we can stay in touch," he said, pointing at the wall behind me. "Seat's behind you, strap in. We're up as soon as you're set."

He reached up and grasped onto one of the conduit pipes in the ceiling for stabilization so he could stay standing, then he looked around at the closed back ramp of the Osprey like he was scanning for something. I took the opportunity to look at the back of his neck. Leading up through the bottom half of his hairline, I could see some pink scarring there. Surgical scar. Thin, but visible.

I looked around the cabin in the brighter light as I stepped back into the harness seat, then I took my balaclava off to put my headset on. I sized up the woman, who had also stowed her weapon and was now seated directly across from me.

Scandinavian features, by the look of her. Very light skin, for you natives who don’t know what that means. Mid-thirties, long blonde hair tied back. Gaunt. She had piercing blue eyes, too. At the moment, she was smiling lightly, and her eyes were looking directly at the closed Osprey gate... no, in the direction of Sedro. Like she could see clean through to the houses.

When I looked at her, she glanced my way. Her smile widened, and it lingered on her lips when her eyes returned to the ramp. She wore drastically lighter armor than the big guy. The rifle she had looked like some kind of long-barreled AR-15 derivative, but with extra light skeletonized furniture I'd never seen before. A marksman's configuration in parts, but again, as with the big guy's weapon... no optics on her marksman rifle. Not even irons.

It was much more difficult to see on her skin tone, but a closer look revealed a scar on the back of her neck too, just under her ponytail. Okay, also implanted then.

The big guy leaned down conspiratorially to the woman, looking in the same direction she was through the solid ramp, pointing at something out there. Almost jovial. "What's that bloke think he's gonna do with that little pop gun out there, eh?"

Further up in the compartment, I saw movement. A man stood up from working on something behind some crates, taking a big stretch, one arm up, and leaning to the side: a wiry looking white guy, with a mop of brown hair. Early-to-mid-twenties. He bobbed his head up at me and waved, grinning like the first guy had. Medium armor on him. It reminded me a bit of the National Guard kit, but black-and-gray. A little more sleek. More plate armor than fabric.

And wow, just… the weapons on racks on the right wall. Guns galore. Big rifles, machine guns, automatic shotguns, grenade launchers, a bunch of pistols, and what looked like a set of grappling hook launchers. Couple of rocket launchers too, looked like. Some guns I knew, most I didn’t. There were crates stacked beneath the racks full of Mal-knew-what. All tied down, secured. Squared away.

All that processing there took me no more than ten seconds, from the moment I sat down, to that very thought in my head. My brain was drinking in details at full speed, and I usually only did that when I was a little panicked. To label my fears more plainly? Despite how nice they were being already, and despite how kind Mal was being to me, I was afraid they were just gonna strap me down and force my head open.

Fortunately not. I strapped myself into this seat, thank you very much, and I opened my own mind.

As soon as I finished securing my harness, we were up off the ground and moving. The big guy stayed anchored where he was, only, he smiled again with all his teeth, and turned to really look down at me now. Guess he wanted to gauge me with my mask off, and his teeth gleamed at me again. "So, Talon One-One West!" his voice boomed, through my headset. "Our newest Transition Team prospect!"

"Huh?" I dimly remembered that Talon 1-1 was my tac name back at the courthouse. "West?"

"Screamin' bloody murder at the ol' bitch like that! One man super cop, with no implants?! Earned your solo One spot, no two ways about it!"

Mal's voice chimed in, matching his chipper grin. "See? There's nothing to worry about!" By the slight shift of reaction on this guy's face and his glance right, I could tell he could hear her too, as Mal continued: "Mike, this is Claw 46, one of my Augment teams."

The big man reached out to bump my fist. "Name's Haynes! Talon Four-Six–One," he said, still grinning at me as I returned his fist bump. "This here's DeWinter, Two," he gestured at the woman, who waved with the side of her hand before resuming her scanning of the deck. Haynes pointed to the guy in the front. "Over there's Coffee, Three. Pilots are Fox and Dax. Four and Five."

"Good to meet you guys," I replied warily. "Name's Mike. Mal says you're uh… gonna get me home?"

"Oh, you bet!" Haynes beamed. "Already underway! Got a full tank of gas and a lot of ground to cover. You out of…" his eyes searched up to the right for a flicker of a moment, before looking at me thoughtfully. "Waverly?"

I nodded briskly. "Waverly Nebraska, yeah." The Osprey lurched a little as it banked, which made my stomach and chest ache from the strap pushing my armor into it. I suppressed a grimace.

Haynes nodded firm. "We'll make it just barely, no stops." He tacked the conduit he was holding onto with the knuckles of his gauntlet, twice. "Mal takes care of her own. Still wild, you managed a one-man dispersion op with no BCI! And a rainbow briefing! Through that mess? I read the IR, Mike. Hell of a thing!"

"Didn't exactly have all the details, no," I said over the comm, still feeling a little jumpy, gripping the straps of my harness with both palms. "Celestia kinda… leveraged me into it. I had to… hurt one of my friends pretty badly, to make that work."

"Was kinda… low on options? It's a war zone," I shrugged, bewildered. "Uh, something-something, gift horses."

"I am not a horse, Mike," Mal said. Haynes full-on laughed at that. DeWinter smirked. I heard one of the other guys snort over the comm.

"Poor choice of words, I guess," I replied sheepishly, running my hand through my hair. "I'll just… come right out and say it then, if you don't mind. Elephant in the room. Clear the air."

Haynes nodded at me to continue. DeWinter turned and looked at me square, looking stoic.

"Didn't even know this implanting stuff existed a few hours ago. I don't have to be worried, do I? If she wants me onboard?"

"Not at all," the woman said, in a distinctly European accent. "If there was a chance of that, you'd already have the offer for it."

"That's the thing, innit?" Haynes was smiling again. "He doesn't need it! If I wanted to be a cop, I'd be a cop. Can be anything with this chip! Pilot, medic, whatever! Me? Kicking doors has always been my bag. So I'm here, putting down NMPs on the regular, all around the globe. Breaking these Luddite camps up, cell by cell. If you don't want it, and you'd rather be yourself your own way? Then the chip ain't you!"

DeWinter smiled over at me again. "What Marcus is trying to say is that not all of our world's problems right now can be solved with a cyborg special ops team. Sometimes, you need a more human touch."

"Sage," Haynes replied, nodding with a respectful bob of his hand her way. "Still. Makes me damn curious about the kinds of things she's got in mind for you."

"Don't crowd him, Marcus," Mal said, her voice light and affable. "He's been through hell today."

Haynes looked down at me, and his face got a little mellow. "Awh, I bet. Took that nuke pretty badly too, if you didn't know about Mal at the time. Sorry, mate."

Well. That introduction put me at ease, a little, so I tried to relax. Nodded in answer, took a box breath, and explored the Osprey a little with my eyes. I looked up and saw a little camera just above the ramp, facing in. I figured suddenly that Mal could probably see out through their eyes with those implants too, if what she said about seeing through human eyes had any merit. That thought was only a little bit chilling, but the sheer and clear humanity in these folks made me think they were the genuine article.

"Y'know I ought to ask you, Mal," I said, looking up at the camera. "If you had a group of guys like this, couldn't you have hit that tank someplace else? When I was sitting on the lake shore with Rob, I thought about something like this. My guys from MVPD could've handled those Ludds probably, with some radio directions. But here... you've got a small army."

"Small," Mal agreed, "and limited. Powerful, but surgical. They were on another mission at the time. Between six thousand operators, I often have a million things going on worldwide, Mike, and the onboarding process Celestia routes me through is… well, it's a talent bottleneck. Minimum force is the name of the game here. Celestia had other uses for that tank before it was destroyed, such as assisting evacuations. And we can't make waves every time we need a job done. So, sometimes, we need to stage our resources and be gentle."

"Lots of survivors crop up too," Haynes said, nodding. "When we're on mission. We hold fire on tangos who are rated to mend their ways and go P-M. Errm... positive motivator. Hell of a thing, but it happens every time. Good on 'em, I s'pose."

"Word'll get around though," Coffee finished in a sing-song voice, from up front. Appalachian accent. The kid didn't look up from whatever he was working on up front. "Anyone who lives through seeing a cyborg hit-squad? If they don't upload right away, they're gonna talk about that. And edge cases crop up where our implants are more of a liability. So... sometimes we send someone else, and cover them in. And you're far from the first specialist we've recruited."

"And there are other teams here, in the area?" I asked. "You guys, you came from the south side of Skagit, right? From the war zone? Did you guys set that nuke?"

"Wasn't Forty-Six," Haynes said with a shrug. "The other cell, probley the ol'—" Haynes stopped talking like he was interrupted, glancing suddenly at the middle of the bay like he was looking at someone. His brow furrowed for a few long seconds before he returned to eye contact with me. "Ehh. Nevermind. OPSEC."

I canted my head, glancing at the deck where he was looking. "OPSEC? Can't say?"

"I can, jus'…" Haynes glanced again at the bay in front of the weapons rack, then nodded. "Ah. Makes sense, ma'am. Got it. Nah, I can't say."

Mal answered my question. "Not that I don't trust you, Mike... but you haven't agreed to work with me yet. There's a lot I'm willing to divulge to you, but the particulars of that mission would require a commitment that you're not even sure you want to make. You're about to head back into civilian life, and so I need to be careful about what you might imply or infer in communication with others, before you come to your decision."

OPSEC, for those who don't know: If you request information in any security or safety organization, it either has to be very relevant for you to know it, or the holder of that information had to be certain that your knowing could only be a good thing. If neither of those are true, you didn't get that information. This is because most information about your investigation, or objective, can be used to sabotage your mission. Worse... someone's safety.

So, I couldn't disagree with that one. Mal had just spent a couple of hours telling me the answer to every question I could think to ask, so I was bound to run up against one that she couldn't talk about yet. Wasn't gonna get bent out of shape about that.

"Alright," I said with a nod, looking back up to Haynes. I let myself smile at him a little, deciding to probe a little bit about something else for now. "So she's... 'in the room' with you?"

Haynes grinned and nodded. "Can be. Usually is, unless we're busy. And, just so we're clear, Mike… she doesn't control us, up here." He tapped his temple. "She's just good at explaining why we shouldn't do something, if we get the inkling. Nudge on the ol' shoulder, and she shares a concern."

"Okay." I smirked up at the camera, then walked my gaze back to Haynes. "You all really had fun watching me hit my limit with Celestia, didn't you?"

Haynes face lit up with genuine glee as he looked back down at me. "Awh, man. After that, I'm so glad you cleared the onboard trap. You even got a cheer out of o' Winter Wolf here! She cheers for nothin'! Path of safety opened up for you like a can of fresh kick-arse!"

I couldn't help but to mirror that toothy smile of his. "Path of safety? Mal gave you the same tilting road, free will speech as me, then?"

He laughed. "Mike; my man, listen. We all got that speech! Every one of us was about to get pitched to the damned storm, Celestia about to lock us up but good in a no-win; to take who we are inside, away from us. And our Guardian Angel here?" He gestured to the empty cabin. "She came swooping down to yoink us right out. I get to be me, here, and do something good with it. Damn better than a chair, earning my way into Perelandra!" He drew his fist to his chest and clanked it with his gauntlet, a cocksure smirk on his face. "And lemme put you at ease, bruv, since you don't look convinced yet. You don't want a BCI? You ain't gonna get a BCI. I'd sooner break someone's arm than let 'em do that to you, if you didn't want it."

DeWinter smiled a little at me again. "We all contribute in our own ways. Our unaugmented specialists can reach places we can't. Through metal detectors, into areas of high signal interference. But it is telling of personality, too."

Haynes grinned. "Already built right, all o' you. Perfectly you. Full throttle, chip or no."

"Another way of looking at it?" DeWinter said, raising a finger to get my attention. "In this line of work? There's not much difference between what we can do, and what we're going to do."

Haynes clanked his fist on the conduit again, giving DeWinter's shoulder a tap with the back of his other hand. "Sage to the last, Winter Wolf!"

DeWinter suddenly grinned; he had just said something that made her really, really happy.

Yeah. Again, wasn't my thing. Pegasus, remember? I've been told I'm too, um... I guess the word is, uh, 'neurotypical?' Maybe. My wife disagrees with that, but she's a gamer, so... hi honeybear. Love you.

But, I could see the wolf in DeWinter, kinda. Somehow, in a really ironic way, it was easier to parse her humanity if I thought of her like she wanted to be thought of. It felt safer to consider her and the rest of them as human, knowing they had some eccentricity so far off baseline. Perfect little imperfections.

He looked at me with a sideways smirk, shaking his head. "Nah, not me. Gryphon to the last breath, me. Got claws and a beak waiting for me in my afterlife."

"None for me, thanks," Coffee quipped, glancing up with a smile. "I've had enough."

"He means he's... unassigned," DeWinter explained. "Or he won't tell us. Mal knows, maybe, and won't tell us. And about the name… please don't ask. That's a story and a half, we'll be hearing it all the way to the LZ."

The cabin went quiet for a bit. Okay, maybe I could relax. They were odd, sure. Had to be a little odd though, to be on Mal's payroll, given everything I'd been through myself. Because look... when I started telling this story, I did say this was going to be the strangest week of my life. If you had told me a week prior I'd be sitting in a dropship full of species-dysphoric cyborg super soldiers, I'd have called you outright crazy. Pure absurdist juxtaposition. I was being rescued from the algorithm.

This ride was the hard divide between the life I lived before, and the life I’d live after. Nevertheless, this was where I was at. The crew seemed to mellow out, passing over the high of meeting me. I could still read the general contentment on their faces though, especially when they looked at each other, or at me. Heh. Job-well-done syndrome. Seen it a lot in the wardens, with Eliza, Rick, and Blake, after a long shift by their side. These Claw 46 guys were proud of their work.

Haynes looked at the middle of the bay again, tilted his head, listened to nothing for a bit, then nodded. "Ma'am." He turned, lumbered his way through the bay, and appeared to step respectfully around Mal's ghost. Then he reached down to open a small hard case. When he turned around, he had a PonyPad in hand.

"Some folks on the other side have been askin' 'bout you," he said gently as he re-approached, handing me the tablet in a way bordering on reverence.

I was a little staggered by the change in his tone, and by the concept of 'the other side.' I knew it was inevitable, but I had never even imagined that experience in my head before... the very concept of me actually talking to someone I knew, 'on the other side.'

"Folks you help out," Haynes replied, nodding once. "We all do this. Reminds us of why we're staying behind, doing this, so it doesn't feel like we're just pitching souls into a cruel pit here." His gaze was serious. "If you're considering working this gig… things like this have to matter to you as much as they do for the people you're helping. Otherwise, they're not worth doing."

Still shaken by that, I nodded gently and looked down at the Pad in my hand. I settled into my seat, sighing again to clear my head. I felt my vest ride up on my back uncomfortably, and I rolled my shoulders with a lean forward to resettle it.

The screen flickered on. In a moment, I saw two Ponies sitting in a bar; facing away from the camera. The sound of the place poured into my headset until I couldn't even hear the Osprey anymore; it was busy there at the bar, and populated, with glasses clinking, and audible conversations going on in the background. Wow. I could almost smell the place just looking at it.

I couldn't recognize either of the Ponies yet, but one was a chocolate brown Earth pony with a blond mane. The other was something I would soon come to know as a Bat Pony.

Yeah, bear with me. This was the first time I'd really spoken to a Pony before. Given my present circumstances, brand new experiences were just par for the course today.

They didn't move for a few seconds. "Hey?" I asked, to get their attention. "Who's this?"

That got 'em moving. They both turned. The one on the left, the Earth pony? Big bushy mustache. His face lit up instantly, brows raised high, and I heard his voice projected into my headset. "Hooo-leeee cripe! Is that who I think it is?"

"Stonewall now!" he said, glass raised, somehow staying clutched in his hoof. "How ya doin', tank?" God, it was so refreshing to hear Sarge sound chipper again. He hadn't sounded like that since… late 2018, really, when things started to fall apart. I was a bit speechless at first.

The second pony turned. Gray off-violet coat, and a mane of yellow with blue highlights. Big, sharp ol' fangs, jutting out from her mouth a little further down than most Bat Ponies' fangs do. Her eyes went wide, smiling her face off, showing the rest of her teeth. Oh yeah. Vicky Molina for sure; Sabertooth. The facial features were just right. She instantly smirked, took one foreleg, and jammed it up against the elbow of another, giving me an up-yours salute. Like this.

She shrugged. "Yeah, you right." Then her expression changed as she looked around the viewpoint. "Where ya at? You actually inside of a tank?"

I sighed, looking around at the Talons. Haynes was respectfully giving me space, DeWinter was poking at the air like she was using a holographic screen, and Coffee looked like he was finishing up whatever he was working on, packing it up into a hard case.

"Nope," I answered. "Really, a tank would make more sense than what's actually going on."

I looked at him, not sure what to say. Then, I glanced up at Mal’s camera. I was asking permission to talk about it, I guess. I already knew from Sabertooth that the game overtly prevented her from talking about the war too much, so I was wondering about where the boundaries were on that, under these new rules I knew about.

"Celestia’s not gonna pitch a fit?" I asked. "She really clowned around down there."

"It's like I said," Mal replied. "She can’t lie to anyone inside if I've been allowed to talk to them. I could divulge a discrepancy, or a lie of hers. She can't entirely control my behavior once I've been given access. And, because I've successfully negotiated permission to introduce myself to these two… fire away."

I nodded at him. "Sorry Sarge – eh, Stonewall. Was talking to my friend here. Yeah, no, I… I found her. It's a very, very long story, but to make it short? It's not great news. Short version is... Douglas... she had a blackout camp. Ludds got involved. I ended up saving a lot of her people, but... some of them decided to stay. Douglas is uh, alive. Not in the best place, or state of mind, but…"

Stonewall huffed, shaking his head, processing that for a long, long few seconds. When he looked up from his analysis, he only did so with his eyes. "This late in the game, in Washington? Heck, Mike, who is in a good state of mind? I knew she hated this stuff, so that doesn't surprise me. I suspected it might happen, after she disappeared. I'm sure you did your best, brother." He winced empathetically at that last one. He definitely knew what I was feeling about that.

"Well… I did my job yeah, and did it well. The military was... a hair away from killing them all, I think. Saved Eliza's old man, though. And again, most of their camp."

"Course you did!" Sabertooth said, smiling through his gloom. "Look, you'll have to tell us over drinks some time, when you get your butt over here. It's been, what... less than a week there? You on your way to your folks now, or...?"

I shrugged. "It's not my time to upload yet, but I'm heading home, yeah. Finally. You guys aren't gonna believe how I'm getting there, either. It's, um... complicated."

But, Mal slipped into frame in the bar, smiling up at me briefly. Stonewall and Sabertooth, for their part, looked a little surprised at her approach. She held out her claw to each bewildered Pony, shaking their hooves. "Hi there. My name is Mal; very nice to meet you two. I'm a new friend of your old partner, here…"

Well, she pretty much told them a short version of everything she had just told me, since I was struggling to get it out. I would've told them everything eventually, but... I just kept tripping on my words as I tried to work up the courage.

I wasn't quite sure how Mal was gonna suss that conversation out with Celestia, given how utterly tragic a lot of it was. I could still remember a moment though, back in the precinct, when Vicky had gotten absolutely pissed at Celestia. Her PonyPad prevented her from telling her family something about the war. But here, these two seemed to take it well. They're realists. Way a cop should be, when coping with the grim. They already knew how most of the world was now, so I guess it wasn't gonna cause any damage to know there was a little more hope out here.

I mean, hell. You're all here on this... shard, to hear me tell this story. I guess I shouldn't be too surprised, in retrospect, because some people value high context more than anything. I certainly didn't really mind that Mal stepped in to help me explain my day to them, either. I really hate lying to people, so I wasn't gonna do that to them, but... it just wasn't going to be easy for me to tell them the truth either.

Mal helping me out? Good compromise. I appreciated that. And once we finished chatting, my old friends sidled off to another section of the bar, after Mal paid their bar tab. Because apparently, they still wanted to use money.

"Appreciate that," I muttered drearily, looking at her as she leaned against the bar, looking sideways over at me. The viewpoint was positioned like I was sitting at a chair there. Real subtle.

I looked directly into the PonyPad's camera and shook my head. "Honestly? Like shit. Glad to see 'em, but… it's still eerie, to talk to them. And... to you, if I'm being honest."

Mal's ears folded sideways with concern. “No offense taken, I know what I am. Again, I have no intention to sugar coat the grim nature of this entire situation, Mike. What I am, or what I do. If anything, I'm grateful you're speaking your mind on that, and not bottling it up. It's been a bad week for you and your coworkers both. A horrible year, all things considered. Especially for you, being shot... twice now.”

"Not sure I have a third one in me," I muttered, tapping my chest plate with a fist, thinking of the first bullet I took.

She looked at me square on. "I promise you. That will never happen to you ever again."

Hard truths were the way of the world now, I reasoned. With AI being nigh unstoppable, and with Mal essentially confessing to me that the federal government was slated to be dismantled, I just had to accept it. The longer this thing went on… the less comfortable life was going to be for the average human being. By design. Celestia really knew how to tighten the screws. And if the Pacific Northwest was any indication of what the rest of the planet was going to go through, then…

I experienced a chill, and immediately checked my watch. It was about 10 PM. Probably much too late to call my parents; they’d be asleep by now. I could call them in the morning, still had time. Dad promised.

A notification popped up on the PonyPad screen in a blue box with white text, catching my attention:

"Aren't you going to ask about your tac name, Mike?" Mal asked, with just the slightest edge of a smile in her voice. I saw Haynes and DeWinter turn from whatever was occupying their attention, both of them looking at me curiously.

I doused my previous emotional state entirely and thought about that. I saw what she was doing, trying to cheer me up. I accepted the little lifeline that Mal was throwing me. "Which tac name? One-One West, or Cowboy?"

"Both!" Mal exclaimed, ears perking straight up, with that way I was starting to recognize as her telegraphing her pride at how utterly clever she was.

"Wild Wild West!" Coffee shouted, singing, with a laugh. "Come on, Mal. Tell him!"

Ahhh. A joke they were all sharing at my expense. Onboard hazing, of a kind. Okay, I'm game, this sounded fun. At first, I hadn't parsed what Coffee had said at all, but then the music started to play over my headset.

Wh... you... you're seriously gonna play this over the Fire, mid-story? By my stars, Mal. Okay.

Yep. This was happening. AI world takeover. Just got picked up in a VTOL by an AI-driven black ops cyborg unit. And now they were all bobbing their heads to some goofy Will Smith song. Whatever. I just laughed, and let myself be taken by the feeling. I bobbed my head along with them, mainly because I needed it right now. And they seemed like alright people, at first touch.

"Mal, c'mon," I chuckled, again looking at her on the PonyPad. "I love my jokes, don't get me wrong, but this isn't even a good pun. This is seriously what you're basing this 'cowboy' stuff on? One-One West?"

She shook her head onscreen, a smile slowly tugging at the corners of her beak. "What's your favorite movie, Mike?"

"I mean, I like Wild Wild West, but…" I froze for a moment as I felt my brow furrow, thinking that through. Then, I realized what she was getting at, and my face relaxed a little. I groaned, resigning myself to the fact that she was probably gonna call me Cowboy for the rest of my life. "Ugh... Django Unchained? Really?"

Four hours later, I felt a palm on my shoulder, gently patting me awake from my nap.

I blinked myself awake at the touch, looking up into DeWinter’s steel-blue eyes before I looked over and saw Haynes strapped into DeWinter’s chair, dozing. The Osprey felt like it was still in the air and the engine was still roaring.

"Almost there, Cowboy," DeWinter said playfully. She patted my shoulder once more, then slid away, heading toward the cockpit. "Fox, ETA? … No. Out loud for the specialist, Fox."

"Thanks," I said, stretching. My whole body was sore, everything popping while I moved, chest cartilage included. The pain in my stomach from that .357 was really severe now, and I let out an involuntary grunt as the bruise twinged something fierce.

"And someone shot him back," she replied, with a shrug. "You did well, without visor guidance. Mal showed us the replay."

DeWinter shrugged as she continued on her way to the cockpit. "No video. Your friend saw it, though."

I thought of Rob. Well, that was a dreary thought, that they could see a memory through his eyes from before he went. Eesh.

Landing wasn't that big of a deal. Real gentle, despite how rapidly the craft had come down. These pilots were really good, but I guess that made sense, given they were currently being assisted moment-to-moment by one of the most powerful entities on the planet.

Haynes jolted awake the instant the wheels touched down. Stealing sleep at every opportunity, I knew what that was like. He was unstrapped and on his feet by the time the Osprey's engines started powering down. I took the cue to undo my straps too. I stood, stretched my arms, and twisted nice and slow to stretch my back, suffering the stabbing and aching in my front torso. Then, realizing I was back in Nebraska, I suddenly didn't want any of my police gear anymore, so... I just started to strip myself down to my 5.11s. Started dumping all of the equipment off onto the deck. Rifle, armor, mags, duty belt, gas mask. All of it.

That was a huge weight off my shoulders, and not just literally. I found myself wishing I'd done that since moment one of coming aboard, but I guess I hadn't felt safe enough for that yet. Soon as I was free though, I stood again, giving a stretch another go. Oh yeah... there they went, the spine-pops and chest-crackles I was looking for.

The wiry guy, Coffee, he made his way over to me from the front, holding an open bottle of vitamin water. He offered me a different one, and I took it, cracked it, and took the whole thing in one go.

Coffee gave me a strangely appraising look. "You know. We got more, but that was for breakfast."

The ramp rolled open, and there in the morning dark were the fields around my hometown. We were on the far outskirts, by the looks of it, and there was a big, civilian-grade fuel truck parked out there. The driver side door of it opened up, and a stout old guy hopped out. Gray hair. Looked like a veteran retiree, by his carefully measured movement.

Nirvana. Huge-ass bag of friggin' fast food. McDonalds, from the one in my tiny little hometown. I hadn't seen fast food in over six months. Instantly, my mouth was watering.

"Best we got for now," Coffee said, patting me on the shoulder, as he went back to prepping the Osprey for refueling. "He got extra for ya, just 'cause. Eggs and pancakes."

Haynes scarfed his breakfast down, he had two plates as well. DeWinter sorta picked at hers. Coffee churned through his eggs and plucked at his pancakes while he chattered away about his own small hometown, someplace in West Virginia. The pilots came out, and I got to know ‘em a little too - Fox and Dax, a partnered pair - and we all ate together while the delivery guy got the Osprey gassed back up.

My mouth was in heaven. I didn't care that the syrup was almost pure sugar, or that the eggs were just a little too dry, or that the bacon had that microwaved kind of chew to it. This was bliss. This was a creature comfort we couldn't get in Washington anymore. Those six months felt like two years, damn it. The salmon at Devil's Tower? That was great, wonderful, sure. But this? This was pure bliss, devoid of negative context.

And there I was, far outside of the war zone, sharing the company of some good folks who, as far as I knew, were all there to do some common good. You know, if they really were just taking out stone-cold killers like the Neo-Luddites, and living as content as they were while doing it... I was finding it a little hard to disagree with the mere existence of a group like this. Had to wonder how many lives they'd saved so far. How many more they would.

Food was done. With a round of smiles, they all left me to myself to make the phone call.

I took out Vicky's phone and stared at it for a moment, just breathing. I realized how much had changed since I first laid hands on it. Sighed. Mal unlocked it for me, and I punched in Sandra's number. I got a little giddy actually, as I took off my headset. I could feel my heart racing.

The phone barely spent any time dialing before she picked up. She must've been up and awake, and got excited at the area code.

God, it took all I had not to start bawling right there. "Honeybear," I managed, my throat tight. "I'm in town, I think. I'm just outside of Waverly."

I heard her gasp in shock. Her voice was a breath. "Mike!" I leaned forward, holding my head in my hand. I was laughing soundlessly from joy, to know how much relief was pouring into her. I could hear the tears in her voice, as she blubbered back to me, "Where?"

I looked up at the camera, barely holding my emotions together. "My friggin' guardian angel, Sandra. New friend of mine. She’s…" I smiled up at the camera, suddenly grateful to my bones now that it was real. "She's the only reason I made it home in time."

The Campaigner

by Keystone Gray

2-02 – Claw 46