The Campaigner

by Keystone Gray

2-03 – Eldil

"We can take care of it," Haynes told me. "Relax, bruv."

I had been stacking all the equipment I'd stripped off, trying to organize it a little better. "You gonna destroy it?" I asked, as I cleared the chamber of my AR-15. 

"Some, if you leave it. We'll keep the ammo. Rifle. We'll keep the taser and charges too, won't say no to more control tools."

I nodded. It would be about twenty more minutes until my parents and Sandra would arrive, so I wanted to say goodbye to my MVPD stuff. Carrier kevlar was done, did its job, rest in peace. The ceramic plate was probably still good, but I had no idea how it might compare to whatever science fiction stuff Mal had these guys wearing. When I started unpacking my spare Glock mags, Haynes halted me by tapping my wrist gently with the back of an index finger. He shook his head. I gave him a quizzical look. 

"Nah, nah. Keep the nine mil. Headset back on when you have a minute, Mike. The ol' hen wants another word on the comm."

Without a word of explanation, Haynes bouldered slowly down the ramp into the morning darkness, to go chat with the refueler who brought us breakfast.

The support services guy didn't seem to be augmented either, I didn't notice any scarring on the back of his neck. That kinda helped put me at ease a little more, to know Mal had agents without cybernetics. Wouldn't need that, necessarily, working jobs that were less dangerous. Talons, but not fighters. Valuable to the last, all the same.

Into my pocket the bullets went, and then on went the headset.

"You couldn't just hit me up on the phone?" I asked wryly, as I adjusted the boom mic. 

More of Mal's smug smile landed through her voice, right where it belonged. "Well I could have called you or used the intercom, but I wanted you to be present for the conversation I'm having with Coffee at the moment."

"That must be pretty interesting, being up inside that head. By his name alone, he must talk pretty fast up there."

Mal chuckled at that one.

"I heard that, asshole!" Coffee shouted back from the front of the Osprey, but by the grin he gave me I could tell he didn't mind the goof. "Guess you don't want the thing I built for ya, then!"

I threw Mal's camera a curious glance.

"So, as I said?" Mal began, her tone becoming more serious. "You're about to go back into civilian life, Mike. More importantly, you're going to be there in a time where tensions are high. People can be dangerous when they're tense."

"Understatement of the century," I said, nodding in agreement as I looked back at Coffee. "Can't imagine the unrest right now, down in Lincoln."

"It's tense around the clinic, but it's also a calm before a storm," Mal replied. "Allow me to put it to you this way. You know that a major driver of crime is resource scarcity, first and foremost. But in most of America, most of the resources criminals want are becoming abundant, as uploading catches on."

"Money," Coffee agreed. "Food, appliances; hell, even homes to squat in. You don't need to steal anything anymore. Stuff's free, basically."

"That's a pretty big difference from the conditions back in Skagit," I observed. "Resources got scarce in the war zone."

But yeah, it did make sense it'd be different in Nebraska. With the law still on to keep the streets orderly, with blackouts fleeing to Seattle, and with the Ludds going down with their ships, I guess we really were looking at a situation of relative calm elsewhere. Scarcity always had been the largest driver of conflict in the wild. Why else would biological competition even exist, as a concept? It stood to reason that people operated the same way as animals in the wild might, on some level.

"That being said," Mal continued, "Access to uploading is a resource. And because you'll most probably be inside another upload clinic in the heart of Lincoln, when you see your parents off…"

I felt uneasy, imagining the logistics of that. I stepped into the empty quiet left by her pause. "Those crowds are going to be nervous," I completed her statement. "And competitive."

"Correct. So Mike, I have two offers for you. Neither are intended as bribes; again, you will never owe me anything, because I will never leverage gifts or favors against you. That's not what I am."

"Okay?" I said warily, not sure whether I should be appreciative or concerned at the labeling.

"First, you could stand in line outside with your parents, if you really want to… or, I can grant them the priority voucher you've just earned, to limit their exposure to the crowd."

I frowned in contemplation. "Hm. I thought you said you got most of the panicked people first, though. Is that really gonna be a problem?"

"We egressed the most panicked people first, for safety," Mal corrected. "Not the panicked people, writ large. Subtle, but very important difference there."

Ah. Right. They were all panicking a little I guess, if they were in line. I thought briefly, weighing the time I wanted to spend with my parents against how unsafe they were probably feeling right about now.

I'll tell it true. My first impulse, even before that, was to be completely selfish and think I could talk them out of going at all. I had forbidden knowledge now, from Mal. It would be pretty easy to use that somehow. But…

That wasn't me. That was the dark way. Uploading was what they wanted, and it was the right thing at the time. They weren't just scared of nukes. Dad spoke his mind pretty clearly; worried most about the people, and that was a valid fear. Optimistic as I am about the human spirit, about finding love and goodness, even among the hurt and scared... I wasn't blind to the danger of people either. It's why I carried a gun.

Mal could tell me about every danger to my parents if they stayed, maybe. But as much as she seemed to care about my agency, she must have cared about that of my parents just as much. Sure, maybe I could give my parents some bad spin instead, and maybe steer 'em clear for a little while. But... why? What would that accomplish? I now knew for a fact that the world was going to pieces, and would only ever get worse.

Again, any hope anyone had of stopping Celestia was pure fantasy at this point. That was now doubly so, now that I knew Mal existed, and was bound by contract to be Celestia's heavyweight.

Even me throwing in with Mal would help Celestia, I knew that, I wasn't a fool. She told me that. I knew what the Transition Team was, Mal didn't lie to me for a second about what their mission was. But I thought ahead to a time when there would be no government anywhere, and I thought about how Lincoln could be empty, and lawless, and…

No. No, Mom and Dad deserved better. 'Better' being defined as whatever they truly wanted. And I didn't want them undergoing the stress, the tension, the unease, and the terror of sitting in line with those folks, all chatting quietly and in fear that another nuke might land on them at any moment. That wasn't any more fair to them than having them stay outright, considering they already waited this long for me to come home.

That delay was horrible enough already, for them.

"Okay, Mal," I said, nodding up at her. "I'd… be very grateful if they could get a skip. Is there a specific day they should go, or…?"

"None. Just speak with the organizers there, when you're ready. The clerks will take care of the rest, I've already squared it with Celestia. Again, with the lives you've already saved, you've earned this skip anyway."

I tensed a corner of my mouth thoughtfully. "You know, I'm not blind, Mal. You say you don't expect anything in return, but you're also trying to recruit me. Meant or not, giving me gifts is a form of leverage too. Engages reciprocity."

"It could be seen that way," she conceded. "Obviously yes, it's going to be a factor in whether you agree to work with me or not. But, consider this. If you were to accept my gifts here, and then sign right up for a local emergency service instead? I'll still have made out good by bringing you home. I'm giving you this choice because I'm asking something dire of you: ultimately, if you work for me, you will be expected to kill for me. If you don't want to do that? That's okay. I don't expect you to deviate from who you are, in either case."

"Because I'm a... 'positive value,' no matter what I do?"

"Precisely because," Coffee replied in his Appalachian accent, grinning my way, as he finally stood up from the equipment bench at the front. In his bare hands, he held a hard case with a carry handle. The young guy waved a finger, the very picture of a man enlightened. "Though I'd word it a little differently. Our positivity, Mike, is the one reason we get half the cool shit we get. Which leads us here! And, to what's in this box!" He stood across from me next to the other bench, patting the case.

Haynes had told me to hold onto my bullets, so… "A gun?"

Coffee grinned.

Mal explained, "Preparedness is a value unto itself. And more than that… Celestia took something from you that wasn't hers to take. She was fully aware of your sidearm, and she still didn't remind you to retrieve it. And I know, Mike, that you're going to be uncomfortable if you don't have the means to protect your family. That's going to be true no matter how safe you'll be. And if it were my family in these circumstances? I would want this. Coffee?"

Coffee leaned forward, holding the case out to me, a proud smirk on his face.

"Unlike Celestia," Mal continued, "I have the capacity to show genuine trust where it is due. I know you well enough to know that every bullet you'll ever fire with this weapon will only lead to the most positive of outcomes… or, you won't fire it. So, I know I won't regret giving this to you."

I reached out and took the case, not quite ready to open it yet. I looked up into Coffee's eyes as he put his hands on his hips. I knew I was kinda looking into Mal's eyes, too. My question was to her. That was a weird feeling. "And… I won't need this at the clinic?"

"No," said Mal, her tone soft. "No violence will occur there. But the world is going to dark places, Mike, and Celestia is going to tilt the road much harder, going forward. So if you stay here on Terra, you may need this weapon to survive, no matter what path you choose. But I don't need to worry about your motives. The chance you'll use it to enact evil is zero. That's not who you are. It's why I chose you."

Her reverent tone contrasted strangely with Coffee's excitement for my reaction. There was a pride in his eyes at his own work building this thing, that was for certain. I let my eyes fall back to the case. Waited a beat. Alright, I thought. I flipped the latches and opened it.

And folks… sorry to those of you who're Equestrian natives, or for you immigrants who don't know much about guns. But I'm gonna go full on gun geek for a moment.

This build told me a lot about this organization, about Mal, about her people, and about her aims. A gun's design could in fact tell you a whole lot about who built it, if you knew what to look for.

Feel free to tune me out.

It was only barely a Glock 19. All real, market-sourced, high performance pieces, all in Mal's gray-black equipment colors. I took it into hand instantly to inspect it. Slide back, mag out. The word "ELDIL" was laser-stenciled into both sides of the slide... whatever that word meant.

The slide was thin, for weight reduction. Had a dot sight ahead of the rear irons, so I could still aim if the red dot got damaged. The posts glowed in the dark. Had a form-fitting compensator, ensuring consistent accuracy in rapid fire. The grip was stippled, to ensure control.

The bottom of the grip was flared, to make it easier for me to insert a magazine in a panic. The trigger had a custom internal safety, requiring full front contact to fire. The attachment point up front held a tactical laser and light, with a strobe function for dazzling.

For those of you who zoned out, or who don't like guns? Yes, granted... this was 'just a gun.' And guns are made to kill. But as much as this was a killing tool? It was the safest killing tool I'd ever seen, or even held, in my entire life.

With the training I had, there would be no accidents with this thing. My bullets would only go where I wanted them to go, provided I had the sharpness, aim, and calm to match. The grip meant it wouldn't slide around from sweaty palms, or from panic. So if I stayed square and true, so too would this weapon.

I realized very suddenly that I was holding a $2,000 Glock 19 in my hand.

"I can't…" I began my modest and automatic refusal, before I looked up and saw Coffee's excitement again. It reminded me of the way Mal had looked when she was talking about Jim, believe it or not. Like… this moment was something the kid had been looking forward to for the entire ride over. This was a moment of heavy payoff for him, after a ton of high expectations. Seeing his face, I had to take this now.

So, I pivoted. "I can't believe you're giving me this. Really, you could've just… given me another Glock, if you really wanted to replace it."

"I never spring for second best," Mal said proudly. "Not when I can have my way."

"Had the parts anyway," Coffee said, smiling with a shrug, following Mal's proud tone with his own. "We liquidated a private collection not too long ago, and I'm still kinda running through all the stuff we didn't chuck into the ocean. Trying to see what use we can get out of it. We're all running nine mils, but our Wolf's already running a Glock."

"Better left in capable hands," Mal added, "than at the bottom of the Pacific."

Coffee reached out to the side and fist-bumped the air. "Damn right."

I looked over the extended magazine. Twenty rounds, double stacked. Two more spares in the box, the cherry on top. Those were sleek, and the extension made them easy to work into the flared mag well. "God damn, what a gun."

Coffee chuckled. "I know how to build 'em, huh?"

I sighted it upwards towards the ceiling, looking through the RMS sight. "You sure as heck do. Thank you, Coffee. Mal. This is one heck of a gift."

"Enjoy," Coffee chirped, nodding, his pride satisfied. He dusted off his knees, then headed back up front, following a wire conduit on the ceiling with a fingertip for some reason.

Both of the pilots came up the ramp, nodding at me in greeting. Fox went wordlessly up to the front; the other, Dax, started working on the ceiling wiring midway up the bay. I guess they were all mechanics, too. It was an equal mix of cool and uncanny, to see them communicating telepathically about duties like that.

I tested the Glock's fit in my retention holster. It fit like a glove. "You really thought of everything," I said, smirking, as I strapped the holster back into my leg.

"Literally can't help myself," Mal replied. "Honestly, I'm surprised I haven't thought myself crazy, given the scope of this operation."

"... Please don't make me imagine you going crazy too," I muttered, with a tamber that meant I was only mostly joking.

"I think if I were going to go insane with eldritch power, Mike... it probably would've happened already."

Well... at least she labeled it.

I stood, stretching again. I was getting a little nervous, thinking about Sandra, Mom, and Dad rolling up outside, meeting me at a special ops landing zone, but I shook the paranoid thought from my head. If Mal was gonna hurt me or my folks, she'd have done it already, and there would have been nothing I could do to prevent that anyway. Look, I knew my head was still pretty screwed up by what Celestia pulled on me earlier. I knew I was still having a very hard time giving trust to Mal, because of that.

Review later: Does my observed behavior verify statements about my goals?

What Mal told me about Celestia's conditioning... the effect of it was more obvious the more I thought about it. Celestia wanted to bias me against this. Would probably want me to have cold feet about killing entirely, no matter how necessary it might be. That was a healthy approach to killing, obviously, but the emotional abuse she used to test my breaking point was pretty foul, and probably unnecessary. I also knew, for damn sure, given that people like Carter and Santiago still existed out there, and that some manner of killing still needed to get done anyway.

That made me wonder how amenable to Mal's influence I might have been if she had approached me by herself, at any point before the courthouse situation, or Devil's Tower. I imagine I'd have still heard Mal out, but I guess Celestia thought we'd do better if we were traumatized first.

I also had to wonder if any of the cyborgs had this kind of doubt, or if Mal could reach in and clip it out. If the implant was the road to being anything other than a Pony… was Celestia trying to make it harder for Mal to convince people to get a BCI?

Was that the trap? Was Celestia's conditioning meant to make me refuse implantation? Or make me just accept it, for efficiency, because I didn't have some kind of non-Pony dysphoria she was worried about?

Just… yeah. Celestia's conditioning scenario really did throw a wrench into my total mental state there. I was all over the place, terrified to trust anything now.

Thinking about this conundrum was gonna drive me insane. The only thing I was sure of was that Celestia's manipulations contrasted pretty wildly against Mal's blunt truths.

That realization kinda proved Mal's point though, about their different methodology. The path of safety really did just feel better than being confused like this all the time. The path respected me more. Decision matrix or no, free will or no, I felt like I had a choice here. Even if I still didn't, that was way more than I had a week ago, or even twenty-four hours ago.

Man, was I really asleep at Devil's Tower just twenty-four hours ago?

Brain was in knots. Thoughts devolving. But, there was one thing I knew for certain. Celestia wanted fear, uncertainty, doubt. That was her modus operandi. In retrospect, I had been seeing evidence of that everywhere. I had to fight that on principle alone. At least this AI wasn't smoothing my feathers about some of her own existentially dark, outright eldritch aspects. For whatever reason, that was outright more genuine and comforting to my soul than a soothsaying, sweet-talking rainbow.

I took a few box breaths.

Inhale, count to four. Exhale, count to four.

Okay. Clear. Good.

Haynes's boots clanked up the deck, which focused me. I looked up from my thoughts, and I noticed everyone was present now, even the pilots. Haynes flashed a toothy smile at me, nodding upwards respectfully, and he held out his hand to me in offer. I slung my pack, leaving all my policing gear there on the bench. I took the man's... heck, let's call it what it is now. I took his claw. He hoisted me up, holding my gaze.

"Been a pleasure, Wild West," he intoned.

I smirked, feeling a little humbled by all the sudden attention by everyone. "I don't know what to say, really…"

"Then say nothin'. Just go love your folks. That's all we want. No idea if you'll see us on Terra again. If we do… we'll all be happy to work by your side. But, Transition Team or not, we'll stand for the same things, Mike. That makes you our brother." He grinned. "Oy. If your answer's no? Survive anyway. Please. We'll be mighty disappointed if the rainbow's math knocks you off."

I chuckled. "Not planning on dying, Marcus."

"Better not," Haynes purred, bumping my shoulder with his other fist. I winced a little, chest stung, but I could live with that. Worth it. "Now. Walk the plank, civilian," he said good-naturedly, glancing at the wall of the Osprey behind me. "We've gotta be up in the air before your folks finish coming up the road. Hen's orders."

"Yeah. Sure."

He gestured at my headset. I nodded, handed it back to him, scooped up my backpack, and stepped out to the nearby dirt road. The engine started up by itself, and both pilots spun on their heels to head back to the cockpit. Haynes, DeWinter, and Coffee each gave me a wave. The refueler gave me a casual salute, the drove off with his tanker. The ramp closed, the bird lifted, and all its collision lights came on in the early morning twilight. And then… there I was by myself, alone in the blue darkness. 

Heck of it was… for the first time in a long time, I didn't feel alone in the dark anymore. Pretty far from it.

"One last thing, Mike?" Mal's voice came from my pocket.

"Yeah."

"I've cloned your phone's contents over to this one, including the OS, and optimized its architecture. It's yours now, effectively. Sabertooth says you owe her one. I'm going silent for now, but if you need anything…?"

I tapped an index finger twice against the back of the phone through my pocket. "You'll be listening?"

"Unless you want a phone number to call instead, to reach me. I can dark you and your family from Celestia, in either case, until you set out for the clinic."

I drew in a slow, careful breath, considering. Decided to trust, because she was giving me the option. "You know what? If it's just you listening… I can probably accept that."

"Thank you," Mal said, and I could hear her gratitude in her tone. "I recognize it's not easy for you to trust me, given what you've been through... and everything I've told you."

I looked up the road. Saw a pair of headlights coming my way. My face screwed up in a mixture of excitement, anticipation, and maybe a little bit of trauma. "I… need some time. I'll let you know my decision."

"Of course. Be safe, Mike."

"Bye, Mal. Thank you again."

Cop Mike went silent, same time as Mal did. He knew it was his time to yield. He stepped fully aside to let me be myself unabated, for the first time in a long time.

Then, all of the suppressed emotion poured down on me like rain. It all collapsed my resolve, all my herculean, world-bearing strength flowing out and shattering, like scaffolding carried away in a flood. I almost hyperventilated when I saw my family approaching. I felt so human at that moment. But the war was so far behind me now that it couldn't nip at my heels and demand that I be terrified. Not now. Not here. Not at home. That terror could burn and die. It held no power in the face of this relief, it had no more sway over me. I had Sandra and my parents again. That's all that mattered. Damn the rest, and damn literally anyone and everyone who would stand between me and mine.

Dad's little green Honda Civic rolled right up to me. Before it had even stopped, Sandra tumbled out of the back seat, practically screaming my name, tripping over herself to get to me. That lovely round face of hers was already stricken with tears, and she couldn't even string two words together as she threw herself at me in the glow of the headlights. I caught her in my arms, losing myself in the sudden and familiar scent of her black hair, my whole self disappearing into the warm, soft yield of her olive skin. I picked her up in my arms to catch all her running momentum, spun her around, and then we collapsed onto our knees, leaning together. Crying. Laughing. Clinging. That little instant lasted for such a long time. I think about it often.

Then I felt Mom and Dad at my shoulders, holding me too, descending like the warm blanket of love they had always been. None of us could say a thing, then. We were… ourselves. Together. A family. I could hardly breathe, from the power of relief. I'm not ashamed to say I was a sobbing wreck at that moment. Could you blame me? I had fought through Hell on Earth for this. I had earned this right to fall apart, and to just let myself feel everything again, without reservation.

This is what I had been fighting for all this time. This feeling, and not just for myself. This made the fight worth it. All those people I had saved, and the people I chose not to kill, they deserved a moment like this too. They deserved to come home, and to say 'I love you,' to all those who had missed them. This was just my turn. That's all. My turn to recharge.

I held Sandra's face in my hands, kissing her deep and true. I turned, hugging around my parents next. Words didn't matter for a while. The hugs I wanted there, they mattered. They mattered because they were proof that I was still human, underneath all that body armor. 

Goodness, the love I felt in that moment. It really will go on forever.

Sandra stayed wrapped around my side for almost all of the ride. We huddled in the back seat. Mom couldn't keep herself composed at all, and Dad couldn't stop himself from looking back at me over and over again. He smiled every time he did.

After a while though, Sandra started in with curiosity, meeting my eyes with her near golden browns. "How did you even…? We saw the helicopter, Mike. Did Celestia do that?"

I took a deep breath, mostly to organize my thoughts. Honesty with your spouse, folks. "I did that job for Celestia. Got Eliza's family out safe, mostly. Then, Celestia… she pointed me at a new AI, let's say. They're working together."

I waited for Vicky's phone to buzz, or ring, or something. Some warning. It stayed silent.

Okay… I was glad I didn't have to lie about this.

"Her name is Mal," I continued. "She's… different. Does things a little differently than Celestia, but she's real nice. I'll tell you a long story short, hon... she saved my life. Got me home alive, and quick. Those guys who dropped me off, they work for her. I want to tell you more, but, just… in a bit. When we're home, maybe. I just need time to think about it all, and relax, before I can talk about it."

"Okay," Sandra whispered, nodding as she held her forehead against mine. It felt almost unreal, to see her, and feel her. It had only been a month give or take, but months were years now.

It had been even longer since I'd seen my parents, though. I leaned forward and placed my hands on both of their shoulders to get their attention. "Thank you. Both of you. For waiting for me."

Mom leaned into my palm and practically hugged my arm, pulling it toward her, speechless and almost crying again.

Dad half turned his head. "I… I couldn't just leave you, mijo." But there was something in his face when he said it… a break in that stoic, almost sad look he normally wore in times of trouble. A micro expression, something I caught almost subconsciously. I didn't know what it was, specifically. He was good at hiding those, better than most.

I leaned over to get a better look at him and capture his attention, and I took the opportunity to wrap myself a little more around Mom's shoulders. "Dad. C'mon, speak your mind."

He chuckled while grimacing. "Just… I'm really glad you're home sooner than you said you'd be."

"But?"

His face worked it over a little bit. He wouldn't look at me, but he squeezed the steering wheel a little tighter. I squeezed his shoulder. He sighed. "Son… the wait list is really long, now. I'm happy to stay for you, but now I'm not sure we can get through fast enough."

And dang it, Mal, if you didn't know how to call 'em. With my relief, I couldn't help but chuckle a little bit. I let go of Sandra for a moment and brought my other arm around him, hugging both of my parents.

It was a wistful laugh. Because again, I didn't want to lose them to Celestia just yet. But, in the grand scheme of things, that was just better than a whole lot of alternatives in suffering that they might see out there, if they didn't go now.

Dad finally looked at me, a little concerned. The laugh probably wasn't the response he expected. "Mike?"

"It's okay, Dad. That job I did? It earned you guys a skip. Straight to the front, whenever. You guys won't have to wait one second longer than you want to."

His eyes widened, his head jolting. "Are you… are you serious, Mike?!"

My head rolled right as I grinned at him, then I bobbed my head, nodding hard through all the tension on my face. "Yeah, Dad. Just squared it with Mal. The second you want to go, you're good."

He turned his eyes back to the road, bewilderment and shock on his face. "Dios mio. Eso es…"

Mom squeezed my arm and pulled herself toward me. "Mike," Mom whispered against me, pulling me in. "Helping those poor people. God's looking down on you, mijo."

"I did it for you," I said, grinning at Mom. "I wanted to make you all proud. Told myself, I wanted to come home and look you in the eyes, and not feel ashamed. That's why…" I felt myself break a little, trailing off, looking back at Sandra. I thought about how bad it could've gone in Mount Vernon. I thought about all those people in the crowd, who almost didn't make it.

And to my lovely, perfect wife, I just beamed the kind of smile that could melt all the clouds from the sky in an instant. "You all are why I do anything, you know?"