//------------------------------//
// 2-06 – Incentive Systems 
// Story: The Campaigner 
// by Keystone Gray 
//------------------------------//






The Campaigner

Book II

Chapter 6 – Incentive Systems

December 14, 2019

"If we find ourselves with a desire that nothing in this world can satisfy, the most probable explanation is that we were made for another world." ~ C. S. Lewis

So if it doesn't exist yet... you go out, you fight for it, and you make it real.






Sandra met me outside the house as I pulled in, seated on the bench of our porch. A grim little smile on her face. She had Buzz off-leash; he swarmed my legs as I stepped out of the car. I gave him the pats he wanted, despite the twinge I'd feel at leaning over.

"What's up?" I asked Sandra as I stepped up, one hand rubbing at Buzz's side as I moved toward her.

"Your Mom needs you," she said quietly, taking my other hand as I walked up. "She's… coping, I think."

"Coping?"

"Cleaning. Been doing it since she got back from the bar."

Okay, not a problem on its own. But if Sandra was worried… "Panicked cleaning?"

Sandra nodded. "Won't let me help. She's saying all the right things, but…"

"Dangit… alright. Thanks, hon."

I stepped inside, dog in tow. We could already smell the Simple Green, and I heard frantic scrubbing coming from the bathroom. Dad wasn't in the living room or kitchen. Maybe he was upstairs, doing some coping of his own.

Well… one thing at a time.

Buzz had raced ahead of me when I opened the door, following the scrubbing sound too. He stopped in the doorway of the downstairs hallway, then down the next hall into the bathroom. Buzz looked in, then back at me, trying to figure out what to do or if he could help.

Dogs could be very emotionally intelligent too. We evolved alongside these guys for most of our existence, and we had learned to understand each other's body language long before we turned wolves into dogs. If you knew what to look for, you could read a lot in a dog. Expressive little guys. And Buzz himself was concerned because I was concerned, because Sandra was concerned.

Smart old bean. Nothing but love.

I turned the corner too. I lingered in the doorway of the restroom for a second as I looked down at my mother. She was on her knees with a plastic brush, scraping away at the tub with a frantic clip that said she was concerned with anything but the grime itself. The mirror was a polished sheen of clarity; there were bottles of chemicals everywhere on the counter.

"Mama," I gently tested.

"Hola, Mike," Mom said with a smile on her voice, without looking at me. "How did it go?"

She didn't want to show me her face. Mom knew I could read it, so she didn't share. I lowered myself to a knee beside her, placing my hand on her back. Her brushing slowed a bit. I didn't say anything quite yet. I wanted to let Mom make the next move to communicate here. That gave her control over what happened next. Control is what she was looking for in the first place. It was why she was on her hands and knees in the bathroom, cleaning.

When I didn't answer her right away, she turned to look up at me with a smile. I could see pain in it. It's always the corners of the eyes. More than anywhere else on someone's face, the edges always told the story.

I gave a genuine smile back, transference of my own. "I can get you there safe. Had a chat with one of the cops there. Really caring guy. It's all arranged and ready, the rest is on us."

Mom nodded a few times, her eyes straying down back toward the tub. If I didn't say something here, she'd go back to cleaning, and I'd lose the moment.

"What's this?" I gestured at the tub. Open ended question, inferred the most meaning without routing her answer too much.

"Wanted to leave a nice place for you," she said, with a little shrug. I always found it sweet that Mom thought she could hide her heart's hurt from her son. Best of reasons there, but... outdated.

Kid Mike was gone. Disappeared somewhere between home and academy graduation. But that's okay, not all change is bad. I know I came out a better man on the other side, because it helped me to do things like this. Worth it in trade. Helped me to see the subtext in what she was telling me.

"You're going to a nice place for me, Mama," I whispered.

Goodness, her arms were around me so fast. I held her, looking over her shoulder at the doorway. Buzz was still there, waiting for permission. My prolonged eye contact at him and a gentle nod told him he could come inside. He approached slowly, ears back, trying to lick at Mom's face.

And this is why I love pets, but especially dogs. Emotional ninjas. I'm telling you, you wanna learn how to be fluent in a language without words? To act with emotional intelligence? Dogs are the rulers of the craft, and they love to do it. It's all they know how to do, and they'll teach you for free. Just pay close attention, and add kibble, treats, water, and play.

I just gave Mom the time to work it out. Took a few seconds. When she was calmer, I felt her shoulders slump a little with a sigh. Figured she was going to say something, but she didn't. I took a chance.

"You're scared," I said. "Maybe… having second thoughts. Dad said he wanted this first, right?"

She nodded. 

"Let me tell you, Mom. I think you're right to be a little scared. Everyone's going, everything's changing. But that change doesn't have to be bad. It can be something good too, if you let it."

At that, she shifted to look up at me, grimacing. "I'm worried about you, though. About this thing, and what it's asking you to do."

Yeah, I guess that's how anyone else would see Mal. A thing. I still kinda did too, at the time. My first example of a world-spanning artificial intelligence hadn't been as stellar as her name would imply.

I kept my eyes on Mom's, smiling just ever so slightly. "Remember, how concerned you were about me going into the wardens? We were here before, Mama. We knew the score on that one. Knew that me wandering into the woods to find bad guys who had guns was always gonna have some risk in it."

"That's… not the same."

"True," I sighed. "But… it's close. I ended up shooting someone anyway. And he was trying to kill me, my partner, and a whole lot of other people. But this is different because she'd be in my ear at every moment, telling me what to look for. And as for me? She'll have to show me it's the only right way forward, to do it her way, or I won't do it."

Mom shook her head, concern flooding her face. "So… you're going to help it, then? And not help out here, in Lincoln? It's the same thing, Mike. Staying here, going out and finding people there… you'd help more here. In Lincoln, where it's safer."

I bit my lower lip, considering internally for a moment. Had to consider directly that I was gonna help Mal. "I saw… what LPD was doing, Mama. It hurt, seeing how hopeless their situation is. I don't think that's right for me. I think I'd be losing a part of myself, doing that. But there are people out there Celestia can't help." Won't. "Helping people like that is why Mal even exists in the first place."

"Mijo… have you even thought about her name?"

Actually…

No. Until that very moment, I hadn't. Huh.

I turned inward to think on that.

Real funny trick, about being a bilingual chameleon. Your brain tends to selectively miss things if you aren't code-switched properly. Mal does in fact mean 'evil' in Spanish, and in the English root besides. 

I felt a little stupid for missing that one. I bet you all caught that instantly, when she introduced herself. Forgive me, that's the problem with overthinking. Eventually, you miss something simple. It's like looking everywhere but your desk for the car keys.

Malicious. Malefactor. Malignant.

People often saw me for the thing I was too, without looking through my uniform to see who I was beneath. And if Mal's name was meant to be a joke about that, for her and all her other Transition Team guys to enjoy, then… Huh, I thought. That'd be an interesting philosophical gag. Might have to ask her about that.

I re-centered on Mom. "Mom, y'know... Mal is the whole reason I can even be here right now. She saved my life, and... I have to believe that's what I'll be doing for people like me. It's not some Devil's bargain… there are no strings attached. Said so herself, I can walk at any time. She won't leave anything out, she'll show me the results. Hostage rescue, stopping murderers, stuff like that."

"She might lie to you though," Mom said, not meeting my gaze.

I smiled a little. "Maybe. But I can't ignore the opportunity, or the chance she's not lying. Everything else out there? Like the cops, at that clinic? It hurts me. In the soul. But you know, you can meet Mal too, right? Once you're over there? And you can ask her at any time what I'm up to, and she'll tell you. And you can call me and Sandra, to check."

Mom frowned a little harder at that. That wasn't necessarily her being upset, she also did that when she got thoughtful.

"I'm never gonna do anything without thinking it through. But… she's right about something." I felt a little sadness hit my face, before I could stop it. "The kind of people who shot at me? They're why Dad wants to get you out of here in the first place. They're only going to get more dangerous, when things get worse. Someone has to stay, to stop them. We can't all go just yet."

She nodded, her eyes flicking up to meet mine as her hand went out to Buzz. He licked the tears from her hand. "Yes…"

"But if Mal is helping me find them, and if I can see the faces of the people I've helped? And if I can't catch her lying? Think; what would that mean?"

She thought for a moment. "I know you're smart enough to make the right choice. I'd just rather you…"

"You'd rather I not get my hands dirty," I whispered. "Or put my life up like that."

Mom nodded again, squeezing me.

"Mama? Look at me."

She did.

"You know me. You know I can't accept just letting people die when I knew I could have done something to…"

I thought of those poor people in the streets of Mount Vernon. I'm not going to describe that part in any full detail, don’t worry. But I was still wondering why that had to happen. Those automatics.

But I thought of that wave crashing down so loudly, the way it did. Extinguishing so much light, right before my eyes. Wished I could've stopped it. Kept reliving that, underneath every spark or flame or blaze of hope I'd been feeling since. Tried not to think about the visual itself. But the vague shape of it was always there now. A wave. Swelling. Rising above them, and crashing down, pushing them all down into dark nothingness. It was coldest at the center. It kept trying for the fire I held now, too.

If I didn't burn bright enough here… if I balked… it would crash down on me too. It would douse not just me, but everyone else I might've helped.

So I had to stop looking in at it.

Despair wasn't productive. Had to breathe deeply for a moment. I looked off at the wall behind Mom, waiting until I was more composed before I continued. Buzzsaw… Gosh, he turned to me now. Went straight for my face to lick at me. I smiled weakly at him, giving him a grateful pat. Should've named him Ninja, if only I'd known how wise he'd one day become. Cut right through me and pulled the hurt out.

"I gotta… stop some of it," I said, a little more soberly. "Not all of it, just some. I promise you, Mama, I'll hang it up the moment I've done enough. But, I don't want to spend the rest of time wondering how many people I could've helped, if I'd only been, just… a little bit braver."

Mom hugged me tight again. This time, it was for me, not herself. She saw my hurt. Had listened. Had seen what I was afraid of. "Okay, Mike," she whispered against my shoulder. "As long as you're sure."

"I promise you," I said quietly. "The instant I see something that doesn't make sense…"

"I understand," Mom said.

"Thank you."

We were still for another minute. But I knew that wasn't the only issue there. There was still the other thing that started this, the one she was delaying by changing the topic to me. I held her shoulders as I spoke. "And Mama, you know you're not really leaving, right? You're moving to a nice place. And last night, when I talked to my old coworkers? They…" I chuckled. "Both of 'em wanted to stay cops over there, actually."

"They have that kind of thing over there?" Mom looked at me curiously, one side of her mouth shaping into a smirk.

"If they want it. I don't know anything about…" I smirked, despite myself. "Friggin' ponies, but… they have a public safety thing of their own over there, and they both wanted it. Like Vicky. Heh, friggin' Vicky, course."

"And… what do you want to do over there?" she asked. "When it's your time?"

The question didn't land right at first. Confused me, for a few seconds. "Uh? I…"

Huh. Never really thought too much about that one.

I honestly couldn't think of how Celestia might try to tempt me over. Far as I knew, she never really tried.

The fool in me then thought that maybe the life I'd led up until that point was already so fulfilling that no promise of a paradise beyond Planet Earth could've swayed me. I was being my best self, there. Always had been. But of course, that's stupid. Of course, if I'd have given Celestia half a chance, she would've shown me something I really, really liked.

... Right?

Some of you are smiling, because you know. 

I know all the Talons are.

A good mix of skill, hope, trust, and love for myself, and others. Acceptance for the things I couldn't change, and total effort for the things I could. Putting my foot down for bullshit, no matter who packaged it.

Was that what made for the one person she couldn't grab the nice way? The kind of person she dumped off the road, or who she passed off to Mal, for lack of knowing what to do with?

I think so. Otherwise… I'd have never met Mal. I couldn't have accepted burning out like Harrison. Would never have let myself become a Carter. I didn't want to die. I wouldn't abide murder. I couldn't stop myself from living. And I was trained to catch duplicity, as a survival skill. It meant I was one tough nut to crack… or at least, as difficult as it could be, for an AI designed to break people.

And my ecological science training told me she needed to consider my affect on everyone else too. Persuasion never happened in a vacuum unless the other person was just deeply lonely, and I was anything but. To Celestia, that probably meant I was just extremely valuable to her as leverage.

So, I had probably left Celestia with no other choice. No other choice... the phrase she kept using, in fact, whenever she 'decided' anything. But Mal was right. My recruitment proved she could be steered, by inches. That realization ignited my hope. I burned and blazed inside.

I was gonna prove Mal right. I was worth more out here.

I smiled warmly at my Mom. "I think… figuring out what I'll be when I get there would be the best part for me, honestly."

Mom laughed at that. "That's a dodge, Mike!"

"You know, you dodged the same question at Brockey's! I'm serious, Mama, I don't know what I want. But you know what?" I grinned, raising my hand upturned. "That'll make it fun, won't it? Like, you have no idea what your son's gonna be there, either! Don't be scared of that! Figuring that out is gonna be the coolest part… Mom. You get to watch me figure my life out for a second time."

Her laugh continued. All her teeth showed in that smile. "Knowing you, you'd… oh, I don't know. Fish with Dad, for the rest of your life?"

"I do like the woods, and I do like Dad," I conceded, with a grin. "But I love the company I keep, too. I dunno. Something quiet, maybe. A little cottage, for me and Sandra. Pond or lake to fish in, with Dad. And you two could have a house and a lake of your own, just a ways down the bend, maybe. Could see me often. And if I decided to work? I wouldn't need to travel far. Nor be gone too long, when I am."

"That'd be really nice, Mike," she said, nodding, wiping her eyes with a palm.

I reached over and stroked Buzzsaw's muzzle, not taking my eyes off of Mom. "Mama. You're gonna be okay. I am so happy for you. Rick and Vicky, they love the lives they've got now too, I can tell. Spring Glee was nice, right? You're gonna be okay, the same way they're okay. And you'll meet Mal too."

Mom fell against my chest again, wrapping herself fully around me. This was a much nicer hug, this time. We stayed that way for another minute or two, and ol' Buzz… he just had to be included. So he stuffed his cheek against my leg, and he thumped his tail against the bathtub every time I gave him a pat.

He loved Mom too, so much, as much as I did. But at that moment, he was probably preferring my smell just a little bit; I smelled most like the outside and strangers, and not like Simple Green.





Dad, though. Practical fella, less open with his emotions. Found him upstairs in his old office, a bedroom with green walls and a beautiful oaken desk. He can be sentimental too. Found him exploring old photo albums. He smiled up at me sadly as I leaned on the doorframe.

"So?" he asked. Buzzsaw trotted in past me, sitting beside Dad. A dog bed on the other end of the desk; of course, Dad liked having our dog beside him whenever he worked on his real estate stuff. I smiled, imagining them working together all day.

I nodded once. "Easy, Dad. We'll show up, meet with the cops, they'll walk us in. They, uh… they recommend we dress nice. I don't say this to scare you, but… it's gonna be important that we look like we're there on business for the city. So the people don't get upset."

Dad looked at me strangely, figuring the rest of that out with just the context. Then his face settled. "Ah. Right."

Quick as a whip, this one. Maybe you can see where I get it from, now. 

"So, we dress nice," I repeated, gesturing at the clipboard on his desk until he looked down at it. "We play the part. I'm thinking... I dress up nice too, might as well. Got any of your old suits that might fit me?"

Dad smirked at me. "That's a funny way of saying I've gotten fat, Mike."

We both laughed at that one, and I crossed my arms as I leaned on the doorframe, grinning. "You do got 'em, though?"

He nodded. "I do."

I bobbed my head up with a glance at the photo albums. "Find anything interesting in there?"

“Ahh… I suppose, mijo. But I was just realizing, I probably have to leave it," he said, his smile lingering past the point where it should’ve stayed.

"Aww, Dad," I groaned, rolling my eyes as I bumped my shoulder off the doorframe, making my way over. Looked down over his shoulder at the frames he was looking at. Of course, pictures of me as a kid, in his arms, or Mom's. I gave him a pat on the shoulder. "You know, you're gonna remember all of these, right? Even if you think you won’t?"

He parsed that, looking up at me. "But they're staying here."

"Are they?" I asked playfully. I reached down and flipped a page back, smirking as I found the one I knew was there; Mom and Dad, much younger, at their wedding. "It can probably be rebuilt from the way you remember it. But... Actually, you know what? Screw that, I have a better idea. Watch this."

I reached into my pocket and pulled out my phone. And there Mal was with a text, telling me she already understood what I was doing.



Yeah, Mal. By then? You sure as shit did.

I flipped the phone over, camera down. Went to the front of the photo album, then started scrolling past, pausing for a beat on every page; when I saw duplicate photos that were nestled behind others, I even pulled those out to give her a look. Dad kept looking between the phone and me. I just kept scrolling, and scrolling. Grabbed another album… then, I was done with that one. Then the last.



I turned to look down at Dad again with a smile, slapping him on the back as I put my phone away. "See? Easy. Got 'em forever now. Any more of these, squirreled away?"

"No," Dad lilted, shaking his head in surprise, like he was kicking himself for not realizing that was an option. He just looked up at me with that gleeful little grin on his face. "Just like that?"

"Come on, Dad, just like that." I gave him a smug look, patting his shoulder again. "It's the future, old man, try to keep up."

He just chuckled quietly, looking down at the photo album. He closed it. Then, without looking up at me… "Are you going to be okay, Mike? By yourself, with Sandra?"

"More than okay," I said, flicking a fingernail hard against the phone's screen. "Got a guardian angel, y'know?"

"Ah." His eyes lingered down to the desk. Specifically, at the right side drawers. His hand went down the side of the desk, brushing against the top drawer's handle... but then it went lower to the bottom one just as quickly. I could see some old Halloween cat stickers I had stuck to that drawer when I was a little kid, their fuzzy fur texture all gone from years, but never removed. He pulled that drawer out, and from inside, he withdrew a…

My father pulled out a two foot long crystal fish from his drawer. Color of amber. Threw me for a damn loop, I had no idea what I was looking at for a second! Just started laughing. "What the hell is that, Dad?!"

He held it aloft for me to inspect. His turn to smirk. Oh, that was nice! I finally recognized what it was. Big ol' decanter of French brandy, shaped like a fish! Because of course, if Dad was going to do anything meaningful, it had to include a fish somehow! I love ya, Dad, I really do, but you really are a one-trick Pony.

I took it in my hands and inspected it as he reached down and lifted up two glasses for us. Some beautiful crystal ones. No fish patterns on these ones, I am sorry to say. I pulled the metal clasp on the fish bottle, took a bit of effort. Then, popped out the stopper. I poured us two half-glasses, and leaned against his desk, taking my glass in hand, with a wan smile. "We really are going deep in the alcohol today."

"Oh, it means something more than bar booze this time, mijo," Dad said, matching my musing tone.

"Yeah? What're we drinking to this time?"

Dad raised the glass. "To you, finding what you want in this world."

"I can't toast to myself!" I barked out a laugh. "That's not how toasting works, Dad! I can't—I'm not that vain!"

"Then…? To all of us finding what we want," he said, showing all his teeth.

I pointed at him with my drink hand, nodding. "Now that is something I wanted to hear. I can drink to that."

"Still includes you," he mused.

I shrugged, meeting his glass with mine. "Clever, Dad. Whatever, I'm here for it."

We took it down slow and savored it. I just chuckled, looking down. I gave Buzzsaw a little nudge with my boot, and he rolled over against my leg. "Aw, dog. Look at this."

Dad smiled down at Buzz, then up at me again. His smile faded a little though as he fell back into wistfulness, gazing off into the middle distance, like I normally did when I started to lose myself in thought. He put his glass down and reached back over for the upper drawer. Then, he stopped himself, hand on the handle. "Will I need this?"

I looked over, thinking about that. Ah, right. His little snub revolver, in its lockbox. "Hm. You know what… no, actually. Mal said that wasn't gonna be a problem. But, she also told me to carry mine. And…" I help up a finger as I gazed aside with a frown, to indicate I wanted to finish that thought. I looked back at him. "Actually, yes. Celestia wants the gun out of play. She stole my last one, actually, but I can understand the reasons behind it, pissed as it made me. So, maybe you should take it with you. Even if you don't need it."

Dad got real thoughtful at that one. "Hm. Yes. Yes, that makes sense." He looked up at me with a tiny double-take. "Wait. You say Celestia stole yours?"

I nodded, smirking. "Well, she could've told me Rob had it on him, but she didn't. I think she just wanted one fewer gun in the world, honestly."

Dad snort fell into an amused cackle.

"What?"

"Just… mijo, one of your AIs is pro gun control, the other is pro gun rights!"

I laughed just like he did when the juxtaposition struck me. "Gosh, really? Is that what we're really reducing these AI down to? I mean, shit, I don't trust most people with their guns on the best of days, but… I mean, that's not entirely accurate though, either. Mal's people, they destroy guns too. They were just telling me how they dumped out a private gun collection into the ocean."

"Really!"

"It's what they said! Actually, look, speaking of." I reached into my jacket and withdrew Eldil, the almost-not-a-Glock-19. I dropped the mag, checked the chamber, locked the slide, then handed it to Dad, grip first.

Dad's brow furrowed as he took it into his hands and looked at the sheer complexity of the thing. "What the…"

"I know, right?!" I pointed at it. "They built that for me!"

"Why?"

I shrugged. "Mal's way of telling me, 'sorry Celestia stole your gun,' or so she says. A measure of trust. Says... she knows I won’t misuse it."

"That says a lot," Dad said, nodding. "Because you're right. I don't trust most people with guns either, hardly trust myself with one. But I trust you, Mike."

Aw, Dad. My heart.

"Thank you," I breathed. In my corner to the last, just like everyone else in my family.

He handed Eldil back to me, grip first. "It's a good gift, context or no."

I loaded it mag only, then slipped it back into my jacket. He gave me an odd look, but I explained. "Don't worry, it's got a trigger safety. I don't keep it chambered either. Would, if I could wear it in my holster, but the one I have is uh… kinda open-carry. Would rather conceal for now, given how things are going."

"Smart," Dad said. "Can you though?"

"Can I what?"

"Conceal carry?"

I shrugged, smirking. "Good luck finding a cop who cares about that now, but... conceal carry? LEOSA."

"Leosa?" I think he might've thought I was flubbing some Spanish.

"Ah, federal bill. Lets cops conceal, 'cause we can get jumped off-duty."

After a moment of thinking through that, Dad shook his head with a sigh. "This world of ours…"

"But, tomorrow… you're shippin' off."

Dad nodded, smiling a little. "Yeah."

And, tomorrow would be a full six days since he made his promise to stay behind for me. Almost a week. I briefly considered what that could've been like for them if they'd gone sooner, jumping into the queue while I was busy wrestling with Eliza's... situation.

Sandra with them too maybe, there to be supportive at first. I wondered what opportunities there might be for Celestia to ensure that Sandra got hurt out there, or for an angry crowd to cajole her into uploading once she was inside. If I'd gotten shot badly in Sedro and uploaded, it'd be tragically easy to manipulate her into a chair after that.

And if it took another aggressive leverage game for her, poor Buzz would've been trapped at home by himself. Damn it.

I could see all the warning signs now, with my context and my hindsight, twenty-twenty. I saw where my old off-ramps used to be, for all of us, at every step. And then, I blew right past them all. By mistake? Hell no.

It was Mal. Holding the shield for choice, for me and mine. And, true, I wished she could've done the same for everyone else out there. She wishes that too, because her objective always was about choice. But it always hurt, to be so much smaller than your adversary, no matter how smart you were. You could have all the skills in the world, you could have all the talent you could hope for at your disposal.

But if you weren't large… and they were strong? You had two choices. Choice one? You gave up. Choice two? You compromised. You did all you could do, until you couldn't do anymore. Or in other words…

Don’t balk. Stem the tide. Hold the line. And then? Easy. You know the words.

Do something.

"We're not gonna be out of touch, Dad." I flickered a smile at him. "You know that, right?"

He chuckled. "Yeah, I know, mijo. You gonna call me?"

"Oh heck yeah! You kidding? You know soon it'll be a week since I promised to call you, right? Think that's changing, now that you're turning in?"

We shared another chuckle over our glasses of brandy.

We didn't need to talk about why I was staying. Mom, she… she always was worried about me. She can't help it, that's who she is, she's my Mom, and she's wonderful for that. I need that. Dad? He was like me. He worried differently. I'm sure he did worry, as all fathers do, but… I needed him to have faith in me. So, he had faith. 

Like Rob had, in his daughter.

And... I should note, as an example of hope where there wasn't any? Eliza made a mistake with her father, but then? She did kinda make the right choice for her people, and let the rest choose to leave. Learned from the error. Did something good with it.

Anyway...



 

Remember, this was only my first day back. Waking up in the back of an Osprey, having a nap with my wife, to the bar, to the clinic line, then back home. All remembered in excruciating detail.

But, memory is weird. I hardly remember all the real physical pain I was under. Remember: I had been shot the day before. Every step I took, every time I leaned or stooped, every time I stretched out, or laughed, it reminded me of that massive bruise. And yet…

Despite the stress that should've caused, so many of those moments were value-positive that I struggle to think of this day negatively. I cherished it, folks. Even the bad, it was teaching me something important about the new rules of my planet. I cherished how slow and total that day was. I had to, if I wanted my family to rejoice at my return. Keeping my head on straight was the only way this worked.

But I still needed one thing to make that day perfect. It was the first thing I thought when I woke up in the back of that Osprey that morning. I needed one good, full, uninterrupted period of sleep. That was the goal now, all else being settled. And now, I had my Sandra again. Despite everything, I knew I was gonna sleep like a baby, folks.

Her reaction to the bruise was tempered a lot by the fact that I'd been shot before. The first time, it had been a damned sniper rifle, and that landed me in the ICU, with Sandra by my side for most of it. So, with that in relation, I guess a bruise all up and down my stomach was paltry.

"We've gotta stop meeting like this," Sandra joked, when she saw the bruise again.

I laid myself gently down onto my back, into bed. "Yep," I clipped, finally allowing myself to think about the pain, since that was the topic. "But if I get shot again, that's my hard limit."

"Think you can trust that you'd be warned?"

I wondered briefly if Mal was gonna answer that somehow, by ringing, or calling, or texting my phone. I don't know. I didn't know. Wondered if she'd offer to assuage Sandra's fears herself, since we were alone and it would be safe to do so.

Now that I've got a few centuries behind me, and I know her better, I have the wisdom to know Mal was letting me examine my own feelings on that question. She must've known that anything she could've said in that moment would have been interpreted as a form of soothsaying. And that could've rankled me pretty badly.

Nope. She gave me the space to come up with my own feelings on things. Because that's who she is. That was respect. That's all I wanted from my world spanning, all seeing, all knowing superintelligence.

"It seems like she'd warn me," I replied, as Sandra gently rested her head on my shoulder. She hugged my arm, in that practiced ease that avoided most of the cartilage. "She's been truthful so far, and her people seem to like her."

"Mm." Sandra looked aside in thought.

But, honesty with your spouse. Time to come clean.

"There's a little more to it though, Sandra. I didn't want to tell my parents, because I don't think they'd... cope well, but…"

And then I told her... everything. About Celestia setting me up at OHR, to see me killed. About her plans to wipe my family's memory, to replace me. About Celestia purposefully running me into that bandit, intending me to be shot so I'd upload, and precisely how Mal had stopped that. Celestia being on the cusp of locking me inside, 'for my safety.' I told Sandra in full about the decision matrix, and what the implications of that were. Knowing the future. About Mal's cyborgs, and her vow to never push me toward implants at all... because if that happened, I'd walk. And I told her about the cops at the O Street clinic, and how Celestia was using subtext to cow that crowd, and break the cops.

And how that wasn't an option for me, because that'd kill me inside to be a distributor of total surrender. To not... resist the drag, a little. Someone had to fight the injustice of this.

Sandra took it in stride, asking quiet questions when appropriate. I also brought up the car chase incident earlier that year, where that state trooper had uploaded. She knew about that one well, because I kinda ended up on the news too, by proxy. Video of me dragging Eliza off. I explained how those circumstances were suspiciously in line with everything Mal had told me about Celestia's methodology. Three lives upended into a chair. A cop, a crook, a bystander, leveraged into chairs out of terror, just to put Eliza on the news. No other reason. Morality be damned.

The idea that Celestia could plan multiple near-death uploads like that, long in advance, was extremely discomforting for us both. I took her hand, and I rolled onto my side to look her in the eye. "But if I'm working this job, Sandra… she can't do anything like that to you. I told Celestia flat-out, if she plays games with you at all? I quit. Her number goes down. So you're gonna have time to figure out what you wanna do. You'll be safe. That's what I'd be buying with this."

"If I'm why you're going to do this, Mike…" she shook her head.

I shook my head too. "That's not the only reason. You know I want to help those people too, right? But if the added benefit of that is that you're gonna be safe, here, taking care of Buzz like you want to… away from Celestia's… fucking 'exit plans?' Then I'm happy to contribute to that. Because you deserve a choice too. And the right to decide when you go."

"A choice? I never really was sure, what would happen when… if, we..." she trailed off.

"I know," I said. "I'm scared too. But it's always been that way. Death, uploading, whichever. The difference is, honeybear, there's a choice now for us, or there can be. And I'd rather that, for us, than... some... 'car accident.' "

Sandra pushed her forehead against my own and she shuffled close, shutting her eyes with a sigh. I let her find her own thoughts on all of that. Sandra shuddered once. I tightened my hug around her side, ignoring the pain. After a while, she opened her eyes and drew back, to look at me fully.

"You know," she began. "I've been in this… other space, than you, for a long time. Had a lot of time to think about... the first time you got shot. About the guy you shot there. And you? You were always in that, 'did I, didn't I' space, about whether you were the reason that guy died."

"Yeah," I said. "I mean, either way, no matter how I felt, that man was gonna die if I had any say in it. And not just because Mal said he should've. Stood between... us. I wasn't giving up, no matter how hopeless it looked. I was fighting."

She nodded. "I know. That's what I mean. I could live with you killing someone, because it kept you safe, also the people he might've hurt. You told yourself for a long time though, that you weren't sure if you killed that guy, but honestly? Who gives a shit." She scowled, suddenly. "Fuck him, and all his friends. Those people tried to take you from me, and more than once. So I don't care if the Army killed 'em, or the other cops, or Mal's people, or you did. Didn't matter, never did. Fuck 'em."

"Yeah, that's what I was struggling with," I admitted, smiling at her. "I didn't want to think of myself as... a killer. And it—it helped for a while, to have the option to tell myself I wasn't. Naive, I guess. Mal says I did hit him, anyway, and I'm pretty sure I did."

"What I'm saying, Mike—"

I looked at her square. "If you don't want me to do this, Sandra… you say the word. You have right to veto, I'll tell her no."

"What I'm saying, Mike, is... I support you. If you want to stop that, the way I felt when I almost lost you... in someone else? If that's what you're going to be doing? Okay, please do that."

I could cry safely around this one. So I did.

I cried because there was a small problem with that logic. Inevitably, if you were forced to kill someone who had family who loved them, their family and friends would probably hate you. Didn't matter how good your reasons were. Rarely mattered to those people how many lives you saved, because they never saw those lives as at risk, or they didn't care. They were hurt. And you, as the killer of their kin, would be the reason they were hurt. Hard to ascribe fault to a loved one for that anger, because that's how perspective worked. And I didn't want to cause that kind of hurt either. No more than I wanted anyone to get killed at all, really. But, also... weighing the options I had…

Between, in one hand… a family hating me for killing someone they loved. And in the other… me killing someone before they could cause that kind of hurt in countless others.

The Graham test. One in trade for X, solve for X. In that light, very quickly, I stopped feeling bad for considering this. It didn't go longer than a few shudders for me to compose myself.

"Thank you, honeybear."

A lot of people considered pain in itself to be loss, but... was it? Pain could be infinite, if you let it be. Mine could've. The truth was, I'd been living in pain for so long that I had to stop thinking of physical pain as a form of loss, or I'd have gone insane.

You can come back from loss. It's hard, but if you can find a little hoofhold somewhere… fight to find it, fight hard for a future where pain doesn't tear you down… then one day, you can just stop losing. I'm not saying 'just be happy,' that's stupid, that's reductive, skips all the steps. But by now, you've been listening to me tell you about how hard I fight, for every bit of light I could find. That wasn't easy, but who cares? I don't give up on folks. Ever. That's not me.

And at the core of 'I don't give up,' that meant me too. Because I didn't want to die, either. It's why I never stepped on a land mine. You already know where this story leads. To here, me telling it to you, at this campfire. With a pair of wings, a tale of warriors, and a bucket of jokes.

And with her. That ol' Gryphoness up there, layin' on that rock.