Training and the story of a hot day in Chicago

Kim took a deep breath. She'd been running every day since she'd gotten out, as well as using some of the gadgets designed to help people stay in shape—the "resistance suit" took some getting used to—a sheathe of nanofiber that could increase the resistance to the wearers muscles from "running up a small slope" to "going up Mt. Everest with a bag of rocks." Kim was proud about that last—she'd been on the maximum setting for the last several days and was even getting back to her old levels with the dodging and moving, to say nothing of the martial arts. Not having to hold back when fighting synthodrones made for fast learning…as did sparring with Ron.

Although that was odd. She hadn't sparred with Ron much before…. And he certainly hadn't beaten her on a regular basis. Now, even when Kim won it was a near thing… She shook her head, and dodged back barely missing the synthodrone that came after her. Yori was in the control room—that was an ironclad rule, Ron had told her, that someone was always present during a simulation.

"why didn't they make more?" Kim asked.

"Don't ask." Ron groaned from the bed beside her. "Or rather, do ask, if you want to hear a lot of people start cursing… in fact ask about 'project Nautilus'"

"Bad?"

"How does a semi-sentient sub with it's own synthodrone construction facilities and half of a battleships firepower going rogue sound."

"Bad."

"Yap. Put Yori off sushi for a year…"

"Eep!" She said, as the synthodrone she was sparring with took advantage of her distraction. The late, unlamented Erik had been a very advanced model…literally one of a kind, and evidently Drakkens later attempts hadn't been that successful.

Which didn't mean that these synthodrones were easy…especially back up by the dojo's supercomputer, which was feeding them information about Kim's martial arts skills via a hyper heuristic learning program. Kim grabbed the drone and flipped over her shoulder, using a move that had knocked it out yesterday and was reminded of that. The drone hit the wall and used the surface of the wall to spring back at Kim. She dropped down letting it go over her head, and kicked it in the back of its head, hard. Maybe too hard she suddenly realized as the drone went down and stopped moving.

"Simulation terminated. One hostile neutralized. 80 percent probability of death or permanent incapacitation from trauma to the neck vertebrae." The computer continued telling Kim how she had done, aided by holographic displays.

She hadn't meant to "kill" it, Kim thought, but now it was getting too fast for her to take her time. She'd like to say it was because she was slow, but Kim was getting closer to her old norms, she knew and the computer was keeping up.

A clapping sound filled the chamber, and Kim turned and blinked as she saw Tara standing there.

"Tara!" Kim said, as the woman held out a towel to her. "Where's Yori?"

"Upstairs, trying to calm your boyfriend down."

"What happened?"

"The fellow who was feeding him bad cheese is now claiming it was a plot to improve Bueno Nacho's bottom line, so he could bribe you to submit to his lusts."

"What?"

"I know. From the complaints of the neighbors, I'd say it would be more like he could afford the hospital bills from you ravishing him…" Tara grinned, "Actually, it's pretty much just a metric ton of paperwork from the Department of Justice and FDA that he's having to wade through."

"Should I go?"

"Kim…" Tara said, "it involves food…and food preparation. Do you really want to get anywhere near that room?"

"Probably not." Kim agreed.

"In any case, I have good news."

"What?"

"Ron's sick of you beating up his robots and so by the official order of Colonel Verne, you have been cleared to be exposed to the gentle caresses of the Lowerton Urban Combat Training Center, under the kindly eye of several people including James." She paused, "You poor fool. Kim, there's time enough to go to a psychologist and get this sad masochist tendency cleared up."

"I've been doing pretty good here." Kim pointed out.

"Maybe." Tara said, "But this is… well different." She didn't elaborate, but turned to the wall and checked the readouts. "Haven't done much weapons, I see."

"I'm not allowed to even be near the real thing, so why work on them?"

"James will fix that." Tara said.

"Tara?"

"Yeah?" Tara said as she followed Kim into the shower room as Kim stripped off the padded practice gear. Cheerleading… followed by a decade in prison had cured her of any body shyness and she stripped and showered down while talking.

"Mom… Mom doesn't like you much."

"Not really, not any more." Tara said, "As much because I don't think we did wrong." She paused, "She told you about the Afghan cock up, right?"

"Cock up?"

"Sorry, James' bad influence on me." She looked over at Kim, "They had it coming."

"I know but…" Kim didn't know how exactly to put it. Tara looked at her a moment as she was toweling off and dressing. Then, as Kim finished, Tara got a small smile on her face.

"You know, but how could cheerleader Tara change into some strange psychobitch who enjoys dropping 2000 lb, bombs on her enemies?"

"Kinda."

"July 2nd, 2010." Tara said, "or for me, about two weeks later, when I was shipped out, wet behind the ears, but an official, newly commissioned Lieutenant in the United States Marine corps." She looked over at Kim, sitting on the bench, "You know pretty much what happened."

"I've read about it."

"I lived it. Smelled it." She shrugged, "Chicago was the worst. They'd already put the anthrax out, of course, and everyone with a sniffle was convinced they were dying… and then, while the idiots in Washington were deciding if it was worth turning off someone's Porn on Demand on the internet, the terrorists hijacked half the news services in the nation and started telling people that it wasn't just Anthrax but smallpox, engineered influenza, you name it." She shook her head. "Panic in a theater is bad enough, this was panic all over the US—people getting sick because they were worried sick and then convincing them, and others that they were contagious." She laughed, "My best friend from basic got killed on a road block on the I15 by Corona, California. Fifteen men under his command and they were ordered to secure a road against what must have been half the Inland Empire trying to go…somewhere. I doubt they knew where."

"Where were you?"

"Chicago." She said, and suddenly Tara's blue eyes were distant. "People were going for the hospitals. Everyone knows that a hospital is where you get cured, right? Never mind that most hospitals are pretty close to capacity on a good day. That day… that week, there were tens of thousands heading for each and every one. Most of them not sick, some sick and some…some I don't know. Maybe being crazy in the head qualifies as sick." She shook her head. "So I had a platoon, with rifles and grenades and machine guns, and I was told to hold that street. There was a hospital down the road and we'd blocked most of the other routes, but what looked like the whole population of Chicago was coming straight for me."

"Couldn't you… block them off?" Kim asked.

"I asked. Was told no. Orders were to leave some ground access routes open—guess the people giving them didn't realize how bad it was getting. I could have told them—on the way to the hospital, some lady, hell she was probably a lawyer from the way she was dressed, ran up besides us and tossed her baby in the truck. Figured we were going to the hospital." Tara gave a soft laugh that didn't make it to her eyes. "So here I am, rifle, body armor, helmet, night vision…with a squalling kid in my lap. Never did find out if they ever managed to get him back to his mom."

"But now… now I don't know what the hell I'm doing—I asked command what level of force we were supposed to use, and I got back: "What ever keeps them out of the hospital, King!" "

Suddenly Kim had a horrible vision.

She'd said they had machine guns…

"You didn't…shoot?"

"No. It might have been kinder if I had." Tara said. "But no. There were kids in that crowd, mom's dads, the kind of people who might have been running the ticket booth at a game, or cheering us on. They weren't bad Kim, they were just scared. Scared out of their mind, for their families. I couldn't shoot. No matter what. So I…" She paused, "Did the next stupidest thing."

"What?"

"We had CS gas, so I ordered us to suit up and fired it in front of the crowd. Added some smoke, as well." She shrugged. "We had the side streets sealed off, the only place the crowd could go was back." Tara fell silent, and then in an monotone continued, "Stupid bitch."

"What happened?" Kim said softly, reaching out to pat Tara's hand.

"What normally happens." Tara said quietly. "What normally happens when the front hundred, or two hundred, or thousand people can't go forward, and try to turn around…but are in front of 50,000 people who are still pushing forward." She looked at Kim, and for a moment Kim flinched at the emotions boiling inside those blue eyes. "If you fall in a crowd like that, you are dead. I don't care if you're Brick Flag or James…you're dead and you'll come out looking like someone used a jack hammer on every inch of your body. You're only hope is to keep standing, keep moving, don't get crushed up against something that won't move…and adults…adults might do that. A ten year old? A four year old, ripped out of her mothers hands? Not a chance. Not a chance in hell." Tara's foot started tapping out a rapid, irregular rhythm. "We realized something was going wrong. We could hear the screams… hear people being crushed to death or realizing that their children, their wives and husbands were being crushed to death, maybe a foot away. They couldn't do anything, you couldn't bend down, the press of the people was too irresistible. So they kept screaming."

"What happened then?"

"I sent runners along the side streets." Tara said, "There were some cops and we had a tow truck, but we also had some guys who could hot wire a car, and I told them to open the barricades, no matter how they did it. Pull them down, put a car through them, blow them the hell up…nothing would be worse then what was happening. By that time the people wanted to get away, but they couldn't while the road was sealed. It took ten minutes to open four streets, and some of the people on the fringes were busting into the buildings, climbing into alleys and up ladders… It could 45 minutes before everyone was clear….everyone who could get clear.

"I- how…" Kim trailed off, but Tara knew what she was asking.

"135 dead. 60 adults, 75 children 18 or younger. Youngest—Sally Martin, six months, Oldest, Tim Perkins, 65." Tara gave Kim a death's head smile. "You want the list? I can recite it from memory for you. Ages, names, place of birth…"

Kim couldn't say anything. Her throat wasn't working. She'd read the history…but…

"And then I get a commendation for it. My 'clear thinking in a deadly situation', or some such bullshit, for opening up the street after I'd caused the disaster in the first place. At least they didn't make it public. I doubt I could have kept my lunch down."

"Were you the onl-" Kim stopped thinking of how stupid that sounded.

"No, there were disasters aplenty that day. On the other side of town another officer decided to try to hold the people back by main force—he didn't want to risk undue casualties."

"What happened?"

"They forced their way into the hospital, ransacked it, and in the chaos set fire to it, two hundred dead. I was at his court martial. He'd disobeyed orders."

"Was he?"

"Yeah, Dishonorably discharged. I had been called as a witness, so I was in the court room when the verdict came down. He thanked the court, apologized again, and told everyone that the responsibility was his, that his men had followed his orders in good faith. Then he went to his quarters, got out of his uniform, and put a bullet into his brain." Tara shook her head, "He wrote a suicide note. He didn't want to humiliate the corps again, so he killed himself in civilian dress."

"I-"

"But see, that's the problem with your mom, Kim." Tara said, "She sees these people as nice, misguided souls—oh, if she meets one in person she'll acknowledge that he's a bad, bad man…but not them as a whole. I know better. Not just here, but everywhere, from Sri Lanka to Afghanistan. If we let them, they'll tear down everything—everything, from a girls right to go to school to the idea that you can say what you want without being killed for it. They killed people here, in job lots, people who they didn't know. They are still killing people as well…it's just that we've built a fortress here that's hard for them to get in."

"Ron doesn't like it."

"Ron's right. I'm a marine. Fortresses suck. Better to go out and kill them." Tara said, and suddenly Kim flinched back from her gaze. Then the old Tara was back.

"Sorry about that Kim—but every time I get to start telling the story, I've got to finish it. If I don't, I get… well I don't sleep so well for a few nights. Now, let's introduce you to…" She smiled, "Your trainer, Colonel Verne…or as he was once known, the Antichrist."

TBC.