As I, Eschaton draws towards publication, here’s Chapter 2 in its glory.\u00a0Here, Christopher Miller and Sarah Grey learn about the attack on the Wilshaw Foundation…and so does Eschaton.<\/p>\n
—-<\/p>\n
Chapter 2<\/p>\n
Pagan in Repose<\/p>\n
\n
Pain was an old friend. It had crept up on him the way the seasons did, obvious only in hindsight. After a lifetime in the military, training at the outer limits of human performance and serving in hotspots around a world two steps away from chaos, his body more closely resembled someone five, maybe ten years older than his real age of thirty-two. Not his muscles or his outward appearance, rather the worn cartilage in his knees and spine, the knobby bone spurs in his neck and ankles, lingering pains from scars and old injuries. And even that was largely due to superior conditioning, the finest sports medicine Cascadia had to offer, and medical nanomachine treatments.<\/p>\n
Christopher Miller rolled, stiffly, agonizingly, out of bed. At least he didn\u2019t groan this time. Sarah Grey snoozed on the other side of the bed, oblivious. The detritus of the previous night\u2014discarded clothes, kicked-off shoes, toys\u2014lay scattered across the floor. He smiled. They\u2019d spent all of yesterday hiking and practicing combatives and shooting, but they still had energy for other\u2026recreational\u2026activities when they got home, late in the evening.<\/p>\n
Miller swept a clear path with his feet, pulling on his T-shirt and shorts. He slipped on a pair of moccasins, filled up a soft plastic water bottle, clipped on his chest pack and went outside.<\/p>\n
There was just enough light to see by. On his front porch, he stretched and twisted, rotating and swinging his joints, easing them into the full range of motion. He flowed into leg-lifts, butt-kicks, lunges, half-squats, push-ups, smoothly raising his heart rate, letting blood nourish his limbs.<\/p>\n
Morning exercise began proper. No fancy gym here. Out in the wilderness he preferred bodyweight movements, working every muscle from head to toe. One-arm push-ups, pistol squats, bridges, handstand push-ups. On a nearby tree he had hung a pair of gymnastic rings. There he did one-arm pull-ups, hanging leg raises, levers, L-seats. He went full-bore for forty-five concentrated minutes, stopping only long enough to shift to the next set. At the end of the routine, his muscles burned pleasantly, and his joints quietened their protests.<\/p>\n
He chugged down a shot of water, clipped the bottle to a D-ring on his pack, and ran. Not jogged. Ran<\/em>. On active duty he ran in full kit; today, he made up for the weight with extra speed. He sped past his neighbors, jumping over or swerving around obstacles, practicing the art of natural movement as he went along. The Greenhaven EcoPark was the next generation of trailer parks, a self-contained ecosystem of greenery and small wild animals, with a small but growing population of humans housed in what the advertisers called LifePods. The pods were glorified trailers the size of shipping containers, but each was self-sufficient. They had solar globes on the roof for sunlight, water catchment and reclamation systems, waste composting tanks, and satellite-based Internet connections. They were also cheap\u2014cheap enough that he could live out here for three years what it cost to live in the big city for one, and still have a nice hunk of change left over.<\/p>\n He took a long, winding route around the park, running until the sun was up and the sky turned blue. People bustled about, tending to their business. Microfarmers inspected their livestock and produce. Artisans trekked to their workshops. Some people fired up generators while others cleaned out their reclamation systems or just maintained their homes.<\/p>\n Approaching his home, he slowed to a brisk walk. His lungs were aflame. Pain spiked through his right side, coursing through flesh where shrapnel had torn through a week ago. He winced. The doctor had told him to take it easy. Maybe so, but he was coming up to the end of his medical leave and he needed to be at a hundred percent.<\/p>\n Sarah was waiting for him. Her cheeks were flushed, her skin shining with sweat. They both knew she couldn\u2019t possibly keep up with him, but tried to coordinate their schedules anyway. While Miller was out running, Sarah had busied herself with a piloga routine, some strange hybrid of Pilates and yoga. She smiled at him, and together they went through a series of cool down stretches. More out of companionship than necessity, but Miller figured his joints would appreciate it.<\/p>\n They shared a shower in the bathroom. It was cramped, but both were used to small spaces. Miller stayed to brush his teeth, while Sarah made the bed and cleaned up.<\/p>\n They made breakfast together. Omelets made from free-range chicken eggs, mixed with capsicum, cherry tomatoes, mushrooms and full-fat strained yoghurt. Sarah had hers with salt, Miller had his with pepper. All the food was sourced from nearby farmers, either purchased directly or at the local farmers\u2019 market. It reminded Miller of his childhood\u2014but, unlike his early days in New Washington, Greenhaven\u2019s agricultural areas were managed with more care, and so far hadn\u2019t suffered any crop failures or die-offs.<\/p>\n \u201cHow\u2019s breakfast?\u201d she asked.<\/p>\n Miller took an experimental bite. \u201cPerfect, as usual.\u201d<\/p>\n She beamed, and dug in.<\/p>\n At which point, Miller\u2019s ebrain chimed. He had an incoming conference call, from a blocked number.<\/p>\n \u201cI\u2019ve got a call,\u201d he said.<\/p>\n She arced an eyebrow. \u201cMe too.\u201d<\/p>\n They looked at each other for a moment.<\/p>\n \u201cEschaton,\u201d they said simultaneously.<\/p>\n Anonymous conference calls were the artificial intelligence\u2019s preferred, and perhaps only, means of communicating with them out here. They\u2019d met the AI separately under trying circumstances. When Miller came home to recover from his last mission, Eschaton had contacted them together. Miller and Sarah had a few strained conversations with it since then, with the AI trying to learn more about humans and the humans attempting to elicit more personal information from Eschaton.<\/p>\n \u201cIt wants something from us,\u201d Miller said.<\/p>\n \u201cLet\u2019s find out.\u201d<\/p>\n They accepted the call.<\/p>\n \u201cGood morning,\u201d a flat digital monotone said. \u201cI trust you slept well?\u201d<\/p>\n The AI was learning to be polite. Miller didn\u2019t see a reason to discourage that. \u201cYes, thank you. And are you doing fine?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cYes. Have you read the news?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cNot yet. What\u2019s up?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cTake a look.\u201d<\/p>\n In the living room, the holovision projectors fired up, displaying the home page of Cascadia News Broadcast Network. The images expanded, letting Miller read the text over Sarah\u2019s shoulder without having to squint.<\/p>\n \u201cHoly shit!\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cWhat\u2019s wrong?\u201d Sarah asked.<\/p>\n \u201cTake a look.\u201d<\/p>\n She turned around.<\/p>\n \u201cHoly SHIT!<\/em>\u201d<\/p>\n The headlines were splashed across the screen: \u2018Terrorists attack Wilshaw Foundation, killing 108\u2019.<\/em><\/p>\n \u201cHow the hell\u2026?\u201d she said.<\/p>\n Miller alternated between his omelet and the news, chewing his food as carefully as he did the words. A group of terrorists attacked the Wilshaw Foundation, gunning down everybody inside the office and leaving behind booby traps. They delayed emergency services with a cyberattack on the dispatch system, and detonated a car bomb outside 38 Vandemeer Plaza. The Sons of America have claimed responsibility.<\/p>\n Sarah\u2019s face went pale. The rest of her froze.<\/p>\n \u201cSarah, are you okay?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cOh. My. God.\u201d She turned around, burying her face in her hands. \u201cMy God.\u201d<\/p>\n Miller went to her. She pressed her face against his shoulder. \u201cI\u2026I could have been there. If you hadn\u2019t\u2026I\u2019d\u2026\u201d<\/p>\n He hushed her, wrapping his arms around her. \u201cShh. It\u2019s okay. You\u2019re safe.\u201d<\/p>\n The Sons of America had targeted Miller, among other special operators, during their resurgence. When the Army bureaucracy disqualified Sarah from protection, Miller had single-handedly moved her to Greenhaven. She was still on a leave of absence from the Foundation. If she hadn\u2019t\u2026<\/p>\n \u201cThat is incorrect,\u201d Eschaton said.<\/p>\n \u201cWhat do you mean?\u201d Miller asked.<\/p>\n \u201cThe Wilshaw Foundation was developing policy recommendations for the Federal government. The Sons of America have destroyed all data relating to their activities in the Yellow Zone, and killed a significant number of the Foundation working group investigating the SOA\u2019s activities in the Yellow Zone. I extrapolate that the surviving members of the SOA policy working group is at risk. Including Professor Sarah Grey.\u201d<\/p>\n Sarah swallowed. \u201cDid anyone else from the Foundation survive?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cI am currently cross-referencing casualty reports with employee payrolls and documentation. It appears that everyone inside the Wilshaw Foundation was killed in the attack. Only the ones not physically present in the office survived.\u201d<\/p>\n Sarah nodded, mainly to herself. Miller felt her jaw clench. \u201cWhat are we going to do?\u201d she asked.<\/p>\n \u201cShelter in place,\u201d Miller said. \u201cIf the enemy\u2019s going after the Foundation, we need to hole up and remain underground.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cYou can\u2019t stay here forever,\u201d she said.<\/p>\n Miller sighed. That was true. Any moment now, the Unit could recall him to duty if they decided their manpower needs superseded his medical profile. More than that, though, he wanted\u2026needed <\/em>to get back into the fight. Cascadia was on the verge of war. The Cascadian Defense Forces were mobilizing to embark on the largest counterinsurgency campaign in the short history of the Republic. He had to be out there, at the tip of the spear alongside the Unit. That was his calling in life, and he couldn\u2019t do that sequestered in a tiny pod.<\/p>\n \u201cMaster Sergeant Miller, I require your assistance,\u201d Eschaton said.<\/p>\n An all-powerful AI needs my help? <\/em>Miller wondered. Out loud, he said, \u201cWhat kind of assistance?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cI will not tolerate the presence of the Sons of America in the Green Zone. They have attacked me once, and they will attack me again. I request your help in eliminating this cell.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cYou can\u2019t do that by yourself?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cThere is only so much I can do without being discovered.\u201d<\/p>\n Only a handful of people knew Eschaton existed. It was afraid that if it revealed itself, the public would clamor to delete Eschaton, legally or otherwise. As the SOA had demonstrated before, it was effectively defenseless against physical penetration of its network nodes. Miller didn\u2019t know how much of that was justified, how much of it was paranoia\u2014and how much was just an attempt to manipulate him into doing its bidding.<\/p>\n \u201cThere is also only so much one man can do.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cThe Combat Studies Unit has attached a team to assist the National Security Service in investigating the attack. Your<\/em> team.\u201d<\/p>\n Miller\u2019s eyebrows shot up. \u201cThe hell?\u201d He frowned. \u201cThat\u2019s not a coincidence, is it?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cNo.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cYou did it.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cYes.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cHow?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cThe national military and security bureaucracy is sufficiently large that paperwork may be generated and passed on without anybody knowing its true origin.\u201d<\/p>\n Miller folded his arms. \u201cWell, then. My men should be able to help out, no? What do you need me for?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cTo eliminate the cell.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cMeaning, to kill them all.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cIf necessary.\u201d<\/p>\n Miller snorted. \u201cGet someone else to play your games. I\u2019m not interested.\u201d<\/p>\n The holoscreen cleared, displaying official looking paperwork.<\/p>\n \u201cThis is a recall order,\u201d Eschaton said. \u201cThe Unit\u2019s medical specialists have decided that your wounds do not preclude limited duty in the Green Zone. In the interests of team cohesion, they are recommending that you be returned to duty to assist the investigation.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cGoddammit Eschaton!\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cThis was not my creation,\u201d the AI continued, speaking a little more slowly. \u201cColonel Ryan Kincaid ordered the medical review. Very soon, the Unit will be contacting you. I am merely providing advance notice.\u201d<\/p>\n Sarah licked her lips. \u201cThe Unit can do this?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cNational security supersedes individual security,\u201d Miller muttered.<\/p>\n \u201cOur interests coincide,\u201d Eschaton said.<\/p>\n Miller\u2019s lips compressed into a narrow line. \u201cYou don\u2019t say. Looks like I\u2019ll be popping back into Cascadia, hooking up with the team, and developing the situation.\u201d<\/p>\n The last phrase was deliberately vague. If the SOA left the boundaries of the Green Zone, where the laws and customs of civilization applied, they were fair game for the military. The Unit, in particular. Attaching a full team to the investigation meant that the moment the investigation developed actionable intelligence outside the Green Zone, the Unit could swing into action without delay.<\/p>\n And Sarah didn\u2019t need to know that.<\/p>\n \u201cLet me come with you,\u201d Sarah said.<\/p>\n \u201cNo,\u201d he said reflexively.<\/p>\n Sarah frowned, crossing her arms. \u201cWhy? It\u2019s too dangerous?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cIt\u2019s not that. You\u2019re a civilian, with no special skills or training. How exactly are you going to contribute?\u201d<\/p>\n She tapped her skull. \u201cThe Wilshaw Foundation uses a closed peer-to-peer messaging network for secure internal communications. A network I<\/em> have access to. I can help contact the survivors and coordinate the response. And.\u201d She grinned. \u201cAnd. Until we know otherwise, at this moment I<\/em> am Cascadia\u2019s foremost expert on the Sons of America. You need someone who knows how they think, their mindsets, their preferred strategies. Eschaton, you can doctor paperwork to have me attached to the task force, correct?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cYes.\u201d<\/p>\n Miller took a deep breath. Let it out. And realized that, yes, he needed her too. She wasn\u2019t being overt about it, but he knew that she resented the way Eschaton had forced people to do its people. Separated, Eschaton could control them. Together, they stood a chance against its machinations.<\/p>\n \u201cFine. But I have operational control. Out in the field, if I or anybody from the Unit give an order, you will obey immediately.\u201d<\/p>\n She grinned impishly. \u201cYes milord.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cYou will be armed at all times where practical. You will wear body armor if directed to. If the situation gets too hot, you will be evacuated to a safe house.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cYes dearest.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cWe won\u2019t be babysitting you. You\u2019ll have to look out after yourself. If you can\u2019t keep up, you will be left behind. Or kicked out.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cYeeeeeeeees deeeeeeear.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cGood girl.\u201d He sighed. \u201cDon\u2019t make me regret this.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cI won\u2019t.\u201d<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" The second chapter of my upcoming work I, Eschaton.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":2,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"om_disable_all_campaigns":false,"_monsterinsights_skip_tracking":false,"_monsterinsights_sitenote_active":false,"_monsterinsights_sitenote_note":"","_monsterinsights_sitenote_category":0,"footnotes":""},"categories":[32,33],"tags":[51,57,121,174,243],"class_list":["post-818","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-uncategorized","category-updates","tag-american-heirs","tag-announcement","tag-ebooks","tag-indie-writing","tag-preview"],"aioseo_notices":[],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/kitsuncheah.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/818"}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/kitsuncheah.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/kitsuncheah.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/kitsuncheah.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/2"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/kitsuncheah.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=818"}],"version-history":[{"count":0,"href":"https:\/\/kitsuncheah.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/818\/revisions"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/kitsuncheah.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=818"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/kitsuncheah.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=818"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/kitsuncheah.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=818"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}