Nevada
“Did you get the peyote?” Beck asked.
Jack Wallis wasn’t even through the door of the double-wide trailer. He couldn’t immediately answer since he held a bag of Doritos clenched between his teeth.
It was just past midnight, but neither of them were even the slightest bit tired. They were night owls, working into the early morning hours and sleeping during the day.
Jack made his way over to the counter of their drab little kitchen, weaving around desks and garbage. He dumped his bounty of processed foods, potato chips, and beverages down before turning to answer.
“Did I get the what?”
“The peyote,” Steve Beck replied.
“I thought you were going to clean up while I was gone.”
“I did,” Beck replied. He had a switchblade in his hand and a whetstone on his lap. He eyed the edge and ran the blade down the stone. “So, did you get it?”
Beck was a scrawny twenty-six-year-old albino from Kentucky, barely over a hundred pounds. What he lacked in muscle he made up for in lung capacity.
Beck was smart, though; certainly a lot smarter than Jack, which he didn’t have a problem admitting. And Jack wasn’t dumb, anyway. He just felt dumb around Beck.
Beck was a commissioned officer in the United States Air Force, the same as Jack, but well on his way to becoming a Captain. He was technically Jack’s superior, but rank didn’t mean much out here in the middle of the Nevada desert.
The only nearby town, Dover, was twenty miles away. They were isolated from civilization. The only contact with the outside world—apart from the occasional excursions into town for snacks at a gas station—were when they operated Predator drones flying around the world on a mission.
To make matters worse, they were operating drones from a mock retirement community barely thirty miles outside the Vegas Strip. So close to that majestic city, yet it might as well have been on the moon. It sat in the distance, mocking them in their double-wide in Olde Pine Trailer City.
There were well over two hundred trailers parked here, but less than half were occupied. Fewer drones in the air meant fewer pilots, and all branches of the military were working with contractors as the technology matured.
Jack put a twelve pack of Coke into the mini fridge.
The clock beeped, signaling that their shift was about to start.
“What the hell is Peyote?” Jack asked, opening the bag of Doritos and popping the tab on one of the cans. It was still warm, but he was thirsty.
“You’re kidding, right?” Beck asked.
He was reclining on the couch in the southern corner of the room. “I told you where to go, who to talk to, and how much to ask for. Did you even look at the paper I sent with you?”
“Uh…no. Not really. It’s illegal, isn’t it?”
“Not for religious purposes. All you had to do was tell them you’re one-eighth Koso, ask for two ounces of Peyote, and explain that it is for Church use.”
“Ah,” Jack said, moving over to his desk and sitting down. “I don’t want to get busted attempting to buy drugs.”
“It’s legal!” Beck replied.
“For religious use,” Jack said. “I’m not Native American. If someone has to lie about it, why don’t you do it?”
Beck laughed. “Are you serious? I’m a freaking albino, man. Do you really think anyone is going to believe I’m part Native American?”
“Just tell them you converted. Tell them you love the Earth mother.”
“That’s pagan, not Native American.”
“Well, then whatever they worship.”
“I think you mean the Deer God.”
“Meh, they’re practically the same thing,” Jack said with a shrug.
“See, this is why I do the thinking around here,” Beck replied. Jack handed him the bag of chips. Beck took a handful and passed it back. “But I suppose it’s for the best. I don’t think you should be flying a two-million-dollar piece of equipment high on mescaline.”
“Probably not,” Jack said. They sat in silence for a few minutes. “How the hell did you even find out where to buy it?”
“I asked.”
“So you just went around town asking people if they sold Peyote?”
“Pretty much. For all the good it did me.”
Jack sighed, spinning the chair around.
“Do you think we’ll get orders today?”
“Nope,” Beck said. “It’s been three weeks, and we haven’t gotten anything.”
“Yeah,” Jack said. “What they can’t do with automation, they contract out.”
“I don’t care,” Beck said. “A few more months and we’ll be done, then I can enlist another tour and plan my retirement.”
Jack leaned back in the chair. “I might not do another tour.”
“Why not?” Beck said. “This job is super easy.”
“There’s only so much time I can spend playing video games.”
Beck laughed. “Not me.”
“They need to let us out more,” Jack said. “I feel cooped up.”
“You’ve been back for two minutes!” Beck said. “I’ve been here all day.”
“I mean in general,” Jack said. “Four hours a month isn’t enough.”
“Of course, it isn’t,” Beck said. “How can they expect us to get in trouble with only four hours?”
The computer pinged behind Jack.
Beck sunk into his chair, fingers flipping across the keyboard. “About time,” he mumbled.
“Orders?”
“Yep,” Beck said. “Looks like a long run tonight.”
“No video games then,” Jack said. “Looks like we’re going to miss our raid.”
“Duty calls,” Beck replied with a shrug.
Jack scanned the orders on his computer screen.
“So we’re just flying around and scanning the desert?” he asked. “They aren’t even going to tell us what we’re scanning for?”
“Underground cave networks,” Beck said.
“Your orders say that? Mine don’t,” Jack said. “They must love you.”
He typed a few commands on his screen, then started inputting his passwords.
“Mine doesn't even tell us where we’re going,” Beck replied. “Just equipment readouts and prep command. They added extra equipment on this particular drone that scans ground density.”
“So how will we know if we find a cave?”
“You won’t know,” Beck replied. “But I will.”
“So I’m going to be looking at nothing except sand for the next eight hours?”
“I promise that if I see something cool, I’ll tell you about it,” Beck said.
“Fantastic,” Jack said with a sigh. “Worst video game ever.”
2
“Extension call,” Beck said, his voice sleepy.
“Again?”
“Our replacement pilots aren’t ready.”
Jack yawned. “How long can this damn thing stay in the air?”
“Six days,” Beck replied.
Jack felt his eyelids slipping closed as the images flickered in front of his eyes, showing the Middle-Eastern landscape appearing and disappearing below him. Hills, mountains, desert, plants, and repeat indefinitely.
The monitor was a blur in front of him, and he knew that he was past the limits of his endurance. He held the joystick firmly and forced his mind sharp; at least sharp enough to not crash his drone. The last thing he needed was to write a report about how he hadn’t seen the ground coming.
When was the last time he’d gotten any sleep? Twenty hours ago? Thirty? He could barely remember. He had a headache throbbing behind his eyes, though whether it was from hunger or staring at his monitor too long he couldn’t be sure. Only two statistics mattered to him: elevation and temperature.
They told him that those were the things he was to monitor constantly. Altitude was easy enough, just angle the plane up or down at a slight angle.
He was yet to figure out what to do if the temperature went haywire. He assumed crash.
“You know what’s crazy?” Beck asked.
“What?” Jack replied, yawning.
“We are Air Force pilots. Combat operatives, protected by the Geneva Convention. But we are out here in Nevada, flying planes on the other side of the world. But, the mechanics who fix our drones are contracted. So, if anyone dies, it will be civilians.”
“It’s a new world,” Jack said. “The military needs skilled labor, and it’s easier to pay private companies.”
“But what happens if a civilian mechanic gets caught and becomes a prisoner of war? Technically, they are civilians, but they are participating in warfare. The Geneva Convention doesn’t really cover that. What happens then?”
“I don’t know.”
Beck was silent for a minute. “Holy shit,” he said, distracted.
“What? You are surprised I don’t have an answer?”
“What? No, Sorry I wasn’t listening. I think we found a cave.”
“Really?”
“Yeah…wait, no…maybe not. Might be an underground lake.”
Jack sighed and turned his attention back to the monitor in front of him.
The clock beeped, signaling that it was after three in the afternoon.
“How much longer?” Jack asked. “And if you say another two hours I’m going to crash this thing into the next mountain I see.”
“Fifteen minutes before the next swap,” Beck replied.
“Those pilots had better be ready.”
“Just got a ping,” Beck said suddenly. He sounded wide awake. “With access codes.”
“Access codes to what?”
“I’m prepping the cameras for direct satellite feed to Washington. I need to take control for a second.”
“Huh,” Jack said. “I didn’t know you could do that.”
“I didn’t either,” Beck said. “I’m rerouting flight control to Washington for a second.”
“Important stuff, huh?”
“Looks like. Who knows, we might even get a promotion,” Beck said. “Or, at least, a cookie.”
Jack laughed. “I don’t mind, gives me a chance to relax.”
“I think we did find a cave network,” Beck said. “High value. Maybe insurgents.”
“Hurray,” Jack mumbled sarcastically. “They better get some good pictures, then.”
Beck was silent for a long moment.
“Beck?”
“They just sent new codes,” Beck said. “To activate our missiles.”
3
Silence held.
Neither man spoke.
“You’re serious?”
“Completely,” Beck replied.
“That…”
“It hasn’t happened before,” Beck said. Jack could hear his fingers flying as he typed in codes. “They are already picking the targets, and I’m prepping two missiles.”
Jack let out a long breath. “So we’re going to do this?”
“Looks like it.”
“What if there are civilians?”
“In the cave?”
“There are at least people we aren’t planning on bombing who will be in the way. Collateral damage.”
“There usually is.”
“We can’t fire if there are non-combatants.”
“We don’t choose to fire,” Beck said. “We just pull the trigger.”
Jack felt a surge of anger. “Screw that.”
“You’re tired, Jack,” Beck said. “Take a deep breath.”
“I am not going to be a part of killing civilians.”
“Then leave,” Beck said. “I’ve got this.”
Jack started to stand up, then changed his mind. “I’ll be discharged.”
“Probably.”
“Because I won’t kill innocents.”
“Yep.”
Jack sat, hands clenched on the arms of his chair, exhausted and sick with the decision. He could go to his bed, shut out the world, or he could stay and be party to the possible murder of civilians.
The screen went blank in front of him.
“Thank God,” he said breathlessly.
“Son of a bitch,” came the response from behind him. He heard Beck’s chair spin and his headset went flying across the room. “They didn’t even let us finish! Ten more minutes. That’s all I needed. Ten more goddamned minutes.”
“That team was supposed to take over two hours ago,” Jack replied. “My brain hurts. Just let it go.”
“No, screw that,” Beck said, typing furiously.
A minute passed. The typing intensified.
“What are you doing?” Jack asked.
“I’m going to take control back,” Beck said. “This was our mission.”
Jack’s eyes popped wide. He sat up.
“You can’t.”
“Like hell I can’t. I’ll bypass the Colonel’s authorization code and reroute the drone back to our satellite uplink. I’ve spent all day on this mission, and I’ll be damned if I’m going to let another team who wasn’t even at their post get the credit.”
“Beck, you can’t.”
“Watch me.”
“Beck,” Jack pleaded. “I’m not saying you can’t. I’m saying you can’t.”
Beck paused. His fingers stopped flashing as the words sunk in. The chair spun slowly again, and this time, Jack rotated so they could face each other.
“You’ll be in prison by tomorrow.”
“I can reroute the IP to—”
“And I’ll be in prison as well,” Jack said. “For hacking and maybe for treason.”
“Jack, I’m really good—”
“Are you better than all of them?”
This time, Beck didn’t respond.
“I’m too tired to look at the screen anyway,” Jack offered.
Beck sighed, accepting the olive branch. “Yeah, me too. Just frustrated. Twelve hours staring at the screen makes you kind of delirious.”
“Want me to write the report?” Jack asked. Beck shook his head.
“Nah, man, I got it.”
“I’m starving.”
“Me too.”
“Pizza?”
Beck nodded and turned back to his terminal. This time, he cleared the command screen and opened the report application.
“We still got some great stuff.”
“Yeah,” Jack said, agreeing to be supportive.
“And, I mean, they will still give us credit because we were on the mission, right? We set it up.”
Jack hesitated for a long moment. They were going to attack something, maybe kill civilians, and maybe not. Jack hoped like hell that simply being here didn’t make him accesory to that.
He said, “I’m sure they will.”
4
Jack decided to burn his last hour of monthly leave and go pick up some pizza. He needed a break, a chance to cool off and think. He wanted to figure out what had just happened, and what he would have done if control hadn’t been taken by the other team.
The air tasted good. Jack hesitated, breathing in the fresh air and trying to clear his headache, then walked toward the Jeep. The other trailers were closed up and silent.
Jack climbed into the Jeep and headed to the gate. He nodded at the guard on duty and held up his ID badge. The guard glanced it over, punched some data into his iPad, and handed it back to Jack.
“Last one,” the guard said. “For two more weeks. You sure?”
Jack wasn’t, but he nodded anyway. Right now he needed to go somewhere. He could deal with what came later, later.
He stopped outside the gate and considered his destination. He could see the lights of Las Vegas in the distance, but he didn’t dare head that direction. He would never make it back to base in time, and he could get in a lot of trouble if he was caught gambling.
The appeal was there, though.
He put in an order for pizza at a local shop called Jimmie’s Pizza. They thought they were Pizza Hut but with twice as much bread. Then he made his way to a gas station to pick up beer.
After a twelve-hour shift, he would fight the guards if they tried to confiscate it. He needed something to take the edge off.
He was back to base before his hour came up, showed his badge to the guards, and sighed in relief when they didn’t ask to search his Jeep. He parked near the double-wide and carried the pizza and beer inside.
Beck was passed out from exhaustion, head on his keyboard and drooling. Most of the reports were sent, and he was in the middle of typing something to a general in Washington.
Jack laughed when he saw that the monitor was scrolling the letter ‘k’ over and over again. Beck lifted his head and looked around.
“Pizza?”
“Pepperoni and black olives.”
Beck nodded, and looked at his computer: thirteen pages of the letter ‘k.’ With a shrug, he clicked the submit key and turned his computer off.
“Let them try to figure that one out.”
“I bet the General references it in a PowerPoint this week,” Jack said.
Beck chuckled, but now his attention was on the food Jack brought. He ripped the pizza in half and they each took a portion.
“Feels like I haven’t eaten in weeks,” Beck said, tearing into the food.
“The crust is too thick. And too greasy.”
“This is amazing. Perfect pizza,” Beck said, stuffing half a piece into his mouth. The words were garbled. They ate in silence for a few minutes. “I was checking the news earlier, and—”
“The news?” Jack interrupted. “We don’t even have a TV. Our computers are part of an internal network. We can’t even access the Internet without them knowing.”
“What you meant to say was that you can’t access the Internet. Don’t include me in your incompetence.” Beck finished off his beer and moved to grab another. “What I was going to say was, I checked the news. Nothing about a drone missile being fired, so I don’t think they launched after all. Someone posted a message that drones are overused, but not big enough in social media to make me think something happened.”
“For the best then,” Jack said.
“That kind of thing can be career-making,” Beck replied.
Jack was quiet. They finished eating the pizza and sipped on their beer.
“Want to go for a run?” Jack asked.
Beck shrugged.
“I don’t really want to do anything. I’m still miffed about the mission.”
“My head hurts.”
“Need Tylenol?”
“Nah.”
“Good, you forgot to buy some anyway.”
5
The run was good. Jack took a twenty-minute shower while Beck grabbed another beer. By the time he was showered and dried off with fresh clothes, he felt significantly healthier. It was turning out to be a good day.
But the best news came when they found out they had the rest of the afternoon and next day off. The likelihood of another mission anytime soon was low.
“Guess they liked what we did,” Beck said.
“I’ll take it,” Jack replied.
“I’m stoked. Not even sure what I want to do with myself,” Jack said.
“Do you need some alone time? I can go outside.”
“Ten minutes, tops.”
“I think you meant two minutes.”
“I’ve got a better idea. Let’s go win some money,” Beck said.
“Like poker? You want to see if some of the other pilots are up for a game?”
Beck shook his head. “Like Vegas.”
Jack laughed. “Not a chance. I’m out of hours, and you couldn’t even make it to the city with your hour.”
“Not an hour pass. I was thinking more like a full day pass.”
“They give those for family emergencies. Should I tell them my wife died? I bet that would buy me six hours.”
Beck ignored him and went to his computer. “I need your login,” he said.
“Why?”
“Because reasons,” Beck said.
“Why?” Jack asked, but he knew the answer. “Beck…”
“Just give me the username they assigned you. I can guess the password.”
“Username is JX2828CV,” Jack said. “But you won’t be able to crack—”
“Done,” Beck said, clicking enter. The computer flipped to another screen and Jack saw the normal commands flickering in front of him. “Your password is Zoe24Dillon2014.”
“How…?”
Beck spun his chair around. “I’m guessing Zoe is your daughter’s name, twenty-four is the age you lost your virginity, Dillon is the man you have secret sexual fantasies about, and 2014 is how many times you’ve watched the movie Sex and the City.”
“Accurate on all accounts. Except Zoe was my first dog, twenty-four is the day of my birthday in June, Dillon is my grandfather’s name, and 2014 was when I joined the Air Force. How the hell did you crack my password?”
“ESP.”
“Screw you. You didn’t even try other passwords.”
“I installed a key logger a few weeks ago,” Beck said with a shrug. “Don’t give me that look. It’s only illegal if you actually read the eight thousand waivers they made us sign. I wasn’t planning to do anything with it. At least, not while you were here to watch me.”
“You just needed to know.”
“Exactly.”
“Go to hell,” Jack said.
Beck sighed and spun his chair around. “Rubes,” he said.
He started typing commands into the keyboard, and Jack saw it flip to another screen. He couldn’t read the print before it shifted to another screen, and after the next page he gave up trying.
Jack knew he should put a stop to this, even intended to stop Beck, but his intentions and actions didn’t quite sync.
It was one thing to hack the pentagon and satellites and take control of a drone, and quite another to hack someone else’s account and play around. Jack doubted he could do much of anything because he didn’t even have admin access to anything. There might be a solitaire game he could load up.
“What are you doing?” he asked.
“I logged into your profile, then logged into an admin account I created a couple weeks ago. It’s hosted in California. I’m currently ordering you to report to Lieutenant Colonel George Orwell for a high priority mission,” he said. “Don’t worry, no one will ever read the report or look up the name and—”
Jack yanked Beck’s chair back and stepped between him and the computer, trying to make sense of the numbers and words on the screen. Everything was shorthand and in computer terminology so he couldn’t begin to understand what it meant. “Oh no—”
Beck was laughing his ass off. “It’s already sent. For the next twelve hours you are the registered soldier of Lieutenant Colonel Orwell, who has listed you out on leave.”
Jack felt his stomach sink.
“Damn it,” Jack said, collapsing into his own chair. “I’m so screwed.”
“Dude, no one reads these reports,” Beck said. He slid his chair back to the keyboard and started typing more commands into the computer. “We’ll be out and back by tomorrow morning, and as long as we report for duty on time in two days they won’t know we left. They won’t even check the admin account I made. No one would search a Lieutenant Colonel’s profile without provocation.”
“You aren’t a Lieutenant Colonel.”
“They don’t know that.” Beck typed for another thirty seconds and then exited out of the screen and leaned back in his chair. “There, I’m ordered out too. Now there’s no way it will look suspicious since we’re both reporting together.”
“We’re so dead,” Jack said.
He felt sick to his stomach.
“Oh, lighten up. If we get caught, we’ll say we went looking for this so-called Lieutenant Colonel Orwell and couldn’t find him. Someone must have hacked the system; probably the Russians. Crazy Ruskies.”
“You just hacked the Air Force control system on this base.”
“Technically, I hacked the satellite relay and the California base before coming back to our system. I had to send the orders from the outside to the inside. But don’t worry, that’s just semantics. It’s still illegal.”
“If they catch us…”
“At this point, I don’t care,” Beck said, finality in his voice. “You don’t have to come. I don’t care what you do, but it’s done.”
Jack opened his mouth to protest and then closed it again. “If they catch us…”
“I’ll say it was me. They’ll know it was anyway, so you’ll be in the clear, an accomplice at the most.”
Jack couldn’t believe he was about to say it: “We won’t get caught?”
“Not a chance,” Beck said. “You were right. They would have caught me in seconds with what I was planning to do earlier. They would have people tracking and scanning those connections. But this is different. Nothing can go wrong, you just have to trust me.”
Jack hesitated. “Okay,” he said. “I trust you.”
Jack’s screen flashed to life, and auto flipped to a familiar screen.
Beck clapped. “Hey! We just received orders. I wonder what they are for.”
“Have I ever told you how much I hate you?” Jack asked playfully, clicking the flashing icon on the screen.
The sheet that appeared seemed legitimate, and in the orders line it said: Report to Lieutenant Colonel Orwell inside Las Vegas Immediately. At the top of the sheet was an authorization barcode for the gate.
Twelve hours.
It was the wrong choice for Jack to make. He should turn his friend in to the gate guards now before things could get any worse.
But he wouldn’t. Beck was, if anything, a good friend.
Besides, it was only twelve hours. What could go wrong?
“So,” Jack said, walking outside the trailer and toward their Jeep, “you any good at Craps?”
