The Writings of Leo Byrne Jenicek

“I’m not sure what I told you was unclear?” said the Judicial Expert.
“Why is Pentagast not in prison? She’s directly responsible for the deaths of my men as well as her own,” growled Sarge.
“Indeed, she was found guilty on all counts.”
“Again, I ask you why is she not in prison?”
The Judicial Expert sighed.
“Am I boring you?” asked Sarge.
“No, not at all. It’s just that we operate differently here.”
“So you don’t put people in prison for their crimes?”
“Exactly.”
Sarge looked at this woman. She was dressed neatly in a grey suit and white shirt, her hair pulled into a tight bun. Her appearance was as professional as what she said was absurd.
“What do you do with your crooks?”
“Honestly, we have little to no crime. There’s no reason for it. Everyone’s needs are met. Of course, aberrant behavior does pop up now and again. But we’ve found that incarceration is inefficient and counterproductive for rehabilitation.”
“What about punishment?”
“The Magistrate who sentenced felt that serving in the war would help her learn about accountability.”
“She’s a war criminal!”
“Then her sentence has a certain poetic justice to it. Don’t you think?”
“I think she should be in front of a firing squad!”
The Judicial Expert took a sip of coffee and said, “If it’s any consolation to you or your men, she has the same chance as any soldier to die in battle.”
“What about all those Troopers with bombs in their chests?”
Her face went still for a moment. Then she replied, “I’m afraid that details about this case have been sealed.”
“So you’re not going to tell me more?”
“Legally, I can’t. Is there anything else I can help you with?”
When Sarge got back to her quarters, Echo Company was waiting.
“What did they say?” asked Chang.
“That sending Pentagast back was the punishment,” said Sarge as she sat hard in a chair.
This news sat poorly with the men who were very vocal about it.
“She has a lot of blood on her hands, so they send her back to get more?” sputtered Spinelli.
“It’s supposed to teach her ‘accountability.’”
More groans and more than a few swears followed this.
“Did they say who ordered her to do this?” asked Banks.
“That and other details are sealed.”
“And I thought the Army had too many rules,” muttered Ramirez.
“What about the Bomb Troopers?” asked Banks, who pushed down his anger and replaced it with focus.
“Also sealed. Which tells us that they are aware of them, even if they won’t admit it.”
“I guess they weren’t going to let us bring this to court,” said Chang with a sigh.
“What’s next, Sarge?” asked Ramirez.
“Keep on gathering intel, see if we find anything actionable.”
“I just wish we could write to or call our families, let them know we’re not MIA,” Chang said.
“Maybe we can,” said Spinelli, “Room, can I make a call?”
The gentle voice of the room replied, “Certainly, to whom do you wish to speak?”
“Call Klondike Five Five, Six Two Seven Zero,” he said to the others, “My sister’s number.”
There was thirty seconds of silence, and everyone held their breath. Then the voice of the room spoke.
“That number is not valid. Is there anyone else you wish to contact?”
Disappointed sighs followed this announcement.
“No room, that’s all,” said Spinelli.
“Worth a shot,” said Banks as he clapped Spinelli on his shoulder.
“Thanks.”
“Except now they know we tried to contact your sister, you just let them know what we’re up to,” hissed Ramirez.
“Yesterday you told us they’re watching twenty-four seven,” Spinelli shot back, “So are they spying on us or not?”
Sarge stood up and sharply whistled, silencing everyone.
“One, we can assume they are keeping an eye on us. That makes sense. But remember, there are millions, maybe even a billion people living in this tin can. There’s no way they can watch everyone.
“Two, they are arrogant. The idea that we pose any real threat to their power never crossed their minds. We’re being treated like damned movie stars.
“Three, we can disagree, but never forget we’ll always have each other’s backs, come hell or high water, and there’s nothing that’s going to change that!”
“Sorry, man,” Spinelli said to Ramirez.
“Me too. It was a good idea,” he admitted.
“What’s on the schedule?” asked Banks.
“Tomorrow I’m getting a tour of the medical facilities,” said Chang.
“I’m visiting the art archive,” said Banks, “Apparently, they switch out paintings and sculptures periodically.”
“Leading a boot camp session for a select group of people,” said Sarge.
“I remember boot camp. Are they being punished?” asked Chang.
“Is it for accountability?” inquired Banks.
“I was told that a lot of people were interested. So I’m going to yell at them, make them run, and do push-ups till they vomit or pass out,” said Sarge, “I don’t see the appeal, but here we are.”
“I’m being interviewed by one of the TV stations about who really built the pyramids,” said Ramirez.
Everyone nodded, not wishing to open up this can of worms again.
“Well, I’m going to take a ride on the… I guess it’s a train of some kind that lets folks get anywhere on Arcadia,” finished Spinelli.
“How did you get that cushy detail?” asked Chang.
With a smile, Spinelli replied, “One of the friends I’ve made since we arrived here graciously offered to take me on a tour.”
“Blonde or brunette,” asked Sarge.
“Redhead actually.”
“Let’s get some rest, I need you all sharp tomorrow,” said Sarge as a goodnight.
The next morning, they all set off for their various activities. Spinelli was greeted by his redheaded friend, Viktoriya.
“I think you’ll really like what I’ve got planned,” she said as she took his arm.
“I like it already,” he replied.
She gave him a dazzling smile, and off they went. One of the best qualities of everyday Arcadians was that they loved to share. They were happy to share what they knew with anyone. There were exceptions, of course, like the Judicial Expert who gave Sarge the run-around. Anyone with real authority was less helpful.
They came to and descended a long escalator to what looked like a train platform. It was much cleaner than any train station Spinelli had ever been in. The tracks, now empty, were wider than he expected. No discarded newspapers or candy wrappers littered the floor. Instead, an intricate mosaic lay beneath their feet.
“It’s the history of train travel,” Viktoriya said as she led him down the platform, pointing out highlights.
As they examined the mosaics, curved sets of enormous plates slid down from the ceiling above the tracks, locking into place.
“What’s going on?”
“Just sealing the tracks before the train gets here.”
“Why are they doing that?”
“The Express runs along a magnetic rail, and the tunnels are in a vacuum, so the plates allow it to arrive without having to remove air from the station. Once it’s here, they slide back up and people can get on.”
“That’s a hellva thing.”
Suddenly, with a hiss, the plates slid back into the ceiling. Behind them was a chain of candy apple red train cars. Or that’s what he assumed they were. They stretched off in both directions, he couldn’t see the front or end of this shiny machine.
“How long is it?”
“A little over sixteen kilometers.”
“Wow!”
“C’mon, let’s board and we can have breakfast in the cafe car,” she said, pulling him along.
The top part of the train was the cafe. There were a variety of tables for different party sizes scattered about the area in a pattern that seemed both random and deliberate. Spinelli and Viktoriya sat in a cozy nook by the window and ordered a continental breakfast, which arrived immediately, as just about everything did in Arcaidia, save perhaps answers.
The plates descended once more, and the view outside the window went dark. Breakfast was wonderful, as every meal he had since he arrived here. After his second croissant, Spinelli asked, “When do we start moving?”
Viktoriya smiled and said, “We’ve been moving all this time.”
Looking at his coffee cup, there was no ripple. Every train he rode on shook and shimmied. This was like sitting still.
“Are you pulling my leg?” he asked.
Just as he spoke, the light from the window turned into a deep cerulean.
“What’s this?”
“Keep looking.”
At first, it was just the rich blue. Then, in the distance, he saw something. Many somethings.
“Oh my God. Are those…?”
“Whales. I really hoped we would see some.”
A pod of about twenty sperm whales swam by, and though the train was zooming by at an incredible rate, for just a moment, Spinelli locked eyes with one of the whales. It was profound for him in a way he could not give words to.
“There aren’t any more, where I come from,” he said quietly.
“The Builders made sure to collect lots of species, so they would be ready to bring them back to Earth,” she said, leaning into him.
“Any update when that’s going to happen?”
“Not for a long time.”
“Right.”
For the next fifteen minutes or so, they watched out the windows. Spinelli thought about the aquarium he and his buddies broke into when they were kids. That one was tiny, and all the fish seemed sad. Here, there were titanic schools of fish that enveloped the train, or more accurately, the tube it went through. Some manta rays swam by. Followed by one enormous great white, who swooped close enough to make Spinelli jump, which made Viktoriya laugh.
Suddenly, it went dark for a moment, then the scenery changed.
“It’s only boring for the next three minutes,” she said, then bit into a strawberry.
Spinelli was not bored. They had stopped by a labyrinth of machinery, pipes, ducts, and metal stairways.
“What’s all this?”
“They’re dropping off supplies for the worker drones. It all has to do with keeping everything running. I’m happy that it works, but I’m more glad that it’s all automated,” she replied.
A line of maintenance drones, painted a brick red color, crawled up the stairways and began to pass what looked like heavy crates down, fire brigade style.
“Where do those stairs go?”
“Down to the lower levels, I guess. Bit of a snooze.”
Spinelli smiled and said, “If you say so.”
Viktoriya snuggled up to him and whispered, “We’re coming up on the great planes. If we’re lucky, we’ll see some cattle!”
“Ain’t that a kick in the head.”