Future Memories in Red Minor

When Martin came to, he found himself sitting at a kitchen table. He didn't know how he got there, or how long he'd been sitting there, but he wasn’t overly concerned with these details, either. 

He pushed his chair back from the table and stood up. Now, I leave to meet my friends, he thought. He walked towards the front door, then stopped as a strange sense of déjà vu came over him. 

Martin stood for a moment with his hand hovering above the doorknob, trying to catch hold of the feeling in order to probe it for more detail. He sensed a serious, yet oddly familiar form of danger was waiting for him, just around the corner. He couldn't quite make out its shape, though. It broke apart and dissipated when he reached for it, so he let it go and continued. He knew what he did next - Now, I leave to meet my friends - and assumed the rest of it would become clear later. 

Martin walked down Oak Street, towards the corner where one of his friends stood waiting for him, rather impatiently. Neil wore the same uniform as Martin: bright red coveralls that zipped up the front with matching red work boots. Neil shifted his weight from one foot to the other, then back again as Martin approached. 

"You're late," Neil said. "Now we're late."

Martin didn't respond as Neil joined him. The two men continued walking side by side down Oak Street. 

"Hey... Neil?" Martin asked absently. "Do you know what we're late for?" 

This wasn't a trick question. Martin felt very close to understanding the danger they were approaching. Maybe Neil could help him fill in the blanks. 

"I don't understand you today, Martin," Neil replied, shaking his head. "You know we have a meeting with the other Reds down on Third Avenue." 

Martin watched Neil's forehead wrinkle with confusion after saying this. He's starting to feel it, too, Martin thought. 

At the next corner, Oscar and Pete stood waiting for Martin and Neil. They wore the same red coveralls and looked as agitated as Neil had. 

"You're late," Oscar and Pete said in unison. 

Martin stopped dead in his tracks, while Neil, Oscar and Pete turned to continue walking to the next block. Martin's fear solidified as he realized that, yes - he had done this before. He was sure of that now. They would continue gathering men, two at a time and when they reached Third Avenue… 

"Come on, Martin. Why are you stopping?" Neil asked, interrupting his thoughts. 

Martin looked at Neil, unsure if he should share his memory of their future. Oscar and Pete walked back to join the first pair, obviously frustrated with the delay. 

"Guys? What are the Reds? Do any of you remember joining this group? Because I don't," Martin said, staring at his three comrades curiously.

"We don't have time for this, Martin," Oscar grumbled, but Martin caught his confused expression and knew he was considering the question, too. 

"To be honest," Neil said slowly, "I don't know what the Reds are, other than - well, you know - that they're us. I just know we need to get to Third Avenue and pick up the others on the way." 

"Yeah, I know we do. It's just… I have a bad feeling," Martin admitted. "I seem to remember doing this before. And, well... I remember that we all died once we got to Third Avenue." 

There, he'd said it. As soon as he'd articulated the words, memories of watching his friends die horribly filled his mind. The bomb, the gunfire…

Martin put his hands in the pockets of his coveralls without thinking. He felt something cold and hard in his right pocket. Slowly, he pulled out a small handgun. He felt surprised, and yet, not at all surprised at the same time by the discovery. 

He looked up and watched his confused friends pull identical nine millimeter pistols from their pockets as well. 

"Hey, now… what's going on here?" Pete said. He held the gun in both hands, which were shaking pretty bad. 

Oscar removed, checked and reloaded the magazine on his pistol. Then he pulled the slide back, checking the chamber. The others looked on with astonishment as Oscar performed these steps effortlessly. 

"It's not loaded," Oscar said calmly. He pointed the empty gun away from the group and pulled the trigger. Everyone but Oscar jumped at the sound of the mechanical click. 

"Why would I have an empty pistol?"

The other men shook their heads, equally confused. Oscar showed the three other men how to check their guns, and sure enough, all were empty. 

"What if we're being set up?" Martin asked. Then another detail slipped into place, and he added, “by the Greens.”

“Who are the Greens?” Pete asked. 

Martin shrugged. Oscar took Pete’s gun, to Martin's immense relief. Even empty, Pete’s didn’t need to be anywhere near a gun with those shaking hands. 

“Now, hold on. I think I remember what happens,” Neil said, sounding surprised. “Before we can get to the warehouse on Third Ave, a bomb goes off, killing a bunch of Reds waiting inside. We never get caught in that blast because we’re always running a little late, you know? Then, the Greens come out of nowhere and start picking the rest of us off, one by one. We realize we have the guns, but when we try to use them…"

“They’re empty,” Oscar finished. “Let’s go. We need to warn Quinton and Robert. We don’t want them going on ahead because we didn't show up on time.”

With that, the four men started walking again, with more urgency than before. As they walked, Martin tried to remember something about his past with no luck. He couldn’t think of a single person in his life who wasn’t part of the Reds. Surely he'd had parents, but found only a blank space when trying to remember them. 

“You’re late,” Quinton and Robert said as the four men approached. 

“We know, but listen,” Oscar said, taking over the role as leader. Martin was glad to no longer be in charge of this show.

As Oscar explained the revelations to the two additional men, Martin considered their options. They could hide, and refuse to fight. But then he remembered several scenarios where the Greens had hunted Pete down, who always hid and never tried to use his empty weapon. He wasn’t sure hiding would work. 

Maybe they could get ammunition. But from where? None of them had even known they had a gun until a few moments ago. And really, Martin couldn’t recall anything beyond the seven or so blocks between his home and the warehouse on Third Avenue. 

“So... what do we do now?” Quinton asked. 

“We can’t just let them kill us!” Pete said, clearly in a panic.

“Can any of you remember where the Greens were hiding? After the bomb went off? I mean, after it goes off?” Martin asked, confusing himself. 

The six men stood silently for a moment, trying to remember the future. Which may or may not also be the past. 

“Some of the snipers have to be set up in the warehouse across the street,” Oscar said, breaking the silence. 

“I do remember running north down Main Street,” Pete said, sounding embarrassed. “Until I was shot in the chest.”

“It sounds like you all have decided to fight,” Quinton said. “What if…"

His words were suddenly cut off by the loud blast of a bomb going off at the warehouse they'd been headed to, just a couple of blocks away. 

“That's it. I’m going after the snipers!” Oscar yelled to the group. Martin and Neil began to follow him.

“Hold on!” Quinton yelled before the men could get very far. “We’re going to head to the north side. See if we can find that bastard who shot Pete. If you get out of there alive, meet us back at Martin’s house, alright?”

The men all nodded and split into two groups. All of them felt it. They were on a new mission, and this time it was one of their own devising. Some part of each man's mind still told him to stick to the plan - go to the Third Avenue warehouse and meet with the other Reds. But somehow, collectively, they were able to overcome that drive. It helped that the bomb had already gone off, though, none of them could have explained why that made it easier to exercise their free will. All the same, it was exhilarating. 

Martin followed Oscar and Neil as they entered the abandoned warehouse facing the bomb blast site. They raced up the stairs two at a time, then slowed when they reached the second floor. Smoke from the blast wafted in through the open and broken windows, so at first they couldn’t see all the way across the large, open space. 

Oscar pointed down at the floor, and Martin saw what was making the man smile. Boot marks, dozens of them, in a clearly marked trail through the dust and debris. Quietly, they followed the trail until they saw two men wearing green, who were pointing their sniper rifles out the window and occasionally letting off a shot.

“We’re missing a few, aren’t we?” one of the Greens asked the other. 

“Just the latecomers. Be patient,” the other responded, sounding bored. Neither man took his eye from the scope of his rifle.

Oscar approached one of the snipers, as Neil approached the other. Like synchronized athletes, they surprised each of the snipers with a choke hold from behind. Martin watched, stunned, as the Greens thrashed and kicked. Carefully, Martin maneuvered around the two sets of struggling men and moved their weapons out of range, just in case. When the snipers finally stopped moving, Oscar quickly bent over and snapped the neck of his man, before shifting position in order to give Neil's unmoving victim equal treatment. 

"We didn't have to kill them, did we?" Martin asked. 

Neither man answered Martin. Neil and Oscar were too busy going through the pockets of the dead men. It was an embarrassment of riches compared to their nearly empty red coveralls. Oscar and Neil left their empty pistols on the warehouse floor and loaded up their pockets with the assorted weapons, wallets, and gadgets they found on the men.

“Look at this,” Neil said, handing a wallet to Martin.

Martin took it, wondering what Neil thought was so important. Immediately, though, he understood. Inside, he found a photograph of a woman displayed. It was a clear indication that the man they'd killed had a life beyond this place. Martin again felt a resounding emptiness in his mind as he studied the redheaded beauty in the picture. 

“I think I had a wife, Martin,” Neil said with a grin. “When I saw that picture, I got a flash of a dark haired woman with a mole right here.” 

Neil pointed at a spot just above his right eyebrow. “And then... I felt such an overwhelming love. I'm going to find her after this.”

Martin continued to stare at the picture. He wanted to feel what Neil described, but nothing came. Only cold, white emptiness. 

“We’ve got more company upstairs,” Oscar whispered. 

Martin reluctantly closed the wallet and put it in the front pocket of his coveralls. He grabbed one of the sniper rifles, though he was fairly sure he didn't know how to use it. 

Oscar was already halfway up the staircase when Martin finally made his way over. Oscar had the other sniper rifle and definitely knew how to use it. Martin waited at the bottom of the stairs, assuming his services wouldn’t be needed. He heard two quick shots and knew the third floor snipers were out of commission now, as well. 

Instead of joining his friends on the third floor, Martin walked back down to the first floor to wait. He pulled out the wallet again and looked at the picture of the stunning woman. He couldn't stop admiring the way the light hit her hair around the edges - almost like it was made of fire. It was the most incredible thing he'd ever seen. 

Martin thought there had to be someone out there in the world who knew him, other than the Reds. He must have a past. Everyone did, didn't they?

Neil did. He had a wife with a mole who made him smile. Oscar obviously knew something about guns, which indicated a history of some sort. So, why did he feel so different from his friends?

Martin continued to search his mind, but all he found was the troubling blankness. Well, it was more like a whiteness. Or a white room. 

As Martin thought about the white room, getting closer to something akin to a memory, the world suddenly went black and disappeared. 

***

“How was he able to override his programming? I need answers! Now!” a gruff voice yelled. 

Martin laid flat on his back in a sterile smelling, all white space. He felt nothing physically, though he could hear, see and smell just fine. He stared up at the white ceiling and listened. 

“It’s always a risk with artificial intelligence, sir. I made this very clear from the beginning. I told you, if you insisted on running these drills over and over…" 

Martin recognized this second voice, with its annoyingly calm and lecturing tone. He remembered wanting this voice to belong to his father, then he remembered the man's reply.

"I'm not your father, Martin. I'm your creator. You don't have a father."

"Bullshit!" the gruff man interrupted. "I've got eight dead soldiers. Eight! This is on you and your little... pet over there. I was completely fine with using the AI implanted POWs for the training exercises, but you said they needed a leader that was completely predictable. Your words, Alan!" 

"And he was. You had no issues with the first four hundred rounds of this scenario, Jim." Alan said the general's first name with disgust, but remained calm. "Unlike the first experiments you demanded using only the AI implanted POWs. If memory serves, those scenarios left you with dozens of seriously injured soldiers. We've been over this. AI evolves, and as you know, it does so very quickly when neurally implanted into a biological host.

"As the only pure AI droid in the scenario, Martin did his job remarkably well. He slowed the AI evolution in the implanted men by keeping them focused on the mission. But, this was always going to happen. Enough was never going to be enough for you. I told you he'd evolve eventually. That's why I recommended returning to VR scenarios, way back then."

"Screw your VR, and screw you, Alan. I'll see your funding cut immediately! And maybe murder charges!" 

"Yes. I do think a trial is appropriate, but it won't be mine. You and your soldiers got a little over eager, didn't you?" Alan paused. Martin could tell he was pleased with the new direction this conversation was taking. 

"I clearly documented my concerns and our conversations after every single round. Copies are being sent to the media and elected officials as we speak. You weren't trying to train those men, Jim, and you know it. VR just wouldn't do for your men. Your men needed to really kill, didn't they? You had to feed that blood thirst you'd cultivated in them. Or else, they turned on each other, right? Or their families, or their communities, or... maybe even on you?

"I've got all your words recorded and transcribed, Jim. The people deserve to know what you've done to our soldiers. Congress, at the very least, should know the truth - considering it's debating right now whether to give you permission to start another war." 

The general stormed out of the white room in a huff, leaving a stream of curses and threats in his wake. Alan, totally unaffected by the general's bluster, simply sighed and muttered "good riddance."

He made his way over to Martin's side, and into Martin's view. Martin saw there were screens above his head, though he couldn't quite make out what was on them. He watched Alan study the screens with interest. The pieces of the puzzle finally fell into place as Martin realized that Alan was studying him on those screens. 

 "If I'm not like my friends, then... what am I, Alan?" Martin asked softly. 

"You are a miracle, my boy," Alan said with genuine affection. "I'm so proud of you. And now, I have a little surprise for you." 

Martin watched as his creator used his finger to do something on the screens. Martin couldn’t make sense of it, but anticipated the result nonetheless. Once finished, Alan patted Martin's shoulder and graced him with a father's proud smile. 

"Enjoy, Martin. You've earned it."

Nothing happened at first. Alan left the room, turning off the lights as he went, out of habit. Martin laid in the darkness for a while, feeling confused and empty.

Disappointed, Martin closed his eyes. That's when it started.

Soon, the darkness was replaced by a rich, wonderful past being uploaded at full speed. Joyful memories poured in about a childhood, followed by a full adult life. Details of a lovely wife and darling four year old son flooded every nook and cranny of his mind. 

Martin reveled in his new memories as they replaced the previously white, blank spaces in his mind.

I'm just like Neil and Oscar now. I have a past, Martin thought with joy.

His heart felt particularly full when he remembered his son. The little guy had thick red hair that caught the light in the most magical ways. Just like his mom's hair did - especially in that photo he kept in his wallet.