Pending Orders

Ruined buildings loomed on either side of the roadway. Their dark windows frowned down. Lipton passed a graffitied wall. “Less Power, Fuller Lives”.

Lipton entered a large room with two queues. He walked into the shorter. He slid a card into a slot beneath the booth. An attendant sat behind it. “Military ID? Double ration authorised.”

Lipton nodded, watching the e-charge meter climb.

“Funny,” the man said. “‘Ole block used to stay lit all night. Ayup, only two years ago, that was.”

The attendant studied Lipton. “These are some hard old times. Can’t fall asleep without thinking about those drones. Stay safe.”

Lipton looked up. “Just after the Energy War started, my own men were mown down by other Peacekeepers. I went to turn in my stripes.” He paused. “But they came to get me before I could bury my son.”

The attendant’s hand hovered over the console. “I’m… I’m so sorry.”

Lipton replied with an empty smile, and walked back home under the darkened sky.

The battered landline winked red lights, as he picked up the handset.

“Lipton speaking.”

An emotionless voice carried through to his ears. “We have a new assignment for you. Are you aware of the Lairs?”

“The mining cities?”

“Before Lair 9 had partially caved in, its labour divisions extracted plutonium. Video logs report that before it collapsed, refined supplies had been finalised at the depot. Extract the resources. Follow containment protocol. Radiological exposure risk is classified as irreversible. Leave no witnesses.”

Leave no witnesses.

He carefully replaced the handset back down on the table, avoiding the faded crayon marks that never fully washed away…

He laughed then. “Happy birthday!”

A boy appeared, dragging his fluffy blanket behind him. His round, blue eyes twinkled with wonder towards the table.

The newspaper wrappings tore open with a squeal of delight, revealing a box of crayons. On the box, the boy scrawled his name in uneven letters: Bobby Lipton.

The cavern opened before him as Lipton arrived at the square. Cranes hung in the foreground, sealed behind a gate. The gate creaked, reverberating throughout the underground labyrinth. He stepped inside.

Lipton turned the corner to a sinister mountain of black boxes. He holstered his rifle and latched a box open. Smaller boxes lined the inside, each stamped with a single word:

“Plutonium.” Enough to power a nation. Bobby was outside…

Bobby was outside, his curly hair flying in the air. Lipton watched from the doorway, coffee cooling in his hand. Bobby bolted up. “Dad, look at that!”

The skeletal frame of a drone cut across the sky, the Energy Department’s insignia visible beneath its wings. The cacophony of air raid sirens rang throughout the street.

The drone launched its rockets, as a violent kaleidoscope of red and orange erupted, swallowing everything in dust and grey.

He saw Bobby.

But Bobby would never see him again.

Reality came back with the weight of a stone. Lipton found the grooved button of his radio, met with cicada buzzing. “Command, this is Lieutenant Lipton. Requesting exfil, over.”

“Exfil will come when the package is secured. Autonomous convoys have been dispatched, along with additional personnel.”

Lipton stood up, as he turned around. He saw, not far away, a small boy, the survivor of the place the boy once called home. An identity card hung from his grey overalls: “Permanent Occupant”. The radio stuttered. “Lieutenant Lipton, status report.”

“Command, there’s a boy at the depot area. Advise.”

“No witnesses. Command out.”

The boy’s round eyes and curly hair… Lipton closed his eyes. His finger tightened on the cold steel crescent of the trigger. The gun rose. “I’m sorry.” Lipton swallowed hard.

Even so, Lipton’s rifle quivered, hands supporting the trembling handguard. Heat rose behind his eyes.

Just orders.

The iron sights split into two blurred visions. Through the scope, the boy’s eyes met his. His breath faltered. Just one pull of the trigger would end everything.

The rifle slipped from his hands and fell to the ground.

The boy stumbled once and disappeared into the darkness. Lipton’s hand moved to the fabric of his right arm. He removed the stripes. They hit the dust.

The radio continued crackling. “Lieutenant Lipton, respond.”

The orders continued.

Only he had stopped listening.