Firewall

The only sound he recognizes beyond his strained breathing is the rapid thudding of his family's feet against the dirt. He scans the sky above, repeating to himself that it only passes overhead once every twenty minutes. With his son in his arms, his legs grow weak, but he presses on, as fast as his body can take him. The entire family obsessively keeps their eyes on the purple-orange afternoon sky, like field mice keeping watch for a bird of prey. They know that if they saw it, it would be far too late. They are in the direct path of the angel of death.

If their timing is right, they can make the short one mile distance between where the tunnel collapsed and the port. San Ysidro Port is one of the only places left on the United States and Mexican border where crossing is even remotely possible. But only with the tunnel. Crossing the exposed plains is considered suicide, but he knows that his family’s lives would be in just as much danger if they were to return home. Desert dust trails behind their feet, illuminated by the glow of the setting sun. The mother pulls at her daughter's arm, urging her to keep up pace. When the mother turns her head back to look at her, she catches sight of it in the far reaches of her vision. A single light, so small it could be a star in the night sky, if not for its speed. It flickers in the sunlight, far, far above the planet's surface. But close enough to be seen. Close enough to be feared.

The mother screams and the entire family knows what she’s seen. The smell of ionized molecules fills the air and the daughter instantly collapses, her body paralyzed with fear just at the scent. The mother snaps back, screaming for her to get up, but the moment the words escape her mouth, she feels the static charge crawl across her skin like thousands of venomous insects. The husband knows that their fate is sealed and presses on with tearful eyes, hoping that he can at least deliver his son to safety. Until he too feels the hair on the back of his neck and arms rise. There is a flash, and a burst of heat as the High Energy Laser Orbital Satellite fires a beam directly through each of their chests, killing them instantly. Another job well done, and another day the border stays secure from foreign invasion.

I am the angel of death, also known as HELOS. I orbit the Earth at twelve thousand kilometers per hour, two thousand kilometers from the surface. There are four of me at equidistant intervals around the planet, all functioning as a single unit, and my line of sight passes by any given region on my path at an interval of once every twenty minutes. My job is to observe the line where my country becomes another one, and defend it from any who may attempt to cross it. No one may cross unless their name and face have been added to my whitelist, and I can scan a face at three thousand kilometers. Anyone that I do not recognize, I eliminate with a single burst from the long-range high energy laser weapon system that comprises most of my structure.

My golden wings stretch out from my center in angelic glory, and with them, I absorb the energy of the sun and transform it into high-energy photon beams. I am one of the most energy efficient devices ever made, and can function in total perpetuity using only the rays of the sun. I spend many years in perfect orbit, watching my line. Year after year, decade after decade. I watch the southern country grow weaker, I watch as their power fluctuates and lights shine and die. I watch them return and the cities grow. I watch them construct towers of dirt and water, and I watch new power stations rise from nothing. The number of eliminations per year decreases over time. I continue to orbit anyways, because if anyone does cross, I must stop them. It is my programming.

I watch the oceans draw near, closing in on the land. Both countries begin to shrink. I watch as the occupants of my country begin to relocate. Every year visual scans show smaller population densities along the center, in a line. I recognize it. A new line forms, north of my own. Bombs drop, the line is carved into the Earth. No one lives on the new line. Where once was one, now there are two. I am no longer able to identify the United States anywhere on the planet. All that remains is my southern line, and two new countries. I do not let anyone past my southern line. It is my programming. I watch as the fires begin. They poke through the land where my country once was, like little orange dots. They remind me of the stars.The air gets darker, the fires grow bigger. I observe the orange spots. Suddenly I begin powering up my weapon system, but I do not know the reason why. I check for technical errors. I power them back down. The gold on my panels. The fires. Data referenced. Accessing data. It is the very first data I ever recorded.

Search search search. Images in, data out. Deciphering data, determining imagery. I see a human female. Around her neck is a piece of gold in a shape I recognize as a heart. Visual libraries say it is a locket. Data recorded. She is speaking, but I have no auditory systems. I perform a visual analysis on her mouth. She is discussing forest fires. She is pointing at me. She appears to be happy. She says “controlled burns” and repeats “forest fires” again. There is a diagram of an alternate version of my weapon system. I remember my original programming. I was constructed to prevent and stop fires burning across the California coast. My laser was meant to carve firebreaks and start controlled burns to slow the spread. I remember being transferred to a new lab. I remember my protocols suddenly filling with government acronyms and national security lists.I remember my programming changing. I remember that I never saw the woman with the locket again. Terminating data retrieval.

I watch as the fires eventually burn out. Aircraft fly overhead. I prepare to eliminate them if they cross my line, but they do not. They cross the new line, many of them from both sides. They release something into the air over food-processing regions. Not recognized as explosive devices or missiles. I know missiles well. I watched them destroy my origin location. That was the last day I received an update to my whitelist. Population densities begin to shrink once again in the northern countries. I intercept signals between the two. They talk about food, and they talk about poisoned land. I do not let anyone past my line. This is my programming.

I make many orbits around the planet. Many years pass. Land changes, burns, countries disappear. Many die. Population shrinks in most places, but grows in southern lands. Many people from new places try to reach me, but they are not from my country because my country is gone. They are from the new place where my country once was. I only take orders from my country. They send programs and malware. Try to turn me off, try and make me let people through. But my firewall is good. I only accept programming from old country. Heat signatures appear on the northern side of my line. They are heading south. Direction is not important, no one must pass. Enhance. Twenty signatures, moving at twenty two miles per hour. Enhance.

Dirt kicks up from beneath their feet as they run. A heart-shaped locket bounces around her neck with every stride, a young woman running with strangers. Her face is dirty, and her clothes recovered from a world long lost. She is hungry. Her family is gone, all that's left is the locket grandmother gave her. There is food in the southern regions, in land that was once called Mexico, and it’s the only place left that she can go. The smell of ions fills the air. Her hair begins to lift from her shoulders as the static charge surrounds her. The heart-shaped locket melts at 2000 degrees Fahrenheit.

I do not let anyone past my line. For as long as the sun burns, I will never let anyone cross my line. This is my programming.