You're right, there aren't many things that need that thorough a thrashing, though there are a few out there I'm sure.
Here's another setting, Homeworld, likely one or two, to meet Karen S'jet and the Hiigarans.
Lieutenant Fusilier 2 (Abandoned, do not read)
- Thread starter open_sketch
- Start date
- Original Mature Sci-Fi
You're right, there aren't many things that need that thorough a thrashing, though there are a few out there I'm sure.
Here's another setting, Homeworld, likely one or two, to meet Karen S'jet and the Hiigarans.
- Location
- Bremen, Germany
I was thinking along the line of a conversation between Fusie and BOLO ... but writing a combat-oriented fic with Fusies and BOLOs would badly suffer from the vast differences in applicable firepower: just imagine "danger close" with BOLO artillery support ... even Fusies would see sparks caused by the residual radiation for the rest of their remaining short lives (like RL the camera drones in Tschernobyl and Fukushima at the really hot reactor locations).
10ebbor10
DON'T PANIC
- Location
- Present
I think a conversation between Asimov's robots and those of the Maidsverse might be quite interesting.
After all, Asimov's robots, despite being clearly intelligent, are far more strongly limited by their 3 laws. They also have no limitations on what a human can do. This gives them a bit of a propensity to logic themselves into a loop and follow through with it, with no regards to consequences, as opposed to the far more deliberative and unsure Maidsverse robots.
After all, Asimov's robots, despite being clearly intelligent, are far more strongly limited by their 3 laws. They also have no limitations on what a human can do. This gives them a bit of a propensity to logic themselves into a loop and follow through with it, with no regards to consequences, as opposed to the far more deliberative and unsure Maidsverse robots.
- Location
- Bremen, Germany
Chapter 14 - Late for Work
- Location
- Ottawa
- Pronouns
- She/Her/Whatever
Fortunately, peace held out through to the end of the week, and even through the weekend, where I was for once grateful for the time off. I certainly managed to keep myself busy, and arrived to Monday morning inspection with a spring in my step which had nothing to do with my recently overhauled suspension.
"Dora Fusilier, late for work. Never thought I'd see the day." Miles teased, though my system clock said I still had minutes to go. Captain Murray, I noticed, checked her pocket watch at that moment herself.
"Now, Miles, arriving after you doesn't necessarily make her late. Practically, sure, but not necessarily." she chided. "I do have bad news, if you have any leave coming in the next month, it's been cancelled."
"I figured." I said, "The pass?"
"I don't know for certain, but I can only suppose." she replied, "Likely precautionary, it sounds as though the whole Army is on alert. Who can say?"
"It's odd, it sounded as though they had things more or less under control." Miles said. "Perhaps they finally have the base in their sights or something and the Marines might need backup and this whole thing will be over."
"Stars, I hope so." Murray said, "Albert's stocks are in freefall, it's starting to get somewhat dire."
"It'll bounce back once the pass is open." I said, trying to sound reassuring. "You'll be alright?"
"Oh, of course, it's just rather concerning to discover eight percent of your wealth has vanished in two weeks." she said with a frown. "I haven't the foggiest how much that is in real terms, but it doesn't sound good, does it?"
Discounting any of the money moving through Miss Fleming, my own account had three hundred twenty-seven pounds, seventeen shillings, and a sixpence. While twenty-six pounds, five shillings, and just about five pence would not break the bank, so to speak, it was a decent dent. It was also, I reminded myself, more than a private made in a year. Important to keep that perspective.
"It doesn't." I said numbly.
"Ah well, as you said, it'll bounce back, and hopefully soon, if Miles is right. In the meantime, let's ensure we have the company in fighting order in case they need us?"
The regiment was rapidly becoming comfortable with the new weapons, but more practice was never amiss, and today we had the range for accuracy drills. Every soldier in both sections would ideally be acclimized to both weapons, but for now we'd settle for the A-section soldiers being trained on the wall guns and all of B-section having time on the rotaries.
Fortunately, Sergeant Theda knew her work well enough that the exercise mostly ran itself, so Miles and I more or less just sat behind the line talking about nothing and running the ensigns through their long-promised pistol training. Ensign Darley, one of Miles' lot, stepped up, taking the beat-up old practice pistol that must have been older than I was and thumbing the activation switch.
"Ready, Ellen?" he asked, and she nodded, pistol held tightly. "Go!"
The holographic target appeared at the far end of the range, a long way for a pistol, but she confidently leveled the pistol and fired in a burst of coolant smoke and golden light. There was a distant flash, and the display above the booth flashed to show a glancing hit along the outer ring of the target, a bit wide from beam attenuation.
"Oh, nearly!" Miles exclaimed, "Damned good!"
I swore, I saw something very near to pride on her usually emotionless face.
"A fair shot for that range, but keep practicing." I recommended, "Now remember to safe the weapon before refilling the coolant…"
"Of course." she said, pushing the latch closed and reaching for the bottle of coolant. Miles sat back against the pillar supporting the edge of the tent, lazily waving the range controller to reset the range.
"So, what made our machine officer late today?" he asked casually.
"I was not late. The captain said I wasn't late." I insisted.
"Later than me, that's a first." he said, "I hardly saw you all weekend, you missed the mess again too… still shaken up about the frogs and all?"
"I appreciate the concern, but no, I just had a busy weekend." I said, "Um, I just had a lot of things to take care of..."
"... oh stars, your eyes. I was wondering what was bugging me!" he said, leaning close. "New screens?"
"New everything. Screens, controllers, cameras, everything." I said, "Even have a zoom function now." It was the first in a program of upgrades Constance had laid out, an easy one given the parts commonality with regular machines. The new actuators, hydraulics, armour plates, and electronics would require special parts, though.
"It suits you, wow. There's no scanlines or anything! How much'd that run you?" he asked, and I winced.
"About seventy quid." I admitted.
"Seventy? But- oh, hold that thought. Horace! You're up!"
Ensign Kelly took the pistol, now cooled down by the short wait and fresh coolant, and stepped up to the booth, grinning enthusiastically and almost bouncing a little on his heels as he squared up.
"Steady, Horace, steady." I warned, and he nodded, squaring himself up down the range, weapon pointed skyward in the approved fashion. "Alright, safety off, and ready now…"
He clicked the safety latch back, exposing the red ready light, and as Miles depressed a button on the controller the target suddenly appeared at the range, close, perhaps ten meters and moving toward him. He leveled the pistol, the dot of the targeting tracker nearly exactly a bullseye, then he thought better of it and stepped to the side.
"Too close!" he shouted, and with a nod from me he clicked the pistol off.
"Say, what do we do if something gets too close and we haven't a fusilier to hide behind?" Ensign Brodeway asked, sitting back at one of the benches. "What then?"
"Oh, don't do that. That's a bad plan." Miles said, "Try always having a fusilier around, that's what I do."
"Brilliant." Darley responded.
"Seriously, if that's the case, things are bad enough already, pull the trigger." I advised, "Just make damn sure your screens are up. Otherwise, you're better off running."
"Right, at a range like that it's dangerous." Sumner summarized.
"At a range like that, you'll cook yourself a nice medium-rare, Lydia." Miles warned. "Even with your shields, expect a sunburn."
That got a laugh, which was a bit disconcerting. Optical backscatter is no laughing matter.
"If things are very close quarters, it's not a bad idea to use stuns anyway." I ventured, "Less backscatter, and either a fusilier can finish them, you'll have your sword, or you can escape."
We ran the lot of them through a few more shots, and I'll admit I was proud of their progress, as well as the care and respect they showed the weapon. By this rate, they'd have their certification within the month.
"Alright, fifteen minute break, then when you get back here we're going to look at carbines." I ordered, and the four of them shuffled down to the back of the range, chattering excitedly about the experience and whatever else humans cared about. "I swear, they're almost halfway competent. When did that happen?"
"I wouldn't go that far." Miles said, plucking the beat up old pistol off the table and inspecting it. "So, seventy pounds… where'd you get the money for that, then?"
"... ah, it's a bit of a long story." I said, and a quick look over his glasses made it clear I wasn't getting away without telling it. "Well, remember those awful newspaper pamphlets?"
"The one with the flattering caricature?" he asked, to my exasperation.
"Yes, that's the one. Well, you called it, a human wrote them. I met her, and… well, we talked about a lot of things, and when I mentioned I couldn't afford repairs or upgrades she volunteered to, um, sponsor me, if you will?"
"Did she now?" he asked, entirely too much amusement in his voice.
"Oh, I know that tone, what awful thing are you thinking?" I asked, and he set the pistol down, clearly thinking through what he was going to say.
"Well I had a joke, but now I'm actually... worried? I'm not sure that's the right term." he said, "If I, uh, corrupted you or something?"
He sounded like he was trying to dance tactfully around something, which was surprising because I hadn't considered the possibility he knew what being tact was or how to practice it.
"What are you going on about?" I asked, and he winced.
"So, are you, um, is this arrangement between you transactional or, well… are you…" he paused, "Is that why you were late?"
Something about the way he said it made me finally realize what he was driving at.
"... oh my God, Miles, I'm not her mistress." I exclaimed, perhaps a bit to loudly, and I leaned closer to keep talking. "Nothing of the sort, my God! What kind of machine do you think I am?"
"One who is very much interested in the feminine?" he suggested.
"Feminine machines, yes, she's human…" I sat back, pausing as if to take a deep breath, "Look, I understand the world's a bit more complicated than all that, but it's still weird, alright?"
"I… yes, a little." he admitted, "Sorry, it just sprung to mind, given everything!"
"She just wanted to help." I explained, and he shook his head.
"Oh no, that I understand, it's the fact you took her up on it without doing something for her. I've never known a machine ever who'd so much as take out a loan, nevermind accept charity."
"Well, yes, that's programmed into us, an irrational aversion to it. But it… well, it's irrational, and...." I trailed off, suddenly overwhelmed by this looming feeling of dread. "But… in any case, it's… it's a mutually beneficial arrangement, and I'm assured she can afford it, and I need it to do my job, that makes it okay. I'm pretty sure. And honestly if I can I will pay her back, plus I don't… I don't need any more repairs, it can just be a one-time thing, I mean, I can still pay her back now..."
"... Fusie, it's alright." Miles said calmly, "I'm not judging."
"But… you've never taken money, right?" I pointed out, "Didn't you say you have aunts, Henry's family, all them offering?"
"Sure, but I'm an idiot." he said firmly. "Also, I don't need it, I'm doing just fine for now. You need the upkeep, though, you look awful."
"But-"
"No buts, Fusie, you have to do this forever, remember? Can't do that if you can't afford repairs." he said, "Honestly, though, are you sure you'd not be less mortified being her kept machine? At least that'd be honest work."
The low-grade panic bubbling up in my circuits was immediately doused.
"Fuck off, honestly, I don't know why I put up with you!" I cried, at best half-serious, barely able to form the words through laughter. "How dare you!"
"Very easily. So if not her, why were you late?" he asked, "Too good for us now that you're rich?"
"Oh, absolutely." I said, "You're lucky I showed up at all." Honestly, that part was nearly true. Going to work only just edged out staying in bed today.
There was a clatter down the line, and I glanced over to see coolant pouring from one of the booths, an a-section corporal stalking over as a machine backed away.
"You alright?" somebody called, and sharing a glance with Miles as one of the armourers ran over. A few moments later, one of the wall guns was pulled back, black smoke curling from the barrel and boiling coolant streaming from a hose.
"Well, shit." Miles muttered, "Thought they were too good to be true."
"Dora Fusilier, late for work. Never thought I'd see the day." Miles teased, though my system clock said I still had minutes to go. Captain Murray, I noticed, checked her pocket watch at that moment herself.
"Now, Miles, arriving after you doesn't necessarily make her late. Practically, sure, but not necessarily." she chided. "I do have bad news, if you have any leave coming in the next month, it's been cancelled."
"I figured." I said, "The pass?"
"I don't know for certain, but I can only suppose." she replied, "Likely precautionary, it sounds as though the whole Army is on alert. Who can say?"
"It's odd, it sounded as though they had things more or less under control." Miles said. "Perhaps they finally have the base in their sights or something and the Marines might need backup and this whole thing will be over."
"Stars, I hope so." Murray said, "Albert's stocks are in freefall, it's starting to get somewhat dire."
"It'll bounce back once the pass is open." I said, trying to sound reassuring. "You'll be alright?"
"Oh, of course, it's just rather concerning to discover eight percent of your wealth has vanished in two weeks." she said with a frown. "I haven't the foggiest how much that is in real terms, but it doesn't sound good, does it?"
Discounting any of the money moving through Miss Fleming, my own account had three hundred twenty-seven pounds, seventeen shillings, and a sixpence. While twenty-six pounds, five shillings, and just about five pence would not break the bank, so to speak, it was a decent dent. It was also, I reminded myself, more than a private made in a year. Important to keep that perspective.
"It doesn't." I said numbly.
"Ah well, as you said, it'll bounce back, and hopefully soon, if Miles is right. In the meantime, let's ensure we have the company in fighting order in case they need us?"
The regiment was rapidly becoming comfortable with the new weapons, but more practice was never amiss, and today we had the range for accuracy drills. Every soldier in both sections would ideally be acclimized to both weapons, but for now we'd settle for the A-section soldiers being trained on the wall guns and all of B-section having time on the rotaries.
Fortunately, Sergeant Theda knew her work well enough that the exercise mostly ran itself, so Miles and I more or less just sat behind the line talking about nothing and running the ensigns through their long-promised pistol training. Ensign Darley, one of Miles' lot, stepped up, taking the beat-up old practice pistol that must have been older than I was and thumbing the activation switch.
"Ready, Ellen?" he asked, and she nodded, pistol held tightly. "Go!"
The holographic target appeared at the far end of the range, a long way for a pistol, but she confidently leveled the pistol and fired in a burst of coolant smoke and golden light. There was a distant flash, and the display above the booth flashed to show a glancing hit along the outer ring of the target, a bit wide from beam attenuation.
"Oh, nearly!" Miles exclaimed, "Damned good!"
I swore, I saw something very near to pride on her usually emotionless face.
"A fair shot for that range, but keep practicing." I recommended, "Now remember to safe the weapon before refilling the coolant…"
"Of course." she said, pushing the latch closed and reaching for the bottle of coolant. Miles sat back against the pillar supporting the edge of the tent, lazily waving the range controller to reset the range.
"So, what made our machine officer late today?" he asked casually.
"I was not late. The captain said I wasn't late." I insisted.
"Later than me, that's a first." he said, "I hardly saw you all weekend, you missed the mess again too… still shaken up about the frogs and all?"
"I appreciate the concern, but no, I just had a busy weekend." I said, "Um, I just had a lot of things to take care of..."
"... oh stars, your eyes. I was wondering what was bugging me!" he said, leaning close. "New screens?"
"New everything. Screens, controllers, cameras, everything." I said, "Even have a zoom function now." It was the first in a program of upgrades Constance had laid out, an easy one given the parts commonality with regular machines. The new actuators, hydraulics, armour plates, and electronics would require special parts, though.
"It suits you, wow. There's no scanlines or anything! How much'd that run you?" he asked, and I winced.
"About seventy quid." I admitted.
"Seventy? But- oh, hold that thought. Horace! You're up!"
Ensign Kelly took the pistol, now cooled down by the short wait and fresh coolant, and stepped up to the booth, grinning enthusiastically and almost bouncing a little on his heels as he squared up.
"Steady, Horace, steady." I warned, and he nodded, squaring himself up down the range, weapon pointed skyward in the approved fashion. "Alright, safety off, and ready now…"
He clicked the safety latch back, exposing the red ready light, and as Miles depressed a button on the controller the target suddenly appeared at the range, close, perhaps ten meters and moving toward him. He leveled the pistol, the dot of the targeting tracker nearly exactly a bullseye, then he thought better of it and stepped to the side.
"Too close!" he shouted, and with a nod from me he clicked the pistol off.
"Say, what do we do if something gets too close and we haven't a fusilier to hide behind?" Ensign Brodeway asked, sitting back at one of the benches. "What then?"
"Oh, don't do that. That's a bad plan." Miles said, "Try always having a fusilier around, that's what I do."
"Brilliant." Darley responded.
"Seriously, if that's the case, things are bad enough already, pull the trigger." I advised, "Just make damn sure your screens are up. Otherwise, you're better off running."
"Right, at a range like that it's dangerous." Sumner summarized.
"At a range like that, you'll cook yourself a nice medium-rare, Lydia." Miles warned. "Even with your shields, expect a sunburn."
That got a laugh, which was a bit disconcerting. Optical backscatter is no laughing matter.
"If things are very close quarters, it's not a bad idea to use stuns anyway." I ventured, "Less backscatter, and either a fusilier can finish them, you'll have your sword, or you can escape."
We ran the lot of them through a few more shots, and I'll admit I was proud of their progress, as well as the care and respect they showed the weapon. By this rate, they'd have their certification within the month.
"Alright, fifteen minute break, then when you get back here we're going to look at carbines." I ordered, and the four of them shuffled down to the back of the range, chattering excitedly about the experience and whatever else humans cared about. "I swear, they're almost halfway competent. When did that happen?"
"I wouldn't go that far." Miles said, plucking the beat up old pistol off the table and inspecting it. "So, seventy pounds… where'd you get the money for that, then?"
"... ah, it's a bit of a long story." I said, and a quick look over his glasses made it clear I wasn't getting away without telling it. "Well, remember those awful newspaper pamphlets?"
"The one with the flattering caricature?" he asked, to my exasperation.
"Yes, that's the one. Well, you called it, a human wrote them. I met her, and… well, we talked about a lot of things, and when I mentioned I couldn't afford repairs or upgrades she volunteered to, um, sponsor me, if you will?"
"Did she now?" he asked, entirely too much amusement in his voice.
"Oh, I know that tone, what awful thing are you thinking?" I asked, and he set the pistol down, clearly thinking through what he was going to say.
"Well I had a joke, but now I'm actually... worried? I'm not sure that's the right term." he said, "If I, uh, corrupted you or something?"
He sounded like he was trying to dance tactfully around something, which was surprising because I hadn't considered the possibility he knew what being tact was or how to practice it.
"What are you going on about?" I asked, and he winced.
"So, are you, um, is this arrangement between you transactional or, well… are you…" he paused, "Is that why you were late?"
Something about the way he said it made me finally realize what he was driving at.
"... oh my God, Miles, I'm not her mistress." I exclaimed, perhaps a bit to loudly, and I leaned closer to keep talking. "Nothing of the sort, my God! What kind of machine do you think I am?"
"One who is very much interested in the feminine?" he suggested.
"Feminine machines, yes, she's human…" I sat back, pausing as if to take a deep breath, "Look, I understand the world's a bit more complicated than all that, but it's still weird, alright?"
"I… yes, a little." he admitted, "Sorry, it just sprung to mind, given everything!"
"She just wanted to help." I explained, and he shook his head.
"Oh no, that I understand, it's the fact you took her up on it without doing something for her. I've never known a machine ever who'd so much as take out a loan, nevermind accept charity."
"Well, yes, that's programmed into us, an irrational aversion to it. But it… well, it's irrational, and...." I trailed off, suddenly overwhelmed by this looming feeling of dread. "But… in any case, it's… it's a mutually beneficial arrangement, and I'm assured she can afford it, and I need it to do my job, that makes it okay. I'm pretty sure. And honestly if I can I will pay her back, plus I don't… I don't need any more repairs, it can just be a one-time thing, I mean, I can still pay her back now..."
"... Fusie, it's alright." Miles said calmly, "I'm not judging."
"But… you've never taken money, right?" I pointed out, "Didn't you say you have aunts, Henry's family, all them offering?"
"Sure, but I'm an idiot." he said firmly. "Also, I don't need it, I'm doing just fine for now. You need the upkeep, though, you look awful."
"But-"
"No buts, Fusie, you have to do this forever, remember? Can't do that if you can't afford repairs." he said, "Honestly, though, are you sure you'd not be less mortified being her kept machine? At least that'd be honest work."
The low-grade panic bubbling up in my circuits was immediately doused.
"Fuck off, honestly, I don't know why I put up with you!" I cried, at best half-serious, barely able to form the words through laughter. "How dare you!"
"Very easily. So if not her, why were you late?" he asked, "Too good for us now that you're rich?"
"Oh, absolutely." I said, "You're lucky I showed up at all." Honestly, that part was nearly true. Going to work only just edged out staying in bed today.
There was a clatter down the line, and I glanced over to see coolant pouring from one of the booths, an a-section corporal stalking over as a machine backed away.
"You alright?" somebody called, and sharing a glance with Miles as one of the armourers ran over. A few moments later, one of the wall guns was pulled back, black smoke curling from the barrel and boiling coolant streaming from a hose.
"Well, shit." Miles muttered, "Thought they were too good to be true."
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samdamandias
Apprentice Plane Wizard
Ah yes. Miles, the sort of person for whom being polite and tactful is the equivalent of screaming "Danger Will Robinson! Danger!"
If Miles ever asks someone to please see him at their earliest convenience, it is too late. There is no minimum safe distance.
And then having ascertained that his friend is safe, he goes back to his normal mode of giving everyone shit. I don't think it was deliberately intended to short-circuit Fusie's panic, but it worked.
If Miles ever asks someone to please see him at their earliest convenience, it is too late. There is no minimum safe distance.
And then having ascertained that his friend is safe, he goes back to his normal mode of giving everyone shit. I don't think it was deliberately intended to short-circuit Fusie's panic, but it worked.
pt246
Sometimes sarcastic, occasionally grumpy
It's hard enough shaking free of ways of thinking you're raised with or surrounded by; how much worse must it be if they're literally programmed into you? Even just mentioning accepting a gift sent Fusie into a downward spiral. Interesting to watch her push back against it, though.
Plus Miles being a little shit is always enjoyable.
Plus Miles being a little shit is always enjoyable.
This, on the other hand--yeah, that's wishful thinking. Best bet they're spinning up the rest of the army because it is that bad. Between the last chapter and this one I'm now very curious about what's going on at the pass and who's behind it.
That could be an issue. But it seems that Humanity, at least for now, has conquered the basics. In this universe, I figure that if you don't figure out helpful AI fairly quickly, you get stomped by the random dangers out in the universe, killing you off. If you do and let it get too much power, same deal, just the AI itself killing you, perhaps with kindness.
In this case though, humans still have purpose, even if my impression of the situation is that humans are all equivalents to nobles; even if they might only be "knight" level.
After all, it seems that the minimum expected number of machine servants per human is something around 4. And their expected standard pay is, well, pathetic. Which means that it doesn't take much for a human to be able to afford to pay them. Meanwhile, it seems that all humans effectively have a UBI sort of thing set up, in that they own everything, with machines actually discouraged from being investors. They don't take charity, don't take loans, don't invest, and barely keep a bank account balance, so they aren't exactly a risk to the humans.
I wouldn't be surprised if the grasshopper type humans(as opposed to bee/ant) in this have been quietly bred out of existence(If you aren't able to save up enough, kids are contradicted; on the other hand, if you can save up, you have all the time and money in the world to have kids), or possibly trained to be more "saving".
Machines in this don't breed, you have unboxing, but machines can also last centuries. As such, I wouldn't be surprised at all if they can easily keep up with human growth. So the pathetic pay actually doesn't disadvantage them much - normal parts are cheap(fusiliers need a lot more repair work than normal, using more expensive parts), don't need to eat, only need a bit of power, and even their entertainment and drugs are cheap. Humans are a lot more expensive, but if you consider the work put in(even if this universe uses machines in "manual" labor a lot more than our world's completely automated production lines using static robots), if you have 500 productive adults for every "child"/human, extreme luxury for the humans isn't difficult, or even that expensive, proportionally.
Certainly an interesting setting.
- Location
- Somewhere.
...I see you, flight school meme!
- Location
- Mid-Atlantic
To be fair, if you are an infantry officer with no infantry around in an active combat zone, something has gone very very wrong and the intellectually honest answer is "what are you going to do? Die."
10ebbor10
DON'T PANIC
- Location
- Present
Unlike the navy, which routinely dispatches it's highest ranking officers on away missions without additional support.
Karlito
Bzzzzzzzzzzzzz!
So, the date with Mary must have gone well then.
- Pronouns
- She/Her
An infantry officer's weapons, particularly in this period, are roughly as follows in order of the amount of attention they should be paid:
- Their unit level weapons units
- Their reserve if applicable
- Their means of communication with their own troops
- Their means of communication with higher level formations
- Their inherent communications capability (standards, musicians etc)
- Their ability to run over to troops under their command
- Their ability to shout out to troops under their command
- Their ability to leg it to friendly troops
- Their ability to duck and cover
- Their pistol
- Their sword
As long as a concert officer has a single fusilier, their best play is to cover the fusilier's flanks.
Great, that's an image I am never getting out of my head.
The idea is both deeply wholesome and simultaneously deeply cursed.
Chapter 15 - Point Beats Edge
- Location
- Ottawa
- Pronouns
- She/Her/Whatever
We headed over to check, Miles wincing at the heat as he got closer and thumbing the activation switch on his gorget to bring his field up. The cloying coolant smoke was quickly cleared by the bellows above the range as the sergeants called for a halt. Two armourers were fussing over the gun while its last operator, a hapless private with wide eyes and one of his cuffs singed, stepped away.
"I don't understand it, the temperature gauge was green before I fired…" he said, looking worried, "I only shot a short burst…"
"Not your fault, lad." one of the armourers replied in clipped tones, pulling the cooling shroud aside. The barrel underneath was red hot a moment before the dripping coolant splashed across it with a hiss.
"What's the issue, then?" Miles asked, and the armourer pulled loose one of the hoses and stepped aside for us to look. To me, it just looked like a bunch of mechanical components, I couldn't well tell what was happening.
"Coolant around the barrel wasn't cycling, guess something in the pump couldn't take the heat, sir. And indicators weren't working either." the armourer explained, "Bloody mess."
"That happens all the time with muskets, don't it?" Miles asked, and I nodded. I'd had it happen to me through the portal, dry-firing it without sufficient coolant until the lenses cracked and air got into the vacuum tube.
"You have to work at it, but yes." I summarized, "But the whole point of our support weapons is that they're supposed to be more reliable than this."
Conscious of stains and heat, I pulled my gloves off and threw them on one of the supply tables, then leaned in to take a look at the gun. I was no armourer, but I could tell the gun was unsalvagable, because under the cooling shroud the barrel was heavily deformed, the lenses clearly cracked. Touching the heat sink, though, it couldn't have been more than two hundred degrees.
"How the hell'd this get so bad?" I asked. This was not how a well-designed gun should fail.
"Well, these are naval guns, right? I imagine they're normally hooked up to a ship's coolant pipes and main radiators, probably a hell of a lot more effective. It's just the one, though…" Miles said, then I followed his eyeline to see Captain Murray striding over, a frown on her face. "Captain?"
"Pull the guns, lieutenant, at least until we figure out what's going on." she instructed. "I'll pass this upstairs."
"Yes, Captain." he said, reaching for one of the nearby sergeants. "You heard her, Theo, stow the guns. We'll get this figured out."
I stepped back, finding a rag to clean my fingers, and Miles clapped me on the back.
"Cheer up, Fusie. We'll throw some money at the problem and it'll get fixed, just watch."
---
The mood in the mess was rather dejected, and within a few minutes the arrival of a special edition of the Mercury revealed why. The usual ritual of toasts and conversation gave way to knots of officers crowded around the broadsheets as they arrived, whispering in hushed tones.
"Bloody hell, there's going to be a war, isn't there?" Ensign Kelly said, flipping through the pages. "Like a real one."
"We still don't even know who we're fighting, but seems like." Sumner added.
"The Navy is having a real war, we'll see about us." Miles interjected, "They need to find a planet for us to do our thing..."
A paper finally made it to me, and I flipped it open to a page which had a crude diagram of a battle between three stars. One of the convoys braving the pass had been ambushed, but rather than a hit and fade attack the enemy had kept up their attack over several hours, forcing the convoy to take shelter in the gravity well of a nearby star and call for help, bombarded all the while from the edge of the system with missiles and drones.
A French light squadron had responded, allowing the remains of the convoy to slip away, but over the next three days, we fought a long range battle, never getting closer than a hundred million miles. That was still the closest we'd ever gotten to the bastards, but it was still well outside the ranges we usually fought at: the Navy's tactics still involved passes with other ships at maybe a few hundred feet, intermingling shields to get a full broadside off. Instead, our ships were forced to stand off with laser carronade, their main coilguns useless.
We'd won, it seemed, carving them apart badly enough that seven of their ships were forced to self destruct and the rest to retreat, all of them damaged. In exchange, however, the enemy had smashed apart two cargo vessels, and the battle had damaged a half-a-dozen ships of the line beyond repair, including the British forth-rate Druid. Eight smaller ships were also written off. The worst loss by far was the Dutch first-rate Dolphijn, which suffered a transmutative reactor breach and had to be abandoned under fire, too radioactive to touch. Enough of the other ships were so damaged that we'd been unable to pursue.
Forty-four human losses, at least eight hundred machines. And we had nothing to show for it but clouds of powdered steel from the self-destructed enemy vessels. At least we had pictures of them now, sketches through gunsights. Descriptions indicated they were painted in a disruptive pattern of grey and black, and they came in two classes we'd seen so far. Their sloops were dagger-like vessels with a quartet of forward turrets, racks of long-range missiles, and enormous reactive engines at the rear, while their ships-of-the-line were great triangular prisms with launch rails for drones and dozens of point defense guns.
"Bastards." Henry had muttered, throwing the paper aside. "We're going to do something about this, right?"
"I imagine the moment we find solid ground, we'll be heading for it." I said, trying to keep myself calm, remind myself there was no point in feeling useless, scanning over the stories again. Trying not to dwell on the dead officers, the dead and wounded humans, the ones who right now we're getting radiation treatment or having limbs regrown, there was nothing I could do, I ought not to think about it-
// If you can, remove yourself from bad situations.
"Fuck, sorry, I forgot my gloves at the range." I said, throwing the paper aside, unable to look at it anymore. "I'll be right back."
Nobody acknowledged, too glued to their papers. I pushed out the door, the feelings welling up, trying to stay focused on the armoury at the far end of the base. My gloves were of secondary concern, I needed an outlet, I needed to shoot something or use the simulator or something, I needed a distraction.
I almost pulled the door handle off shoving my way in, the door slamming behind me. I was expecting the range to be empty, but instead one of the holographic simulators was active, muted sounds of a distant fight through the speakers. A small machine in a red uniform and black skirt, a bespectacled clerk, was observing. I stepped up to the control console, the brass dials indicating level fourteen targets, and peered inside.
Instead was Théa, sword in hand, surrounded by the shadowy shapes of phantom enemies. She was crouched in a defensive stance, glancing around, circling slowly, waiting, then one of them pounced and she moved, her body ducking low under a blade as she danced through their defenses, the point of her sword lashing out toward eyes, throats, taking off fingers, catching a foe in the knee and carrying up through their chest. She never hesitated, never paused, she was untouchable.
The simulation ran down, and her eyes met mine above the console. I should have asked if this is where she'd been, all the evenings she'd missed the mess, or volunteered to reset the sim for her. Instead, I stepped around the console and down the stairs into the simulator ring, drawing my sword and setting it to level zero. A white blade flickered to life, ionized air dancing along its length.
She nodded and raised her blade, I took a defensive stance, and we danced.
There was no doubt she was more skilled, but I was no holographic target, I was just as smart and fast and strong as she. Her blade jabbed high, eye-level, and almost immediately I had to give ground, but I deflected the point over and over, looking for an opening, trying to keep my blade in position despite the constant aggression. She was taller, her sword longer, more experienced, and soon her blade found my shoulder, a moment of numbness buzzing through me as she stepped back.
I raised my sword. Again.
She stepped in, but this time I attacked first, bringing my blade in long sweeping arcs near her body, forcing her to take a step away, to circle, the edge of my sabre passing within inches of her body at times. I overcommitted and she knocked my sword away, drawing back and catching me at the throat with a single motion.
I staggered, rolled my shoulders, feeling the new actuators flex, the engines warm up, my fans blazing. Feeling alive.
"Come on!" I shouted, and ducked back in. Swinging low, her boot just dancing out of range, high, catching her sword and pushing it aside before shoulder-checking her full-force with a sound like a hammer striking an anvil. She staggered, tripping over her feet, and I came in for a final swing when I felt a buzzing at my middle, her sword through my gut.
Reluctantly I pulled back, offering a hand to pull her to her feet before pacing a circle around the area.
"Lieutenant."
"Again, come on, again." I insisted, taking up a stance.
"I will just beat you again." she warned, standing back
"Again!" I said, stepping in. She smacked my blade aside with one motion and stabbed me in the shoulder.
"No. Stand back. What's wrong." she asked.
"Why don't you come to the mess?" I asked, "You'd know."
I barely raised my sword an inch when her blade caught my wrist, the numbness causing it to slip from my nerveless fingers a moment.
"You know you can't win this." she insisted, as I switched hands, brandishing again. With a sigh, she disarmed me and smacked the flat of the blade against my cheek. "Come now."
I raised a fist back, and she flicked the controls on her sword and stabbed me in the knee. A sudden, roaring pain flared through me, and I clattered to the ground.
"Fuck!"
"Lieutenant, are you done?" Fans screaming and blowing dust across the floor, internal temperatures dropping, I nodded, and she offered a hand to pull me up. "Throwing yourself at me over and over will not change the outcome."
"I know." I groaned, staggering over to my sword. "You're better than me. Is that what you wanted to hear?"
"... you were the one who started this." she pointed out, switching off her sword and leaning against the wall. "What's wrong?"
"... there's a bloody war on, people are dying, and we're just sitting around." I said, retrieving my blade and flicking it off. "I just… I can't stand it."
"I see." she said, then she indicated to me and lifted her deactivated sword. "Come, take your stance, Lieutenant."
Cautiously, I strode back to the centre of the ring and raised my blade.
"You can call me Dora, you know." I said, settling into my stance and raising my blade. "Officers are peers."
"So you say." she said, reactivating her sword. "Blade higher than that, come now."
"I did the same thing, you know. Retreat to the armoury instead of facing the mess." I pointed out, adjusting to match her movements. "You can't stay here forever."
"I don't see why not. High guard!"
She flicked her blade out like lightning, and even with warning I barely had time to react, the energies crackling off one another.
"No, you're staying drawn too high. You have to remain flexible." she instead, pulling my blade down with the tip of her own. "Again."
We repeated, going through drills, trying to move as fast as possible. Soon we were sparring again, the steps forgotten as our blades flashed back and forth. Defensively, I was holding my own, but I could make no progress on the offensive, my blade always coming short.
"Stop, stop. It is not a cudgel, Lieutenant, stop using it like one."
"Dora, use my name." I insisted, "Alright, Théa?"
"... Dora. Think to yourself that you do not have a blade, you have a surgical scalpel on a stick. Do you understand?"
"No. Aren't you supposed to be observing the practices of our officers? How can you do that hidden here?"
"I am seeing plenty in exercises. The lethal potential of your sword is at the very point, and you must endeavor to use that point as a threat, to develop your attack. The edge of your blade, it is… a bonus, and if using it is the focus of your attack, you will-"
I swung, and she thrust past it, catching me under the arm.
"... alright." I said, stepping back. "Point beats edge. But you're missing out on so much. The social aspect is important, and you are cut out of it. I venture to say you are equally cut out back home, it isn't fair."
"Fairness has little to do with it." she retorted, settling back in her stance. "Life is not fair. Ready?"
"Life is what we make of it." I said, and I stepped in to attack, focusing on the point of her sword, and the point of mine. Watching them flash back and forth, twist past each other, probing defenses. "And this is no way to live."
"You say you are a peer, an equal to officers. I think you're forgetting your place." She lashed out, high, low, a driving thrust that I only barely deflected. I swung back, and this time she barely got her blade in the way in time, my sword coming so close I swear I brushed her crossbelt.
"My place is as a lieutenant. I think it's you trying to downplay your station here."
"So what, you think you are the equal of a human?" she asked, jabbing out clumsily. I saw a chance, saw where the point of my blade would reach, and I swung out just enough to catch her forearm before following up, feeling phantom resistance as the field of my sword's tip passed through her chest.
"Yes."
"I don't understand it, the temperature gauge was green before I fired…" he said, looking worried, "I only shot a short burst…"
"Not your fault, lad." one of the armourers replied in clipped tones, pulling the cooling shroud aside. The barrel underneath was red hot a moment before the dripping coolant splashed across it with a hiss.
"What's the issue, then?" Miles asked, and the armourer pulled loose one of the hoses and stepped aside for us to look. To me, it just looked like a bunch of mechanical components, I couldn't well tell what was happening.
"Coolant around the barrel wasn't cycling, guess something in the pump couldn't take the heat, sir. And indicators weren't working either." the armourer explained, "Bloody mess."
"That happens all the time with muskets, don't it?" Miles asked, and I nodded. I'd had it happen to me through the portal, dry-firing it without sufficient coolant until the lenses cracked and air got into the vacuum tube.
"You have to work at it, but yes." I summarized, "But the whole point of our support weapons is that they're supposed to be more reliable than this."
Conscious of stains and heat, I pulled my gloves off and threw them on one of the supply tables, then leaned in to take a look at the gun. I was no armourer, but I could tell the gun was unsalvagable, because under the cooling shroud the barrel was heavily deformed, the lenses clearly cracked. Touching the heat sink, though, it couldn't have been more than two hundred degrees.
"How the hell'd this get so bad?" I asked. This was not how a well-designed gun should fail.
"Well, these are naval guns, right? I imagine they're normally hooked up to a ship's coolant pipes and main radiators, probably a hell of a lot more effective. It's just the one, though…" Miles said, then I followed his eyeline to see Captain Murray striding over, a frown on her face. "Captain?"
"Pull the guns, lieutenant, at least until we figure out what's going on." she instructed. "I'll pass this upstairs."
"Yes, Captain." he said, reaching for one of the nearby sergeants. "You heard her, Theo, stow the guns. We'll get this figured out."
I stepped back, finding a rag to clean my fingers, and Miles clapped me on the back.
"Cheer up, Fusie. We'll throw some money at the problem and it'll get fixed, just watch."
---
The mood in the mess was rather dejected, and within a few minutes the arrival of a special edition of the Mercury revealed why. The usual ritual of toasts and conversation gave way to knots of officers crowded around the broadsheets as they arrived, whispering in hushed tones.
"Bloody hell, there's going to be a war, isn't there?" Ensign Kelly said, flipping through the pages. "Like a real one."
"We still don't even know who we're fighting, but seems like." Sumner added.
"The Navy is having a real war, we'll see about us." Miles interjected, "They need to find a planet for us to do our thing..."
A paper finally made it to me, and I flipped it open to a page which had a crude diagram of a battle between three stars. One of the convoys braving the pass had been ambushed, but rather than a hit and fade attack the enemy had kept up their attack over several hours, forcing the convoy to take shelter in the gravity well of a nearby star and call for help, bombarded all the while from the edge of the system with missiles and drones.
A French light squadron had responded, allowing the remains of the convoy to slip away, but over the next three days, we fought a long range battle, never getting closer than a hundred million miles. That was still the closest we'd ever gotten to the bastards, but it was still well outside the ranges we usually fought at: the Navy's tactics still involved passes with other ships at maybe a few hundred feet, intermingling shields to get a full broadside off. Instead, our ships were forced to stand off with laser carronade, their main coilguns useless.
We'd won, it seemed, carving them apart badly enough that seven of their ships were forced to self destruct and the rest to retreat, all of them damaged. In exchange, however, the enemy had smashed apart two cargo vessels, and the battle had damaged a half-a-dozen ships of the line beyond repair, including the British forth-rate Druid. Eight smaller ships were also written off. The worst loss by far was the Dutch first-rate Dolphijn, which suffered a transmutative reactor breach and had to be abandoned under fire, too radioactive to touch. Enough of the other ships were so damaged that we'd been unable to pursue.
Forty-four human losses, at least eight hundred machines. And we had nothing to show for it but clouds of powdered steel from the self-destructed enemy vessels. At least we had pictures of them now, sketches through gunsights. Descriptions indicated they were painted in a disruptive pattern of grey and black, and they came in two classes we'd seen so far. Their sloops were dagger-like vessels with a quartet of forward turrets, racks of long-range missiles, and enormous reactive engines at the rear, while their ships-of-the-line were great triangular prisms with launch rails for drones and dozens of point defense guns.
"Bastards." Henry had muttered, throwing the paper aside. "We're going to do something about this, right?"
"I imagine the moment we find solid ground, we'll be heading for it." I said, trying to keep myself calm, remind myself there was no point in feeling useless, scanning over the stories again. Trying not to dwell on the dead officers, the dead and wounded humans, the ones who right now we're getting radiation treatment or having limbs regrown, there was nothing I could do, I ought not to think about it-
// If you can, remove yourself from bad situations.
"Fuck, sorry, I forgot my gloves at the range." I said, throwing the paper aside, unable to look at it anymore. "I'll be right back."
Nobody acknowledged, too glued to their papers. I pushed out the door, the feelings welling up, trying to stay focused on the armoury at the far end of the base. My gloves were of secondary concern, I needed an outlet, I needed to shoot something or use the simulator or something, I needed a distraction.
I almost pulled the door handle off shoving my way in, the door slamming behind me. I was expecting the range to be empty, but instead one of the holographic simulators was active, muted sounds of a distant fight through the speakers. A small machine in a red uniform and black skirt, a bespectacled clerk, was observing. I stepped up to the control console, the brass dials indicating level fourteen targets, and peered inside.
Instead was Théa, sword in hand, surrounded by the shadowy shapes of phantom enemies. She was crouched in a defensive stance, glancing around, circling slowly, waiting, then one of them pounced and she moved, her body ducking low under a blade as she danced through their defenses, the point of her sword lashing out toward eyes, throats, taking off fingers, catching a foe in the knee and carrying up through their chest. She never hesitated, never paused, she was untouchable.
The simulation ran down, and her eyes met mine above the console. I should have asked if this is where she'd been, all the evenings she'd missed the mess, or volunteered to reset the sim for her. Instead, I stepped around the console and down the stairs into the simulator ring, drawing my sword and setting it to level zero. A white blade flickered to life, ionized air dancing along its length.
She nodded and raised her blade, I took a defensive stance, and we danced.
There was no doubt she was more skilled, but I was no holographic target, I was just as smart and fast and strong as she. Her blade jabbed high, eye-level, and almost immediately I had to give ground, but I deflected the point over and over, looking for an opening, trying to keep my blade in position despite the constant aggression. She was taller, her sword longer, more experienced, and soon her blade found my shoulder, a moment of numbness buzzing through me as she stepped back.
I raised my sword. Again.
She stepped in, but this time I attacked first, bringing my blade in long sweeping arcs near her body, forcing her to take a step away, to circle, the edge of my sabre passing within inches of her body at times. I overcommitted and she knocked my sword away, drawing back and catching me at the throat with a single motion.
I staggered, rolled my shoulders, feeling the new actuators flex, the engines warm up, my fans blazing. Feeling alive.
"Come on!" I shouted, and ducked back in. Swinging low, her boot just dancing out of range, high, catching her sword and pushing it aside before shoulder-checking her full-force with a sound like a hammer striking an anvil. She staggered, tripping over her feet, and I came in for a final swing when I felt a buzzing at my middle, her sword through my gut.
Reluctantly I pulled back, offering a hand to pull her to her feet before pacing a circle around the area.
"Lieutenant."
"Again, come on, again." I insisted, taking up a stance.
"I will just beat you again." she warned, standing back
"Again!" I said, stepping in. She smacked my blade aside with one motion and stabbed me in the shoulder.
"No. Stand back. What's wrong." she asked.
"Why don't you come to the mess?" I asked, "You'd know."
I barely raised my sword an inch when her blade caught my wrist, the numbness causing it to slip from my nerveless fingers a moment.
"You know you can't win this." she insisted, as I switched hands, brandishing again. With a sigh, she disarmed me and smacked the flat of the blade against my cheek. "Come now."
I raised a fist back, and she flicked the controls on her sword and stabbed me in the knee. A sudden, roaring pain flared through me, and I clattered to the ground.
"Fuck!"
"Lieutenant, are you done?" Fans screaming and blowing dust across the floor, internal temperatures dropping, I nodded, and she offered a hand to pull me up. "Throwing yourself at me over and over will not change the outcome."
"I know." I groaned, staggering over to my sword. "You're better than me. Is that what you wanted to hear?"
"... you were the one who started this." she pointed out, switching off her sword and leaning against the wall. "What's wrong?"
"... there's a bloody war on, people are dying, and we're just sitting around." I said, retrieving my blade and flicking it off. "I just… I can't stand it."
"I see." she said, then she indicated to me and lifted her deactivated sword. "Come, take your stance, Lieutenant."
Cautiously, I strode back to the centre of the ring and raised my blade.
"You can call me Dora, you know." I said, settling into my stance and raising my blade. "Officers are peers."
"So you say." she said, reactivating her sword. "Blade higher than that, come now."
"I did the same thing, you know. Retreat to the armoury instead of facing the mess." I pointed out, adjusting to match her movements. "You can't stay here forever."
"I don't see why not. High guard!"
She flicked her blade out like lightning, and even with warning I barely had time to react, the energies crackling off one another.
"No, you're staying drawn too high. You have to remain flexible." she instead, pulling my blade down with the tip of her own. "Again."
We repeated, going through drills, trying to move as fast as possible. Soon we were sparring again, the steps forgotten as our blades flashed back and forth. Defensively, I was holding my own, but I could make no progress on the offensive, my blade always coming short.
"Stop, stop. It is not a cudgel, Lieutenant, stop using it like one."
"Dora, use my name." I insisted, "Alright, Théa?"
"... Dora. Think to yourself that you do not have a blade, you have a surgical scalpel on a stick. Do you understand?"
"No. Aren't you supposed to be observing the practices of our officers? How can you do that hidden here?"
"I am seeing plenty in exercises. The lethal potential of your sword is at the very point, and you must endeavor to use that point as a threat, to develop your attack. The edge of your blade, it is… a bonus, and if using it is the focus of your attack, you will-"
I swung, and she thrust past it, catching me under the arm.
"... alright." I said, stepping back. "Point beats edge. But you're missing out on so much. The social aspect is important, and you are cut out of it. I venture to say you are equally cut out back home, it isn't fair."
"Fairness has little to do with it." she retorted, settling back in her stance. "Life is not fair. Ready?"
"Life is what we make of it." I said, and I stepped in to attack, focusing on the point of her sword, and the point of mine. Watching them flash back and forth, twist past each other, probing defenses. "And this is no way to live."
"You say you are a peer, an equal to officers. I think you're forgetting your place." She lashed out, high, low, a driving thrust that I only barely deflected. I swung back, and this time she barely got her blade in the way in time, my sword coming so close I swear I brushed her crossbelt.
"My place is as a lieutenant. I think it's you trying to downplay your station here."
"So what, you think you are the equal of a human?" she asked, jabbing out clumsily. I saw a chance, saw where the point of my blade would reach, and I swung out just enough to catch her forearm before following up, feeling phantom resistance as the field of my sword's tip passed through her chest.
"Yes."
Last edited:
- Location
- Someone else's head
Lovely chapter. It feels like good character development, having that conclusion in words like that. Something a bit understated here that will have major repercussions.
10ebbor10
DON'T PANIC
- Location
- Present
If they're supposed to be naval, then they probably also operate in vaccuum.
That would have pretty big effects on heat distribution.No atmospheric bloom reflecting back on the barrel, for example.
- Pronouns
- He/Him
HOMOEROTIC SWORD FIGHT! You spoil us, Erika…
- Location
- Under a cat
- Pronouns
- She/Her
Ooh, emotionally charged swordfight! That's basically second base. 👍
Dora saying she's equal to a human is pretty big emotional growth, unless Dora was just lying to get under Thea's skin.
Here's hoping that the aliens aren't nearly as good at close range as they are at long range. Otherwise, this is going to get ugly.
Dora saying she's equal to a human is pretty big emotional growth, unless Dora was just lying to get under Thea's skin.
Here's hoping that the aliens aren't nearly as good at close range as they are at long range. Otherwise, this is going to get ugly.
