10ebbor10
DON'T PANIC
- Location
- Present
There are 14 recent readers on that thread, and it has 334 Watchers. That seems to suggest that the vast majority of readers has not seen the post.
Lieutenant Fusilier 2 (Abandoned, do not read)
- Thread starter open_sketch
- Start date
- Original Mature Sci-Fi
- Location
- Academy City
- Pronouns
- They
I got here from the post in discord, so I can't comment on the effectiveness of the redirect, but I do like the logo.
10ebbor10
DON'T PANIC
- Location
- Present
I went digging through my alerts.
The OP alert did not go off. You might need to make another post, and throw in a good 500 words of Lorem Ipsum to trigger the alert.
- Pronouns
- He/Him
Heh...I know what this is in reference too 👀
Tithed_Verse
Vainglorious
- Location
- Iowa
- Pronouns
- They/Them
Cetashwayo
Lord of Ten Thousand Years
- Location
- Across the Horizon
Oh awesome, just saw this got posted.
- Location
- Washington DC
Just saw the proper new alert from the first book. Editing for publication? with new scenes? *grabby hands* gimme!
- Location
- Mid-Atlantic
To be fair, they were totally doing this exact thing for like thirty years before anyone even invented robo-musketeers with laser guns.
To be fair, the counterargument here is that if a soldier wants to work for someone with their best interests at heart, they probably shouldn't have signed up to get shot at, because someone with your best interests at heart probably won't send you to get shot at.
An army needs officers who will consistently win as many battles as possible, which may or may not be consistent with the traits that endear them to their soldiers over all competing candidates in an election.
I say this only because I'm pretty sure you are intentionally trying to open the story by establishing Fusie's character traits for those who haven't read the previous Fusie story.* I would never normally nitpick you like this.
But... this paragraph so badly needs to have a "Lucky bastard" at the end.
___________________
*(and that war game exercise in the first chapter serves that role very well)
Good Miles.
[nods approvingly]
Excellent Miles.
[nods with vigorous approval]
I mean. This is arguably true... if your rank and file is not composed entirely of Theos and Doras.
Well that certainly explains how she managed to hand Fusie her burnished ironclad ass so easily...
Grr!
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Raiseth
I Find Your Lack of Memes Disturbing
- Location
- Russia
I mean, for most machines that's a paradise from what I've surmised.
Bonus points for him probably never getting actually ahead of the paperwork, since he's in a general's staff.
Oh, Miriam isn't a friend? How... sad.
How inappropriate! How scandalous!
Can we get a sample of the article written about it?
Yeah, I don't understand what he means by that, if it's inoffensive.
Edit: ah, right, the threadmark you made today fired off just fine, I've followed it her. Haven't seen anything before, though.
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If we give him the maximum benefit of the doubt, in Space France there are enough machine officers that they can have their own mess that serves machine appropriate things like electricity and music, rather than food and drink.
Though, the segregation of supposed equals is not a good look even then. It's not like things couldn't be combined. Fusie ought to be able to order a battery to top off off and one of those novelty glasses with a music box in the bottom in place of drink.
- Location
- Ottawa
- Pronouns
- She/Her/Whatever
Electricity is more akin to sleep than food for machines in practical terms, but yes you've more or less got it right.
10ebbor10
DON'T PANIC
- Location
- Present
The reverse would be more of a problem. You can't have some light music as entertainment without all your fellow machine officers getting drunk.
True, though from what I've heard a certain level of drunk is the expected state of things.
- Location
- Universitas Oxoniensis
I ship ittttt! In other news, love what the sequel is shaping up to be!
Miles might be thinking that it might be better to have officers who are more versed in the 'craft', or might be feeling the pangs of his democratic instincts, but he might do with revisiting his Principal-Agent problems! There's a reason those armies who experimented with no ranks/election of officers quickly fell back to the old ways...
Horizontal segregation is an interesting look for the French. I suppose it is almost inevitable, especially if you don't stick to 'The Evitable Conflict''s version of machine-human relationships. Interesting to see how this pans out!
Miles might be thinking that it might be better to have officers who are more versed in the 'craft', or might be feeling the pangs of his democratic instincts, but he might do with revisiting his Principal-Agent problems! There's a reason those armies who experimented with no ranks/election of officers quickly fell back to the old ways...
Horizontal segregation is an interesting look for the French. I suppose it is almost inevitable, especially if you don't stick to 'The Evitable Conflict''s version of machine-human relationships. Interesting to see how this pans out!
Instructions unclear, walked into a lamppost.
- Location
- Spain
Well, i for one i did.
- Location
- Earth
Woo! I'm glad to see the sequel so soon after the first one finished.
We need to teach her about intersectionality.
That's... at best there's a disconnect in understanding what this gathering is meant to accomplish, but realistically it's a yikes from me.
"first shell landed"?
"regolith, feeling the"?
We need to teach her about intersectionality.
That's... at best there's a disconnect in understanding what this gathering is meant to accomplish, but realistically it's a yikes from me.
"first shell landed"?
"regolith, feeling the"?
Chapter 3 - Drinking with the Boys
- Location
- Ottawa
- Pronouns
- She/Her/Whatever
I didn't know what to say to that. Feeling somewhat defeated, I broke eye contact, looking around the room anxiously, wishing suddenly to be anywhere else. It was not an unfamiliar feeling, but it was one I hadn't felt this badly in this space in months, and I was not pleased at its return. My cameras cast around for something familiar, safe.
There, nearly blending in with the darker blue uniforms of the French officers she was talking to, was Lieutenant Diana Kennedy, laughing at a joke as her aide translated for her.
I looked away before she could spot me. Neither familiar nor safe.
---
The moment we judged it would be polite to do so, we left, Miles inviting Turner, Risewell, and myself back to his place for drinks and an escape from the crowded atmosphere. I was so incredibly grateful to be out of there, away from the noise, Frenchmen, and past mistakes.
We were greeted at the door of Number 22 by his valet, who went by Jim and who was, in every way, perfectly suited to the job of being Miles' servant. He was just as casual, laid back, and relaxed as my friend, to the point where it made me wonder sometimes if there was some mysterious force pairing officers with Jameses and Marias who exactly met their needs, or if this was in some ways an act.
Miles had, from somewhere, acquired a set of the comfiest, rattiest furniture I'd ever seen, more suited to the backrooms of a servant's area than anyone's sitting room. Jim was back in a moment, setting a tray of bottles on the side table before setting a music player going, a simple rhythm low enough for conversion.
Sometimes I felt a bit strange, spending so much of my time with Miles and his friends. With a bunch of men, rather than the female officers you'd expect me to be friends with. I'd tried, but honestly I'd not connected to many of my feminine peers: they had… an affect I presumed came from their upbringing that I obviously had never experienced. I always felt deeply out of place, but it didn't feel as pronounced around Miles and his friends.
Sure, it had been centuries since it was true, but I thought perhaps it was some lingering influence of the military as a historically masculine pursuit affecting my mindset. Then again, a lot of my peers in the ranks were far more feminine than I ever was, so perhaps I was just a bit queer.
In any case, Miles was just about the only human who really, truly treated me like a peer. Yes, he constantly said mildly insulting things, but I'd long figured out that he considered that to be expressions of affection. Turner was a bit more stilted, and quieter, but he'd never said a thing wrong to me either. And this Risewell fellow seemed nice enough.
Miles uncorked his beer, and the sound was like a starting gun for conversation, almost.
"The fucking French." Turner immediately said, and there as a chorus of agreement all around.
"Smug bastards, the lot of them." Risewell said.
"We need a rematch, we can't let them get away with this." Miles said, "Right?"
"Absolutely. It's their bloody screens, absolutely unfair." I said, "Basically cheating. And that artillery."
"We need hussars next time. Somebody to get in their artillery park." Risewell agreed. "And... the things he said to you, Fusilier, I'm almost surprised you didn't take a swing at that Jacquinot fellow."
"I could never!" I protested, and Miles shook his head affectionately.
"I know you can't, but I may consider doing it on your behalf. What'd he say?" he asked, and Risewell recounted the incident, putting on the best worst French accent I'd ever heard.
"... or something like that. My frog's a bit rusty." he concluded.
"Jesus Christ, what a prick." Turner muttered.
"I'm definitely breaking his nose next I see him." Miles said simply.
"I'll hold his arms." Turner added.
"You are not, stop it, both of you." I said. "It's just… frustrating. Plus, it means I didn't even get to talk to any of their machine officers."
"Like that one who beat you?" Miles suggested mischievously. "Can't imagine why you'd want to talk to her…"
"I.... listen you!" I protested, to the laughter of my friends. Risewell raised a curious eyebrow, and to my horror Miles beat me to any kind of explanation.
"Fusie has a thing for girls who can kick her ass." he said.
"I do not!"
"Honestly, I think she just has a thing for girls." Turner observed. That… was more true.
"Well, that's relatable." Risewell said, taking another swig of his beer. "Though I'm grateful I'm finally getting another deployment after this, I've been fending off the women my parents have been shoveling my way. A lot of them are very nice, and quite lovely, but the way it's done, it's almost… mechanical. No offense."
"None… taken? I'm not sure what you mean." I said. I had no idea about human courtship other than the general need to stay away.
"Of course not, Fusie, let me explain." Miles said, "I was just dealing with the start of that when I pissed my father off. The moment you're old enough to start thinking about what you want to do with your life, your parents come to you like, here lad, here's a list of women ranked from most to least socially acceptable, pick one quick, and do try not to ruin your life with the wrong choice. Like fuck off."
"Right? I've told them after I get back from my deployment, I'm handling my correspondence on it myself. Don't even think I'm going home after." Risewell said, sounded exhausted. "My family has a ski resort near the south pole they keep forgetting about, I figure I'll hold up there and maybe invite a girl or two, you know? Something without the damned pressure."
"Plus, cold place, a lady might want somebody to keep her warm." Miles joked.
"... I will not say that is not a part of my motivation." Risewell confirmed simply.
I knew that humans weren't supposed to get intimately involved with one another outside of marriage, but I wasn't a boxie, I knew they did. Just wasn't sure exactly how that happened, if they had servants charged with chaperon duties hovering around all the time. Then again… thinking about it even a moment, I was absolutely certain that Miriam would not only tolerate it under the right circumstances, but lie to her charge's parents about it if it was warranted.
"So there you are, Fusie. Human romances are a tedious, joyless procedure. Like dental surgery." Miles said.
"I'm engaged." Turner added simply, and Miles' glum, cynical expression immediately vanished as he turned, drowning out Risewell's congratulations with a near-shout.
"You're what? I… good God man, when were you planning on telling me?" Miles asked, and he shrugged.
"Still, um, getting used to it myself, old chap. Kind of a spur of the moment thing." he said, and indeed he sounded a bit shell-shocked. "Nobody's more surprised than me, I think."
"I think I'll disagree, I didn't even know you were seeing anyone." Miles said, "Who's the unlucky lady?"
Turner smoothly made an obscene gesture without pausing as he finished off his bottle.
"Her name is Kara, she's lovely. We ran into each other in the park and just... hit it off, I suppose." Turner explained, leaning against the edge of his chair with a wistful expression on his face.
"When'd all this happen?" Miles asked, sounding suspicious.
"Last month. We've been meeting up in the evening-"
"That's where you've been?" Miles exclaimed. "I didn't hear a word of this!"
"Haven't really told anyone yet. Her parents don't know yet either." he said, "I dunno, it's not a secret or anything, it was just a private little thing."
"Kara… where's that name from?" Risewell asked.
"She's Polish. Kara Grynberg. Her English isn't that strong, but it's much better than my Polish or Hebrew, so, you know, she's brilliant. I… I proposed to her on Monday, and we've been trying to figure out how to tell her parents."
"I don't know what to say, old boy, except congratulations. I didn't see it coming."
As if summoned by some invisible signal, Jim arrived with some harder drinks. I took the opportunity to lean over to the music player and turn it up a little, as Miles, assisted by a confused but enthusiastic Risewell, interrogated Turner about his sudden engagement. Not really having anything to say, I took a few moments to let the music carry me away, the sting of today's humiliating defeat and frustrating conversations muted by a pleasant buzz.
"- you're ridiculous, man, but seriously, my congratulations to the both of you." Miles said, settling back. "Just don't go retiring and leave me alone with this tin can for the rest of my career."
"Love you too, Miles." I muttered.
"You're safe for now, don't you worry." Turner assured him. "Course, what if Fusie does the same?"
"What, retire? Machines don't retire." I said, laughing at the absurdity of it. "Nor do we get married."
"Really? There's a couple on my parent's staff, it's actually kind of sweet." Risewell said.
"Well, not never, I guess." I said. There were a few Theos and Doras who were married to machines in the city too, but it had always struck me as somewhat absurd. "We probably shouldn't, I think, is the thing. We've got a commitment to our job first and foremost. It's not something we'd do if we weren't imitating you lot, I think."
"You've got the right idea, if you ask me." Miles added, "Sounds a lot more pleasant."
"I don't believe you're that cynical, Miles, you're putting up a front." I said, "The right girl comes along, I'm sure you'll change your tune."
"Oh, I'm certain I will, should that happen, I'm nothing if not a hypocrite." he said, sipping from his glass. Whatever it was, it was strong enough that even he winced a little. "But until then, I've got nothing to my name but a father who's probably warned every family in the sector about me. Not worth the trouble."
"Say, Fusie, what ever happened to that tailor you brought to the ball, anyway?" Turner asked, and I sighed.
"She… well, she thought I'd died, left the city. Miriam got in contact with her again a few months ago, but she says she doesn't want to… reopen old wounds, you know?"
The music must have been hitting me pretty hard, because it felt like the bottom fell out of the world as I said those words.
"Oh Christ, I'm sorry, I hadn't realized." Turner said.
"... you know, this'll sound awful of me, but I never thought of… that." Risewell added, clearly drunk enough that the potential impact of his words were well beyond him, "Like, it always felt like machines were just… playing at relationships, you know?"
"Fraid not." I said simply. "We're good at moving on is all, but maybe, like... a bit too good, if you understand…"
I confess that as much as she had moved on, I very much hadn't. I probably should have, but my deprogrammer had made it clear to me that I needed to stop dismissing feelings unless I absolutely had to for my work. I'd done it so often I'd lost the ability to deal with my problems in any other way. So instead, here I was five months on, pining for somebody who probably never thought about me anymore. It probably wasn't better, but at least I wasn't just shoving the feelings away and pretending they didn't exist.
"My apologies, that probably came out poorly. I'm a bit out of my depths." he said, staring at the bottle of his empty glass. "Beckham… um, Miles, is there any more of this…"
"I think? Jim?" he called, then slumped back in his chair. "You've not seen anyone else?"
"I've been on a few… it's just messy." I said, leaning a little closer to the music player as I talked. "Nobody knows how to act around me, it's… I saw this girl two weeks ago, uh, a messenger, you know? Cute as a button, but it was so awkward…"
"What's the matter?"
I contemplated how to answer that for a few long seconds, my mind sluggish.
"Well… it's just…. they, t-they treat me like one of you." I managed, stumbling over my words as the emotions poured out. "They can't see me as just a machine anymore, because I'm an officer. I'm like… some kind of mythical creature. It's not doable. There's a fucked up… thing. A power thing."
"Oh hell." Miles muttered.
"Compared to them, I have money and authority and… and… fancy clothes. I have a servant. A Maria! Like… to machines, Marias are like… p-princesses." I tripped over that word for some reason, "They're royalty, they're special because they… they work right for humans, talk to them every day. And one of them works for me, so w-what does that make me?"
I reached out to turn up the music, but Jim was there ahead of me, hand on the dial. Couldn't hear me, of course, but he nodded sadly as he turned it down. Turner put down his half-finished drink, a bit embarrassed, and Miles leaned forward across the table at me.
"Fusie, you okay?" he whispered.
"I dunno. I guess." I concluded. "It's just… fucked up. I'm not one of you, but I'm not one of them. What am I?"
"Right now, you're very drunk." Miles said, swaying a little where he sat. "Which I get."
He looked up and tapped his ear, and the music clicked off. On the other side of the room, Risewell and Turner were getting up, and I felt a sudden shame that I'd brought things to an end. I can't remember saying anything to that effect, but I did remember Turner reassuring me that it was late enough that they ought to get going anyway.
Miles went to the door to see them out, then returned and sat heavily in the chair. Jim was there with a glass of water, but then to my surprise he sat down too.
"What do you need right now, Lieutenant?" he asked, looking to me. I struggled to think of an answer, not sure what to say.
"... I think I need to go home." I managed eventually, and Jim moved to get my coat, but I kept talking. "Miles, have… have you talked to Lieutenant Kennedy, since…"
"Diana?" he said, looking at me funny. "Why?"
"... I dunno." I said, the words feeling like a mistake the moment I heard her name. "I don't."
I hadn't told him, or anyone, what had happened between her and myself on the other side of the gate. What hadn't happened. The way we'd been too ashamed and awkward to even interact afterward, in this horrible gulf between her heartbreak and my… absence. Instead of trying to meet her at an emotional level, I'd just crushed everything I'd felt, discarded the genuine friendship and care I had for her, and bludgeoned her with it.
Absent the survival pressure on the other side of the gateway, we'd simply drifted apart, and I was left with a feeling I didn't know the shape of. A hole where the proper emotions should be, just a vague shame, a sense something was missing.
"... did something happen between you two?" he asked, and I shook my head reflexively. If nothing else, I had to protect her, I did all this to protect her, but I never had a good poker face. Miles read me like an open book. "Oh. That… explains a few things, doesn't it."
"We didn't do anything. We didn't. We didn't." I protested, and he waved a hand dismissively.
"If you're worried about me judging her, or you, trust me, I haven't a bloody leg to stand on."
"N-no, you don't understand. We didn't, and, and she wanted-" I started, then stopped, suddenly gripped by terror. I ought not be affected by this, a proper machine wouldn't, I ought to feel nothing, ought, ought-
Miles shifted over from his side of the table to sit beside me, silent, and unsure exactly what I was doing I leaned against my friend, my head against his shoulder, and just sat in the moment a while. He wrapped a hand around me, and I realized in that moment I'd never been hugged, comforted like this. The only close physical contact I'd ever had was fighting and fucking, never just… this. I'd never realized what I was missing.
I leaned into him a bit more and finally felt myself relax.
"... Christ, you're heavy." Miles muttered.
There, nearly blending in with the darker blue uniforms of the French officers she was talking to, was Lieutenant Diana Kennedy, laughing at a joke as her aide translated for her.
I looked away before she could spot me. Neither familiar nor safe.
---
The moment we judged it would be polite to do so, we left, Miles inviting Turner, Risewell, and myself back to his place for drinks and an escape from the crowded atmosphere. I was so incredibly grateful to be out of there, away from the noise, Frenchmen, and past mistakes.
We were greeted at the door of Number 22 by his valet, who went by Jim and who was, in every way, perfectly suited to the job of being Miles' servant. He was just as casual, laid back, and relaxed as my friend, to the point where it made me wonder sometimes if there was some mysterious force pairing officers with Jameses and Marias who exactly met their needs, or if this was in some ways an act.
Miles had, from somewhere, acquired a set of the comfiest, rattiest furniture I'd ever seen, more suited to the backrooms of a servant's area than anyone's sitting room. Jim was back in a moment, setting a tray of bottles on the side table before setting a music player going, a simple rhythm low enough for conversion.
Sometimes I felt a bit strange, spending so much of my time with Miles and his friends. With a bunch of men, rather than the female officers you'd expect me to be friends with. I'd tried, but honestly I'd not connected to many of my feminine peers: they had… an affect I presumed came from their upbringing that I obviously had never experienced. I always felt deeply out of place, but it didn't feel as pronounced around Miles and his friends.
Sure, it had been centuries since it was true, but I thought perhaps it was some lingering influence of the military as a historically masculine pursuit affecting my mindset. Then again, a lot of my peers in the ranks were far more feminine than I ever was, so perhaps I was just a bit queer.
In any case, Miles was just about the only human who really, truly treated me like a peer. Yes, he constantly said mildly insulting things, but I'd long figured out that he considered that to be expressions of affection. Turner was a bit more stilted, and quieter, but he'd never said a thing wrong to me either. And this Risewell fellow seemed nice enough.
Miles uncorked his beer, and the sound was like a starting gun for conversation, almost.
"The fucking French." Turner immediately said, and there as a chorus of agreement all around.
"Smug bastards, the lot of them." Risewell said.
"We need a rematch, we can't let them get away with this." Miles said, "Right?"
"Absolutely. It's their bloody screens, absolutely unfair." I said, "Basically cheating. And that artillery."
"We need hussars next time. Somebody to get in their artillery park." Risewell agreed. "And... the things he said to you, Fusilier, I'm almost surprised you didn't take a swing at that Jacquinot fellow."
"I could never!" I protested, and Miles shook his head affectionately.
"I know you can't, but I may consider doing it on your behalf. What'd he say?" he asked, and Risewell recounted the incident, putting on the best worst French accent I'd ever heard.
"... or something like that. My frog's a bit rusty." he concluded.
"Jesus Christ, what a prick." Turner muttered.
"I'm definitely breaking his nose next I see him." Miles said simply.
"I'll hold his arms." Turner added.
"You are not, stop it, both of you." I said. "It's just… frustrating. Plus, it means I didn't even get to talk to any of their machine officers."
"Like that one who beat you?" Miles suggested mischievously. "Can't imagine why you'd want to talk to her…"
"I.... listen you!" I protested, to the laughter of my friends. Risewell raised a curious eyebrow, and to my horror Miles beat me to any kind of explanation.
"Fusie has a thing for girls who can kick her ass." he said.
"I do not!"
"Honestly, I think she just has a thing for girls." Turner observed. That… was more true.
"Well, that's relatable." Risewell said, taking another swig of his beer. "Though I'm grateful I'm finally getting another deployment after this, I've been fending off the women my parents have been shoveling my way. A lot of them are very nice, and quite lovely, but the way it's done, it's almost… mechanical. No offense."
"None… taken? I'm not sure what you mean." I said. I had no idea about human courtship other than the general need to stay away.
"Of course not, Fusie, let me explain." Miles said, "I was just dealing with the start of that when I pissed my father off. The moment you're old enough to start thinking about what you want to do with your life, your parents come to you like, here lad, here's a list of women ranked from most to least socially acceptable, pick one quick, and do try not to ruin your life with the wrong choice. Like fuck off."
"Right? I've told them after I get back from my deployment, I'm handling my correspondence on it myself. Don't even think I'm going home after." Risewell said, sounded exhausted. "My family has a ski resort near the south pole they keep forgetting about, I figure I'll hold up there and maybe invite a girl or two, you know? Something without the damned pressure."
"Plus, cold place, a lady might want somebody to keep her warm." Miles joked.
"... I will not say that is not a part of my motivation." Risewell confirmed simply.
I knew that humans weren't supposed to get intimately involved with one another outside of marriage, but I wasn't a boxie, I knew they did. Just wasn't sure exactly how that happened, if they had servants charged with chaperon duties hovering around all the time. Then again… thinking about it even a moment, I was absolutely certain that Miriam would not only tolerate it under the right circumstances, but lie to her charge's parents about it if it was warranted.
"So there you are, Fusie. Human romances are a tedious, joyless procedure. Like dental surgery." Miles said.
"I'm engaged." Turner added simply, and Miles' glum, cynical expression immediately vanished as he turned, drowning out Risewell's congratulations with a near-shout.
"You're what? I… good God man, when were you planning on telling me?" Miles asked, and he shrugged.
"Still, um, getting used to it myself, old chap. Kind of a spur of the moment thing." he said, and indeed he sounded a bit shell-shocked. "Nobody's more surprised than me, I think."
"I think I'll disagree, I didn't even know you were seeing anyone." Miles said, "Who's the unlucky lady?"
Turner smoothly made an obscene gesture without pausing as he finished off his bottle.
"Her name is Kara, she's lovely. We ran into each other in the park and just... hit it off, I suppose." Turner explained, leaning against the edge of his chair with a wistful expression on his face.
"When'd all this happen?" Miles asked, sounding suspicious.
"Last month. We've been meeting up in the evening-"
"That's where you've been?" Miles exclaimed. "I didn't hear a word of this!"
"Haven't really told anyone yet. Her parents don't know yet either." he said, "I dunno, it's not a secret or anything, it was just a private little thing."
"Kara… where's that name from?" Risewell asked.
"She's Polish. Kara Grynberg. Her English isn't that strong, but it's much better than my Polish or Hebrew, so, you know, she's brilliant. I… I proposed to her on Monday, and we've been trying to figure out how to tell her parents."
"I don't know what to say, old boy, except congratulations. I didn't see it coming."
As if summoned by some invisible signal, Jim arrived with some harder drinks. I took the opportunity to lean over to the music player and turn it up a little, as Miles, assisted by a confused but enthusiastic Risewell, interrogated Turner about his sudden engagement. Not really having anything to say, I took a few moments to let the music carry me away, the sting of today's humiliating defeat and frustrating conversations muted by a pleasant buzz.
"- you're ridiculous, man, but seriously, my congratulations to the both of you." Miles said, settling back. "Just don't go retiring and leave me alone with this tin can for the rest of my career."
"Love you too, Miles." I muttered.
"You're safe for now, don't you worry." Turner assured him. "Course, what if Fusie does the same?"
"What, retire? Machines don't retire." I said, laughing at the absurdity of it. "Nor do we get married."
"Really? There's a couple on my parent's staff, it's actually kind of sweet." Risewell said.
"Well, not never, I guess." I said. There were a few Theos and Doras who were married to machines in the city too, but it had always struck me as somewhat absurd. "We probably shouldn't, I think, is the thing. We've got a commitment to our job first and foremost. It's not something we'd do if we weren't imitating you lot, I think."
"You've got the right idea, if you ask me." Miles added, "Sounds a lot more pleasant."
"I don't believe you're that cynical, Miles, you're putting up a front." I said, "The right girl comes along, I'm sure you'll change your tune."
"Oh, I'm certain I will, should that happen, I'm nothing if not a hypocrite." he said, sipping from his glass. Whatever it was, it was strong enough that even he winced a little. "But until then, I've got nothing to my name but a father who's probably warned every family in the sector about me. Not worth the trouble."
"Say, Fusie, what ever happened to that tailor you brought to the ball, anyway?" Turner asked, and I sighed.
"She… well, she thought I'd died, left the city. Miriam got in contact with her again a few months ago, but she says she doesn't want to… reopen old wounds, you know?"
The music must have been hitting me pretty hard, because it felt like the bottom fell out of the world as I said those words.
"Oh Christ, I'm sorry, I hadn't realized." Turner said.
"... you know, this'll sound awful of me, but I never thought of… that." Risewell added, clearly drunk enough that the potential impact of his words were well beyond him, "Like, it always felt like machines were just… playing at relationships, you know?"
"Fraid not." I said simply. "We're good at moving on is all, but maybe, like... a bit too good, if you understand…"
I confess that as much as she had moved on, I very much hadn't. I probably should have, but my deprogrammer had made it clear to me that I needed to stop dismissing feelings unless I absolutely had to for my work. I'd done it so often I'd lost the ability to deal with my problems in any other way. So instead, here I was five months on, pining for somebody who probably never thought about me anymore. It probably wasn't better, but at least I wasn't just shoving the feelings away and pretending they didn't exist.
"My apologies, that probably came out poorly. I'm a bit out of my depths." he said, staring at the bottle of his empty glass. "Beckham… um, Miles, is there any more of this…"
"I think? Jim?" he called, then slumped back in his chair. "You've not seen anyone else?"
"I've been on a few… it's just messy." I said, leaning a little closer to the music player as I talked. "Nobody knows how to act around me, it's… I saw this girl two weeks ago, uh, a messenger, you know? Cute as a button, but it was so awkward…"
"What's the matter?"
I contemplated how to answer that for a few long seconds, my mind sluggish.
"Well… it's just…. they, t-they treat me like one of you." I managed, stumbling over my words as the emotions poured out. "They can't see me as just a machine anymore, because I'm an officer. I'm like… some kind of mythical creature. It's not doable. There's a fucked up… thing. A power thing."
"Oh hell." Miles muttered.
"Compared to them, I have money and authority and… and… fancy clothes. I have a servant. A Maria! Like… to machines, Marias are like… p-princesses." I tripped over that word for some reason, "They're royalty, they're special because they… they work right for humans, talk to them every day. And one of them works for me, so w-what does that make me?"
I reached out to turn up the music, but Jim was there ahead of me, hand on the dial. Couldn't hear me, of course, but he nodded sadly as he turned it down. Turner put down his half-finished drink, a bit embarrassed, and Miles leaned forward across the table at me.
"Fusie, you okay?" he whispered.
"I dunno. I guess." I concluded. "It's just… fucked up. I'm not one of you, but I'm not one of them. What am I?"
"Right now, you're very drunk." Miles said, swaying a little where he sat. "Which I get."
He looked up and tapped his ear, and the music clicked off. On the other side of the room, Risewell and Turner were getting up, and I felt a sudden shame that I'd brought things to an end. I can't remember saying anything to that effect, but I did remember Turner reassuring me that it was late enough that they ought to get going anyway.
Miles went to the door to see them out, then returned and sat heavily in the chair. Jim was there with a glass of water, but then to my surprise he sat down too.
"What do you need right now, Lieutenant?" he asked, looking to me. I struggled to think of an answer, not sure what to say.
"... I think I need to go home." I managed eventually, and Jim moved to get my coat, but I kept talking. "Miles, have… have you talked to Lieutenant Kennedy, since…"
"Diana?" he said, looking at me funny. "Why?"
"... I dunno." I said, the words feeling like a mistake the moment I heard her name. "I don't."
I hadn't told him, or anyone, what had happened between her and myself on the other side of the gate. What hadn't happened. The way we'd been too ashamed and awkward to even interact afterward, in this horrible gulf between her heartbreak and my… absence. Instead of trying to meet her at an emotional level, I'd just crushed everything I'd felt, discarded the genuine friendship and care I had for her, and bludgeoned her with it.
Absent the survival pressure on the other side of the gateway, we'd simply drifted apart, and I was left with a feeling I didn't know the shape of. A hole where the proper emotions should be, just a vague shame, a sense something was missing.
"... did something happen between you two?" he asked, and I shook my head reflexively. If nothing else, I had to protect her, I did all this to protect her, but I never had a good poker face. Miles read me like an open book. "Oh. That… explains a few things, doesn't it."
"We didn't do anything. We didn't. We didn't." I protested, and he waved a hand dismissively.
"If you're worried about me judging her, or you, trust me, I haven't a bloody leg to stand on."
"N-no, you don't understand. We didn't, and, and she wanted-" I started, then stopped, suddenly gripped by terror. I ought not be affected by this, a proper machine wouldn't, I ought to feel nothing, ought, ought-
Miles shifted over from his side of the table to sit beside me, silent, and unsure exactly what I was doing I leaned against my friend, my head against his shoulder, and just sat in the moment a while. He wrapped a hand around me, and I realized in that moment I'd never been hugged, comforted like this. The only close physical contact I'd ever had was fighting and fucking, never just… this. I'd never realized what I was missing.
I leaned into him a bit more and finally felt myself relax.
"... Christ, you're heavy." Miles muttered.
ThatGazzer
Minds Eye Bind
- Location
- PNW
- Pronouns
- They/Them
yes dear we know, you're very butch.
go put on a flannel and work boots or something