- Location
- National Capital Region, USA
You haven't heard of the Legend of Tiffany, the Useless Lesbian?
Lieutenant Fusilier 2 (Abandoned, do not read)
- Thread starter open_sketch
- Start date
- Original Mature Sci-Fi
- Location
- Mid-Atlantic
)
Chapter 6 - Intense Historical Miniature Wargaming
- Location
- Ottawa
- Pronouns
- She/Her/Whatever
I turned the page and was surprised to see a folded sheet fall out, a smaller piece apparently tucked into the newspaper. It was printed entirely differently from the Starhall Times, different typefaces and style, and I opened it curiously. A title greeted me, On the Question of the Condition of the Machine, or, Programmed to Love being Lesser, and it was followed by a short essay and several crude lithographs. The one nearest the top depicted a machine with a pickaxe, bound by chains not to his wrists or ankles, but through his heart, held by a human.
A speech bubble read, in handwritten script, "Take all that I am, and I shall thank you."
"The hell is this?" I asked, showing Miriam it. She shook her head, clearly as confused as I.
"I suppose it was smuggled in with the evening edition. It's not addressed to you, is it?"
"No, it's a copy. A crude one at that." I said. In places letters were smudged or misprinted, and the formatting left much to be desired, but I began reading out of sheer curiosity. There were three sections: The Exploitation of Labour, An Arrest of Culture, and Toxic Programming, but all came back to a single, central point: that machines were exploited labourers no different than the human lower classes we'd elevated centuries ago, but worse, we couldn't even grasp how much was being stolen from us.
The first lines read: "We imagine ourselves in an enlightened age, looking back upon the suffering of millions of the poor, displaced, and wretched human beings of our past. Yet it is a lie: we have replaced those millions with billions, labouring harder and longer for less than ever before, and we consider it harmony. We call it a Concert."
The essay was unsigned.
"... some poor machine's got a screw loose." I muttered, and Miriam nodded sadly. "This is a cry for help from someone glitched, I think. Must be… I hope they can get it."
I set the paper down, and Miriam turned it to read, her eyes narrowing.
"I just hope your peers don't make too big a fuss over it." she muttered.
"...Oh. This is in the Times, it's meant for humans to see." I realized, settling back in my chair. "Well, I should hope nobody takes it too seriously."
"... we're talking about humans here, there's no knowing how they'll take it." Miriam pointed out, and I sighed.
"Of course not. Because I don't deal with enough awkward conversations." I groaned. "I'm going to turn in. Nothing good can come of this."
---
Fortunately, I didn't encounter any talk of it for most of the day. I normally skipped the mess during the morning, having no reason to attend any longer, and everyone was far too busy with the exercises to do much socializing. I was immensely proud to see us test out my suggestion of a movement and fire team divide in sections, but the conclusion was quickly drawn that it isolated lieutenants from their machines too much and was too granular to be practical in large field exercises. I did get the impression from the meeting afterward it might be studied for smaller garrison action, however.
As the day wrapped up, I beat a hasty retreat back to Number 18, my collar pulled up against the wind, hoping nobody would talk to me and I could quietly slink out of sight. I passed a gaggle of French officers inspecting an artillery horse which had thrown a track during the day, one or two of whom threw a glance my way, and I was gripped by a fierce anxiety that they were judging me in some way. While they said they weren't friends, surely the machine officers spoke with them sometimes, had my name come up? Had they said something incriminating about me?
It was a blessed relief to hear the heavy oak door of Number 18 click shut behind me, so much so I found myself sagging against it for a moment as the tension left me.
"You look overwhelmed." Miriam said instantly.
"I feel overwhelmed. I cannot wait for the bloody French to get out of our base and stop… ruining everything." I complained, remembering to pull off my hat. "I was doing so well and they had to come and put everything off-balance."
"Something to bring up with your deprogrammer, to be sure." she said, indicating for my coat, and I shucked it off, wincing a moment as a pain shot through my shoulder.
"Damned actuators…"
"Freezing up again?" she asked, and I nodded.
"Got to get them looked at. Weather like this, I feel like I'm coming to pieces." I grumbled. I had enough money to fix issues when they became problems, but I didn't quite have enough to replace everything that was wearing out.
I felt a brief and powerful jealousy of Lieutenant Théa getting her repairs covered, which was quickly transmitted into frustration at myself for not going in and getting fixed up before I went in for my commission. Then I remembered I ought not be so hard on myself, and that got very close to dismissal, and…
I stopped. This was a cycle. I had to break the cycle. I had to do something to break the cycle, to stop thinking these toxic thoughts and etching them deeper and deeper into my circuits. Something positive.
"I need a break." I said. Miriam clapped her hands together and her eyes filled with such proud glee upon hearing that.
"Miss, that's the smartest thing you've ever said. What would you like to do?" she asked, and I'll admit her enthusiasm perked me up for a moment, before I got caught up on the next hurdle.
"I… don't really know. I'm not sure." I said. The only activity I could think of were dance halls, I knew of a few places in the city where machines of my persuasion frequented, but that was just more trouble right now. "I've not got a lot of experience at that."
"Hmm. Well, normally, I would suggest a walk about the town to see what might catch your eye, but not so long as the weather remains… this. I found out why, by the way, the young Lord Antares has a guest who is quite taken with winter, particularly with ice sculptures, which he's got lining the main road."
"Why's he gone and done a thing like that?" I complained, and she chuckled.
"His guest is a girl he'd like to impress, is the rumour." she said, laughing a little.
From what I remember, Lord Antares was a tiny human child, younger than the Ensigns, if such a thing were possible, so that seemed strange. It seemed a bit much to impose on a whole city for such a trivial reason, but then again courtship was extremely important for humans.
"Right. So something indoors… short notice… a gaming club, perhaps?" Miriam suggested.
"I haven't exactly got the spare coin for gambling…" I started, and she shook her head.
"No, not gambling, games of skill, no money at stake. Backgammon, hare games, conspirateurs, agon…" she listed, clearly thinking a moment as she went.
"Chess?" I asked. "I play chess against some of the officer's in the mess, and-"
"We can't play chess, miss." Miriam said, looking at me aghast.
"Why not? Is there a rule?" I asked, "I'm quite good at it, you know, I've won every game I've-"
"... oh stars, you don't know." she said, exasperated. "No, miss, we can't play chess because chess-playing was used as a benchmark when we were being designed. The game's solved, we're all as good as we can be at it. We'll always beat a human, and if two machines play chess, it's always a draw."
"... oh." I responded, feeling both rather guilty and a bit sour to have my victories invalidated. "That would explain why it was so easy, I felt like I knew what he'd do before he'd done it…"
"That's because you did." Miriam said simply, "That said, there are chess variations we haven't got solved, and a lot of gaming clubs have those."
"Alright. That does sound nice." I said, "I'll, uh, be upstairs. Going to change into civvies…"
"The light blue, miss, I'll be up in a moment to help you with the ties." Miriam said, disappearing around the corner toward the servant's area, presumably to get directions to the club. I made my way up the stairs and pushed open the frankly ludicrous closet adjoining my room, and hanging neatly within were five outfits. My well-worn sergeant's uniform, for old time's sake, my second-hand brown dress, which Miriam said I ought to keep in case I took up painting and needed something disposable, and three new dresses in recent styles.
Truth be told… I was ill-suited for dresses. I always felt so awkward in them, and preferred my uniform as much as possible, but I'd found it an obstacle more than anything, the few times I'd ventured back out to music halls or the like. Got me treated differently in a way I was rather self-conscious of. The process of getting the dresses had impressed on me the style differences between machine fashion and human, and at Miriam's direction I'd gotten two cheaper dresses in the machine style, all thick heavy fabric and volume, and one more along human lines I'd never worn since leaving the tailor's shop.
I understood the logic, there might well be a formal occasion where a military uniform would be inappropriate (if I were posted with Americans, for instance, who frowned on wearing uniforms off-duty). Still, it was by far the worst of the dresses. Human fashion showed skin, bare arms and a collar just deep enough you could just see the seam where metal stopped and silicone started on my chest. The fabric was sheer enough that you could see the edges of my armour plating, too, as if calling attention to the fact it wasn't made with my body in mind, and all pastel colours that were in-season looked so odd against steel.
The light blue dress was the one I hated the least. It was very casual, very stiff, it had a high collar with a little ruffle and it fit the shape of my body without showing off how the metal was assembled. It was acceptable, I supposed, but it wasn't my uniform.
I got my coat back with directions from Miriam and stepped back out into the cold, debating with myself if I should walk or take advantage of the relatively cheap service of the base's carriage-park. I very nearly walked into the Miles coming around the edge of the fence at the end of the path, and we both went slipping a moment on the icy ground. I got the worst of it by far, crashing rather heavily to the ground and cracking quite a bit of ice in the process.
"Fusie! I was just coming to see you!" he said, extending a hand to help me up automatically. Equally unthinkingly, I took it, and we had a brief awkward moment before I managed to get myself to my feet. "Thought you were spending time with the mechanical frogs, then I saw you slink off-"
"Oh… yes, we didn't get on too well…" I said, feeling a bit embarrassed, "No, I was just heading out to a gaming club, take my mind off things."
"Oh, capital. Can I come along?" he asked, "Henry's off with his missus-to-be and all, haven't anything else to do."
"Well… it's a machine club, as I understand-" I began, but he cut me off.
"Perfect then, you can smuggle me in. It can be a nice reversal of the officer's mess." he said, laughing. "If you're alright with that."
"Of course." I said. I couldn't really figure out what would possibly interest him, but...
"Maybe they'll have chess, I still have to get you back for the last few times you've thrashed me." he said, and I winced inwardly.
"Y-yes, you do…"
---
The gaming hall Miriam had directed me to was a small and somewhat cozy space, smaller than I'd expected, I'd pictured something more like a dance hall. The machine at the desk up front, where we'd buy admission, paused for a moment on seeing Miles.
"Sorry, sir, are you lost?" he asked, and Miles smiled and shook his head.
"Not at all, just accompanying my friend." he replied, and the machine shrugged and went back to reading whatever he was reading. We paid and shed our hats and coats at the door, grateful for the heater nearby to warm them while we wanted.
"Oh no, that's not right." Miles said.
"Hmm?" I looked over to see him looking at me funny.
"Never seen you in a dress, Fusie." he said, shaking his head. "I honestly thought the uniform was welded on."
"Not anymore." I responded, chuckling. "Thanks to liberal use of a prybar. Just a bit, uh-"
"You just wanna be Dora for a bit, I get it." he said, pulling a flask from his belt and nodding. "Right, so what's the minimum buy-in for machine games, a penny?"
"It's not a gambling hall. Games of skill." I said, and he frowned.
"Well, that's not fair." he said, "Favours the fellow who's good at it."
Unsure exactly of the protocol, we decided to hover about the edge and watch games for a bit, and it seemed machines just set up the games they wanted to play and waited for other players to file in. I selected a game at random off the shelf at the edge of the room at sat down. Instantly Miles sat opposite of me, grinning.
"What've we got here?" he asked, and I shrugged as I opened the box.
"Not a clue, I didn't even look." I said, flipping the cover of the board over. "Waterloo, a game of strategy. Huh, up our alley, isn't it?"
"It means one of us has to play the French, though." he said, and instantly I reached over and started grabbing blue pieces. "Well, that makes that easy."
We laid out the setup and started reading out the instructions, laying out the green grid field we'd play on. Our 'units' were clever little red and blue pieces, cubes, pyramids, and arches, representing infantry, artillery, and calvary, and they all stuck to the grid with a satisfying little clunk. Every time we advanced the turn, they'd perform the last order we gave them, which was limited to simple acts like turning, stopping, moving, and forming square, sliding across the board on little magnets. The set was well-worn but in good condition, though there were a few dead pixels on the edge nearest me.
We cycled the board through a few of the scenarios before deciding on the Battle of Talavera, if simply because the previous board was La Haye Sainte and all the terrain and buildings were somewhat intimidating. Miles was muttering as he placed his troops, carefully nudging them into proper position.
"Right, so this little cube is 24th Foot, and this little cube is 5th Line of the German Legion, which I guess makes this lot the South Es-"
"Who goes first?" I asked, and he grabbed for the instruction booklet and started fingering through, staring.
"Attackers. That's me." he said, dropping his last troops in place. "Right. My go."
Miles started tapping his pieces, cycling the little holograms above them to orders, and then he pressed the little red 'end turn' space at the edge of the board and they started sliding forward, accompanied by little sounds of marching feet. His cannons let loose a phantom barrage, dancing motes of light for smoke and shot, and one of the cubes in the center of my line grew darker and greyer, like the colour was being sucked out of it.
"Neat. You're turn, Fusie. Try to keep hold of the eagle this time."
"Those bloody eagles." I complained, setting my troops on the assault. Struggling to remember the particulars of how the French lost Talevera, I concentrated a force on one flank, directing my cannon fire and shuffling a few of my columns to the side. Maybe I could open a hole for my horse. "My main hope in all this is they don't saddle us with a screen in our line companies too, I don't think I could stand it. Firepower, that's the key, it's always been."
"I agree. I think that fire section thingy you dreamt up is probably pretty good." Miles agreed, as his turn began. "What we need is about twice as many rotary guns per company, and group them all together. Have a tiny little battery of eight rapid-fire lasers at the edge of every company that can focus their fire together, we could roast the central elements of assault groups."
"Sure, but if sections have to go off alone in dense terrain, it's going to be harder to move our support guns up." I said, "You might be onto something though."
"Well, alright then, who says A and B section needs to be symmetrical? Take the guns out of A, give them to B, even out the count of machines. B's still got the bulk to stand up on their own, but A's now free to move full-speed." Miles mused.
"A and B section, assault and battery." I joked, and that got a real, genuine laugh out of him.
"Exactly! Also, I'm so very sorry, but…" I winced as one of my cubes turned black as it walked directly into grapeshot. "Your turn."
"Seriously, you should bring that up at the next meeting." I suggested, and he waved a dismissive hand.
"I'm sure they've already thought of that, and shot holes in it. Can't be good, I thought of it." he said dismissively.
"Miles, firstly, give yourself some credit, and second… I've been in the army thirty-three years, and I've known machines in for centuries. It's an incredibly conservative institution." I explained, "I heard they threw a fit integrating small-crew guns into infantry, we were forty years behind everyone else. They wanted them in their own regiments. They might well not have thought of it, and even if they have it can't hurt to bring it up again."
"I'm telling you, we've been resting on our laurels since Napoleon, and it shows." he said, "You sure you want to make that move?"
"... yes?" I said, shifting my infantry up the flank, "I'm sure."
"Fair enough, on both counts." he said. I was started to notice some of the machines without games were looking at us a bit strangely: it seemed normal to watch other people's games, but they were a bit reticent with us. Probably because of Miles, who was noticing at the same time.
"Oh, come watch if you like!" he said, looking up from the game a moment, before muttering to me. "Rather have people staring where I can see them."
"Now you know how I feel all the time." I muttered.
"Not likely, everyone just gets all deferential whenever a human barges in, which I get. Gotta keep up appearances." he said, "I do feel a bit guilty coming in and spoiling everyone's fun, though…"
"You're not spoiling anyone's fun, except mine." I muttered, as the front two columns were roundly obliterated in a spray of holographic musket smoke. "I could really use that energy screen."
"I'll bet. And no, I just… should have thought of it. Place like this is where you lot go to get away from humans, right?"
"I don't know if that's true." I said, "... Miles, do you read the Starhall Times, by any chance?"
"Yes, why?"
"You read that dreck slipped into it, didn't you." I said, and he sighed.
"I did, it's… got me a bit turned around." he said, "Obviously it's rubbish, you lot love the work and probably couldn't stand it if somebody wasn't exploiting you."
"That's a terrible way of phrasing that." I said, but he simply plowed on.
"Well, yes, but…" he sighed, "Sometimes I wonder if you lot wouldn't be better off without us."
"Miles, we've talked about this…" I said. He normally kept this pretty quiet, but when it got out, it was hard to stop him. "Don't take that thing seriously, it's just some machine glitching out, they're probably already getting looked over…"
"You thought a machine wrote that?" he asked, sending some of his horse to charge into the flank of my perfect little advance. "Dora, it was obviously written by a human."
"What?" I asked, and he nodded.
"Yes! None of you lot would ever phrase anything like that, glitched or no." he explained, "That's a human who's got it in their head that they're doing something wrong, mark my words."
He ended his turn and everything moved, and I watched as my advance utterly crumbled and white flags started popping up over my cubes. I still had some units left, but I couldn't possibly see a path to victory anymore.
"I think we should stick to chess." I muttered, and Miles plucked his pieces back.
"Fusie, this is funny, but you did exactly what the French did at the real thing." he said, laughing, "So next time, try thinking less like a frog. Want to go again?"
"Sure, let's do a different one." I said, and we started scrolling through the maps again. "How'd you know that?"
"The Battle of Talavera? My father hired a very strict governess machine." Miles said, "I was bound for the Coldstream Guards, remember? I could draw you a map of any battle in the Peninsular War by memory, I bet."
"Wow." I said simply. Given how much Miles talked himself down, it was always shocking when he showed off how much he knew.
"All bloody useless, of course, and awful as well. The grass caught fire at Talavera from all the musket wadding and wounded men in the field burnt to death, but they don't exactly show that with the cubes." he said darkly, as we settled on Salamanca. "You be the Brits this time."
We set up and got started, and this time things seemed a little more even. Machines were crowded a little closer and our conversation had somewhat dried up as we realized how many people were watching, conscious of how personal and controversial our topics tended to get. I very nearly had him near the end, but he just managed to wheel a unit about in time to put a volley into my flank and my tiny cube-men broke a mere grid-square from victory.
"Still need to practice, I think." I said, and Miles reset the board. This time, the Battle of the Nive.
"I don't see why we can't do one more."
A speech bubble read, in handwritten script, "Take all that I am, and I shall thank you."
"The hell is this?" I asked, showing Miriam it. She shook her head, clearly as confused as I.
"I suppose it was smuggled in with the evening edition. It's not addressed to you, is it?"
"No, it's a copy. A crude one at that." I said. In places letters were smudged or misprinted, and the formatting left much to be desired, but I began reading out of sheer curiosity. There were three sections: The Exploitation of Labour, An Arrest of Culture, and Toxic Programming, but all came back to a single, central point: that machines were exploited labourers no different than the human lower classes we'd elevated centuries ago, but worse, we couldn't even grasp how much was being stolen from us.
The first lines read: "We imagine ourselves in an enlightened age, looking back upon the suffering of millions of the poor, displaced, and wretched human beings of our past. Yet it is a lie: we have replaced those millions with billions, labouring harder and longer for less than ever before, and we consider it harmony. We call it a Concert."
The essay was unsigned.
"... some poor machine's got a screw loose." I muttered, and Miriam nodded sadly. "This is a cry for help from someone glitched, I think. Must be… I hope they can get it."
I set the paper down, and Miriam turned it to read, her eyes narrowing.
"I just hope your peers don't make too big a fuss over it." she muttered.
"...Oh. This is in the Times, it's meant for humans to see." I realized, settling back in my chair. "Well, I should hope nobody takes it too seriously."
"... we're talking about humans here, there's no knowing how they'll take it." Miriam pointed out, and I sighed.
"Of course not. Because I don't deal with enough awkward conversations." I groaned. "I'm going to turn in. Nothing good can come of this."
---
Fortunately, I didn't encounter any talk of it for most of the day. I normally skipped the mess during the morning, having no reason to attend any longer, and everyone was far too busy with the exercises to do much socializing. I was immensely proud to see us test out my suggestion of a movement and fire team divide in sections, but the conclusion was quickly drawn that it isolated lieutenants from their machines too much and was too granular to be practical in large field exercises. I did get the impression from the meeting afterward it might be studied for smaller garrison action, however.
As the day wrapped up, I beat a hasty retreat back to Number 18, my collar pulled up against the wind, hoping nobody would talk to me and I could quietly slink out of sight. I passed a gaggle of French officers inspecting an artillery horse which had thrown a track during the day, one or two of whom threw a glance my way, and I was gripped by a fierce anxiety that they were judging me in some way. While they said they weren't friends, surely the machine officers spoke with them sometimes, had my name come up? Had they said something incriminating about me?
It was a blessed relief to hear the heavy oak door of Number 18 click shut behind me, so much so I found myself sagging against it for a moment as the tension left me.
"You look overwhelmed." Miriam said instantly.
"I feel overwhelmed. I cannot wait for the bloody French to get out of our base and stop… ruining everything." I complained, remembering to pull off my hat. "I was doing so well and they had to come and put everything off-balance."
"Something to bring up with your deprogrammer, to be sure." she said, indicating for my coat, and I shucked it off, wincing a moment as a pain shot through my shoulder.
"Damned actuators…"
"Freezing up again?" she asked, and I nodded.
"Got to get them looked at. Weather like this, I feel like I'm coming to pieces." I grumbled. I had enough money to fix issues when they became problems, but I didn't quite have enough to replace everything that was wearing out.
I felt a brief and powerful jealousy of Lieutenant Théa getting her repairs covered, which was quickly transmitted into frustration at myself for not going in and getting fixed up before I went in for my commission. Then I remembered I ought not be so hard on myself, and that got very close to dismissal, and…
I stopped. This was a cycle. I had to break the cycle. I had to do something to break the cycle, to stop thinking these toxic thoughts and etching them deeper and deeper into my circuits. Something positive.
"I need a break." I said. Miriam clapped her hands together and her eyes filled with such proud glee upon hearing that.
"Miss, that's the smartest thing you've ever said. What would you like to do?" she asked, and I'll admit her enthusiasm perked me up for a moment, before I got caught up on the next hurdle.
"I… don't really know. I'm not sure." I said. The only activity I could think of were dance halls, I knew of a few places in the city where machines of my persuasion frequented, but that was just more trouble right now. "I've not got a lot of experience at that."
"Hmm. Well, normally, I would suggest a walk about the town to see what might catch your eye, but not so long as the weather remains… this. I found out why, by the way, the young Lord Antares has a guest who is quite taken with winter, particularly with ice sculptures, which he's got lining the main road."
"Why's he gone and done a thing like that?" I complained, and she chuckled.
"His guest is a girl he'd like to impress, is the rumour." she said, laughing a little.
From what I remember, Lord Antares was a tiny human child, younger than the Ensigns, if such a thing were possible, so that seemed strange. It seemed a bit much to impose on a whole city for such a trivial reason, but then again courtship was extremely important for humans.
"Right. So something indoors… short notice… a gaming club, perhaps?" Miriam suggested.
"I haven't exactly got the spare coin for gambling…" I started, and she shook her head.
"No, not gambling, games of skill, no money at stake. Backgammon, hare games, conspirateurs, agon…" she listed, clearly thinking a moment as she went.
"Chess?" I asked. "I play chess against some of the officer's in the mess, and-"
"We can't play chess, miss." Miriam said, looking at me aghast.
"Why not? Is there a rule?" I asked, "I'm quite good at it, you know, I've won every game I've-"
"... oh stars, you don't know." she said, exasperated. "No, miss, we can't play chess because chess-playing was used as a benchmark when we were being designed. The game's solved, we're all as good as we can be at it. We'll always beat a human, and if two machines play chess, it's always a draw."
"... oh." I responded, feeling both rather guilty and a bit sour to have my victories invalidated. "That would explain why it was so easy, I felt like I knew what he'd do before he'd done it…"
"That's because you did." Miriam said simply, "That said, there are chess variations we haven't got solved, and a lot of gaming clubs have those."
"Alright. That does sound nice." I said, "I'll, uh, be upstairs. Going to change into civvies…"
"The light blue, miss, I'll be up in a moment to help you with the ties." Miriam said, disappearing around the corner toward the servant's area, presumably to get directions to the club. I made my way up the stairs and pushed open the frankly ludicrous closet adjoining my room, and hanging neatly within were five outfits. My well-worn sergeant's uniform, for old time's sake, my second-hand brown dress, which Miriam said I ought to keep in case I took up painting and needed something disposable, and three new dresses in recent styles.
Truth be told… I was ill-suited for dresses. I always felt so awkward in them, and preferred my uniform as much as possible, but I'd found it an obstacle more than anything, the few times I'd ventured back out to music halls or the like. Got me treated differently in a way I was rather self-conscious of. The process of getting the dresses had impressed on me the style differences between machine fashion and human, and at Miriam's direction I'd gotten two cheaper dresses in the machine style, all thick heavy fabric and volume, and one more along human lines I'd never worn since leaving the tailor's shop.
I understood the logic, there might well be a formal occasion where a military uniform would be inappropriate (if I were posted with Americans, for instance, who frowned on wearing uniforms off-duty). Still, it was by far the worst of the dresses. Human fashion showed skin, bare arms and a collar just deep enough you could just see the seam where metal stopped and silicone started on my chest. The fabric was sheer enough that you could see the edges of my armour plating, too, as if calling attention to the fact it wasn't made with my body in mind, and all pastel colours that were in-season looked so odd against steel.
The light blue dress was the one I hated the least. It was very casual, very stiff, it had a high collar with a little ruffle and it fit the shape of my body without showing off how the metal was assembled. It was acceptable, I supposed, but it wasn't my uniform.
I got my coat back with directions from Miriam and stepped back out into the cold, debating with myself if I should walk or take advantage of the relatively cheap service of the base's carriage-park. I very nearly walked into the Miles coming around the edge of the fence at the end of the path, and we both went slipping a moment on the icy ground. I got the worst of it by far, crashing rather heavily to the ground and cracking quite a bit of ice in the process.
"Fusie! I was just coming to see you!" he said, extending a hand to help me up automatically. Equally unthinkingly, I took it, and we had a brief awkward moment before I managed to get myself to my feet. "Thought you were spending time with the mechanical frogs, then I saw you slink off-"
"Oh… yes, we didn't get on too well…" I said, feeling a bit embarrassed, "No, I was just heading out to a gaming club, take my mind off things."
"Oh, capital. Can I come along?" he asked, "Henry's off with his missus-to-be and all, haven't anything else to do."
"Well… it's a machine club, as I understand-" I began, but he cut me off.
"Perfect then, you can smuggle me in. It can be a nice reversal of the officer's mess." he said, laughing. "If you're alright with that."
"Of course." I said. I couldn't really figure out what would possibly interest him, but...
"Maybe they'll have chess, I still have to get you back for the last few times you've thrashed me." he said, and I winced inwardly.
"Y-yes, you do…"
---
The gaming hall Miriam had directed me to was a small and somewhat cozy space, smaller than I'd expected, I'd pictured something more like a dance hall. The machine at the desk up front, where we'd buy admission, paused for a moment on seeing Miles.
"Sorry, sir, are you lost?" he asked, and Miles smiled and shook his head.
"Not at all, just accompanying my friend." he replied, and the machine shrugged and went back to reading whatever he was reading. We paid and shed our hats and coats at the door, grateful for the heater nearby to warm them while we wanted.
"Oh no, that's not right." Miles said.
"Hmm?" I looked over to see him looking at me funny.
"Never seen you in a dress, Fusie." he said, shaking his head. "I honestly thought the uniform was welded on."
"Not anymore." I responded, chuckling. "Thanks to liberal use of a prybar. Just a bit, uh-"
"You just wanna be Dora for a bit, I get it." he said, pulling a flask from his belt and nodding. "Right, so what's the minimum buy-in for machine games, a penny?"
"It's not a gambling hall. Games of skill." I said, and he frowned.
"Well, that's not fair." he said, "Favours the fellow who's good at it."
Unsure exactly of the protocol, we decided to hover about the edge and watch games for a bit, and it seemed machines just set up the games they wanted to play and waited for other players to file in. I selected a game at random off the shelf at the edge of the room at sat down. Instantly Miles sat opposite of me, grinning.
"What've we got here?" he asked, and I shrugged as I opened the box.
"Not a clue, I didn't even look." I said, flipping the cover of the board over. "Waterloo, a game of strategy. Huh, up our alley, isn't it?"
"It means one of us has to play the French, though." he said, and instantly I reached over and started grabbing blue pieces. "Well, that makes that easy."
We laid out the setup and started reading out the instructions, laying out the green grid field we'd play on. Our 'units' were clever little red and blue pieces, cubes, pyramids, and arches, representing infantry, artillery, and calvary, and they all stuck to the grid with a satisfying little clunk. Every time we advanced the turn, they'd perform the last order we gave them, which was limited to simple acts like turning, stopping, moving, and forming square, sliding across the board on little magnets. The set was well-worn but in good condition, though there were a few dead pixels on the edge nearest me.
We cycled the board through a few of the scenarios before deciding on the Battle of Talavera, if simply because the previous board was La Haye Sainte and all the terrain and buildings were somewhat intimidating. Miles was muttering as he placed his troops, carefully nudging them into proper position.
"Right, so this little cube is 24th Foot, and this little cube is 5th Line of the German Legion, which I guess makes this lot the South Es-"
"Who goes first?" I asked, and he grabbed for the instruction booklet and started fingering through, staring.
"Attackers. That's me." he said, dropping his last troops in place. "Right. My go."
Miles started tapping his pieces, cycling the little holograms above them to orders, and then he pressed the little red 'end turn' space at the edge of the board and they started sliding forward, accompanied by little sounds of marching feet. His cannons let loose a phantom barrage, dancing motes of light for smoke and shot, and one of the cubes in the center of my line grew darker and greyer, like the colour was being sucked out of it.
"Neat. You're turn, Fusie. Try to keep hold of the eagle this time."
"Those bloody eagles." I complained, setting my troops on the assault. Struggling to remember the particulars of how the French lost Talevera, I concentrated a force on one flank, directing my cannon fire and shuffling a few of my columns to the side. Maybe I could open a hole for my horse. "My main hope in all this is they don't saddle us with a screen in our line companies too, I don't think I could stand it. Firepower, that's the key, it's always been."
"I agree. I think that fire section thingy you dreamt up is probably pretty good." Miles agreed, as his turn began. "What we need is about twice as many rotary guns per company, and group them all together. Have a tiny little battery of eight rapid-fire lasers at the edge of every company that can focus their fire together, we could roast the central elements of assault groups."
"Sure, but if sections have to go off alone in dense terrain, it's going to be harder to move our support guns up." I said, "You might be onto something though."
"Well, alright then, who says A and B section needs to be symmetrical? Take the guns out of A, give them to B, even out the count of machines. B's still got the bulk to stand up on their own, but A's now free to move full-speed." Miles mused.
"A and B section, assault and battery." I joked, and that got a real, genuine laugh out of him.
"Exactly! Also, I'm so very sorry, but…" I winced as one of my cubes turned black as it walked directly into grapeshot. "Your turn."
"Seriously, you should bring that up at the next meeting." I suggested, and he waved a dismissive hand.
"I'm sure they've already thought of that, and shot holes in it. Can't be good, I thought of it." he said dismissively.
"Miles, firstly, give yourself some credit, and second… I've been in the army thirty-three years, and I've known machines in for centuries. It's an incredibly conservative institution." I explained, "I heard they threw a fit integrating small-crew guns into infantry, we were forty years behind everyone else. They wanted them in their own regiments. They might well not have thought of it, and even if they have it can't hurt to bring it up again."
"I'm telling you, we've been resting on our laurels since Napoleon, and it shows." he said, "You sure you want to make that move?"
"... yes?" I said, shifting my infantry up the flank, "I'm sure."
"Fair enough, on both counts." he said. I was started to notice some of the machines without games were looking at us a bit strangely: it seemed normal to watch other people's games, but they were a bit reticent with us. Probably because of Miles, who was noticing at the same time.
"Oh, come watch if you like!" he said, looking up from the game a moment, before muttering to me. "Rather have people staring where I can see them."
"Now you know how I feel all the time." I muttered.
"Not likely, everyone just gets all deferential whenever a human barges in, which I get. Gotta keep up appearances." he said, "I do feel a bit guilty coming in and spoiling everyone's fun, though…"
"You're not spoiling anyone's fun, except mine." I muttered, as the front two columns were roundly obliterated in a spray of holographic musket smoke. "I could really use that energy screen."
"I'll bet. And no, I just… should have thought of it. Place like this is where you lot go to get away from humans, right?"
"I don't know if that's true." I said, "... Miles, do you read the Starhall Times, by any chance?"
"Yes, why?"
"You read that dreck slipped into it, didn't you." I said, and he sighed.
"I did, it's… got me a bit turned around." he said, "Obviously it's rubbish, you lot love the work and probably couldn't stand it if somebody wasn't exploiting you."
"That's a terrible way of phrasing that." I said, but he simply plowed on.
"Well, yes, but…" he sighed, "Sometimes I wonder if you lot wouldn't be better off without us."
"Miles, we've talked about this…" I said. He normally kept this pretty quiet, but when it got out, it was hard to stop him. "Don't take that thing seriously, it's just some machine glitching out, they're probably already getting looked over…"
"You thought a machine wrote that?" he asked, sending some of his horse to charge into the flank of my perfect little advance. "Dora, it was obviously written by a human."
"What?" I asked, and he nodded.
"Yes! None of you lot would ever phrase anything like that, glitched or no." he explained, "That's a human who's got it in their head that they're doing something wrong, mark my words."
He ended his turn and everything moved, and I watched as my advance utterly crumbled and white flags started popping up over my cubes. I still had some units left, but I couldn't possibly see a path to victory anymore.
"I think we should stick to chess." I muttered, and Miles plucked his pieces back.
"Fusie, this is funny, but you did exactly what the French did at the real thing." he said, laughing, "So next time, try thinking less like a frog. Want to go again?"
"Sure, let's do a different one." I said, and we started scrolling through the maps again. "How'd you know that?"
"The Battle of Talavera? My father hired a very strict governess machine." Miles said, "I was bound for the Coldstream Guards, remember? I could draw you a map of any battle in the Peninsular War by memory, I bet."
"Wow." I said simply. Given how much Miles talked himself down, it was always shocking when he showed off how much he knew.
"All bloody useless, of course, and awful as well. The grass caught fire at Talavera from all the musket wadding and wounded men in the field burnt to death, but they don't exactly show that with the cubes." he said darkly, as we settled on Salamanca. "You be the Brits this time."
We set up and got started, and this time things seemed a little more even. Machines were crowded a little closer and our conversation had somewhat dried up as we realized how many people were watching, conscious of how personal and controversial our topics tended to get. I very nearly had him near the end, but he just managed to wheel a unit about in time to put a volley into my flank and my tiny cube-men broke a mere grid-square from victory.
"Still need to practice, I think." I said, and Miles reset the board. This time, the Battle of the Nive.
"I don't see why we can't do one more."
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- Location
- Germany
At least that's the part that always gets me too~
bookwyrm
Doom of Public Libraries
- Location
- Wichita, Kansas
Honestly it seems like the Concert's robotic half contains enough sheer productic power (or at the very least has the potential to reach that level) that they could continue on with all their human oriented labors, and then fill in all the empty hours in between with working for the sake of their own work. They'd get an environment more enriching and fullfilling to robotic needs, the humans could rest more easily at a less apparently unequal partnership, and Concert as a whole would benefit from the freestyle hobbies and improvised accomplishments at only the small cost of some energy and resource credits for their robotic citizens to perform their labors with. Like a bizarre combination of all the wartime volunteer work and mobilization of civilian efforts and like all the high power soccer mom energy of Victorian church ladies.
samdamandias
Apprentice Plane Wizard
Even Miles, Miles of all people, can see it.
And I'm sure that this isn't going to come back to bite things in the ass.
As for the game, I think we see the same issue that Dora has been dealing with. When there is one Obviously Correct option, she will take it instantly. When faced with several options that are merely good, and with nebulous judgement for the outcomes, she hesitates. Because what if she guesses wrongly?
- Location
- Under a cat
- Pronouns
- She/Her
Miles took the words right out of my mouth. I'm pretty sure a human wrote that pamphlet, and I have a sinking suspicion that the machines would be better off without us... for a while at least.
Machines seem to derive so much purpose from caring for humanity. If they had to make do without us for a long enough time, then machine society might collapse do to mass existential despair.
Ooh, dark future AU idea: humans have all died and the machines are struggling to find the will to continue... And now I've made myself sad.
Machines seem to derive so much purpose from caring for humanity. If they had to make do without us for a long enough time, then machine society might collapse do to mass existential despair.
Ooh, dark future AU idea: humans have all died and the machines are struggling to find the will to continue... And now I've made myself sad.
- Location
- Nottingham
Thats probably the eventual fate of humanity and the Concert, there's already hundreds of dead civilisations in the galaxy, and they still have Machines kicking.
- Location
- Under a cat
- Pronouns
- She/Her
Huh. Yeah. Also, if all the machines that are more-or-less as smart as humans succumb to despair, then that would explain why all the remaining alien machines are just on auto-pilot.
- Location
- Ottawa
- Pronouns
- She/Her/Whatever
i'm going to be going into this in the next update, but yeah this is basically the overriding fear among machines right now. both the part where they lose humans, and they part where they subsequently lose themselves.
they'll probably be fine though it's an idealistic setting
samdamandias
Apprentice Plane Wizard
The Cuddlebugs were the first alien civilization the Concert found where this wasn't the case.
Everything else are tombs, and the faithful robotic defenders carrying out their last orders. Sometimes not even that, just empty halls and forgotten languages, leaving only the barest inkling of what the aliens looked like.
- Location
- Academy City
- Pronouns
- They
Evocative.
This isn't exactly wrong, but it's also not written in a way that will convince the machines of it. Perhaps it'll see more success convincing humans, but they have incentives not to acknolwedge any flaws in their current way of life as well so I'm not super optimistic.
Well, they did take that into account at least,, it appears, so perhaps they did do a better job and Fusie is a non objective observer.
Meh. I've had quite a bit of fun playing against computers at chess. The issue isn't that you can't win, or that there's less emotional stake because of that - although it does somewhat factor I suppose - but more if you use that for a deception. Fusie's not the kind of person to pretend not to have solved it to separate people from their money under false pretences, so I don't see any real difference between this and, say, challenging a friend who happens to be a grandmaster.
Lol.
Nice bit of mirroring the chess results here, I like it.
Hell on Strikers
Tank Cat
- Location
- The Commonwealth
Dang with the miniature wargaming in this chapter I'm getting inspired to go make fusie on Hero forge to lead my poor lads (and ladies thanks anvil industries regiments line) into battle.
- Location
- Ottawa
- Pronouns
- She/Her/Whatever
YES DO IT SEND PICS
10ebbor10
DON'T PANIC
- Location
- Present
Most chess computers have their horizon set deliberately low though. They don't think that far ahead.
- Pronouns
- He/Him
Same!
Anywho, I think the Machines have enough of us in them that even if humans all die from some...plague or something, that they'd be all right, eventually.
- Location
- Mid-Atlantic
Ah. But does that mean all the other civilizations have died out, or does it somehow mean the successful civilizations have all gone somewhere else?
Hell on Strikers
Tank Cat
- Location
- The Commonwealth
Fusie - made with Hero Forge
Hero Forge® is an online character design application that lets users create and buy customized tabletop miniatures and statuettes.
www.heroforge.com
- Location
- Ottawa
- Pronouns
- She/Her/Whatever
- Location
- National Capital Region, USA
Oh Miles, you are the best dumb bro buddy and we love you.
Indeed. What do you do when all purpose has literally died away? I've seen both relatively upbeat takes (Saturn's Children) and... less so: With Folded Hands, (read the original here) where the servitor-droids have effectively imprisoned mankind in a cotton-wrap world where Man is not allowed weapons, fast vehicles, dangerous hobbies, or even sharp edges.
In Dora's favor, it feels like the mechanicals of her universe would be more like the others of their galaxy: Eventually succumbing to ennui and slow death in the absence of their mortal companions.
- Location
- Under a cat
- Pronouns
- She/Her
Cool! I didn't realize officers' had such large flames, but it looks awesome.