Lieutenant Fusilier in The Farthest Reaches

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By the way, the Kingdom of Great Britain and Beyond has a flag now, in case you wanted to picture it.

 

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We set off down the road at a fair pace, the ion motors humming quietly, the wind whipping at our clothes as we cruised along. The sun was tracking high in the nearly cloudless sky, which was a beautiful blue, the bright band of the planet's rings standing out near white against the sky. A moon was visible now as well, one with a massively defined crater smeared visibly across it. It was hot, but the rushing air made it pleasant.

We made good time down the oddly empty road, and I started to get the hang of the horse's controls, slowing down and leaning into turns, but it was almost a disappointingly short journey. We passed by an area that was clearly recently cut down, trees lying rotting in a great heap, and emerged into what must be farmland, seeing our first dwellings and local civilians. Around us were vast fields of tube-like crops, light green, waving slowly in the wind, fields broken by long lines of intertwined trees.

In the middle of each enormous field were collections of buildings which were presumably for housing the workers on the farms. Many of those farmers were out, working in the fields or walking the edge of the road. Some ran on seeing us, others stood stock-still and stared as we passed, and for safety we rose to about ten feet in the air so we couldn't hit anyone.

We also saw our first children. Or at least, I think we did, smaller and stockier locals running about at the edge of roads or in fields. Some were playing, I think, chasing one another, laughing in trilling whispers, roughhousing, throwing rocks, but most were clearly helping with work, carrying baskets, digging at the edge of fields, sitting in a circle sorting what might be seeds or fruits. They weren't quite the same painfully cute little bastards that human children were, but it wasn't far off, especially with their enormous dark eye-lenses.

The people here dressed in baggy, mostly brownish tunics that affixed at one or both shoulders, and a lot of them seemed to go about barefoot. Some of the buildings had glass windows or metal drainage around the roofs, but in many places these were rusted, broken, or absent. I was increasingly of the impression that these people were not doing well.

The farms stretched on impressively, radiating in every direction at the crossroads, and eventually we came to a larger collection of buildings, a town of some sort. The waystation stood out, marked most clearly by the telegraph poles which began to lead away from it and farther down the road, topped in x-shaped supports for wires. It consisted of just a single building, a fair sized two-story stone building whose top floor was rotated 45 degrees from its lower floor.

The construction immediately marked it apart: the other buildings here were wooden, clearly built from the lumber of the surrounding forests, but this building was made from small concrete bricks whose grey was starkly at odds with the greens and browns of the landscape. The windows of the top floor were long and narrow, clearly designed as firing slits, and above the door hung what I presumed was the local equivalent of a flag, consisting of a triangular framework with an orange and white flag stretched to the corners.

Outside, along the field around it, were soldiers laying in the grass or leaning against the walls and pillars, often quite close to each other. That was something we'd noticed among our guests too: if two of the locals were near one another and weren't otherwise doing something, they were touching, holding hands or sitting close. There were locals nearby too, curious children and adults either keeping an eye on them or, I think, trying to sell things to the soldiers.

Now that we could see them alongside the actual population, it was clear they were outsiders. They still looked very much alike, but the quality and cut of the fabrics were vastly different.It was a bit ironic, the habit we'd gotten into of referring to them as 'the locals', when the one's we'd met first very much weren't, at least not to these parts.

We brought our horses to the edge of the crossroads and descended, and instantly the soldiers backed away, nearly tripping over one another in an attempt to make distance. The civilian reaction was much more mixed, with many pulling children away and backing off while others approached curiously, speaking in a language I couldn't understand.

"Lieutenant, don't turn your horse off, just flip the farthest-left switch as you dismount." Sumner said, and I did so, curious what would happen. The horse didn't move, but as I stepped away it silently glided upward until it was hovering a good twelve feet or so in the air, out of reach of the civilians. An awed sound rose from soldier and civilian both.

The messenger we'd seen before emerged from the door in the waystation, staring at the horses for a good thirty seconds before we shook him out of it.

"We have telegraphed ahead to the capital. They are expecting you at the -----." they said, and I turned to Sumner.

"New word, get your book out." I said, "Apologies, I am still learning your language. Where are they expecting us? Speak it slowly."

"The -------." he repeated, and Sumner scribbled something in the book, indicating for them to repeat it twice before she was satisfied. Once I had enough of the language assembled I could begin to assimilate new words and idioms within the language, but that would require a much more complete file with a lot more backend work than we'd get in our slapdash translation.

"What is that, exactly? Define it." I asked.

"Um… it is a large building which houses very important families and their staff." they said, looking a mite bit confused.

"It means palace, Lydia." I said, and she broke out into a smile writing it down.

"We're going to a palace?" she beamed, decoupling a wire from its housing in the cover and handing it to me. I shivered a bit as I slotted it home, and then she signed off on the compile and it pushed the language update.

"The palace, got it. How will I know what building that is?" I asked.

"You cannot miss it, but it will be marked with a row of ------- at the ------." they said, looking pleased with themselves at their clear directions. A few minutes later, words for flags, river, riverfront, courtyard, and guard transcribed into the language file, I decided to ask a few questions about the occupation here. They said they were here to guard a vital crop, and pressing them on that revealed the green plants all around us weren't any kind of food. Rather, inside the tough stalks developed seeds which were crushed for a vegetable oil used for industrial applications and products. It sounded rather a lot like castor oil.

I translated everything said for Sumner, who was jotting it down in a small notebook and asking followup questions. We also finally got names for both the occupiers and occupied, neither of which translated to anything meaningful. We ended up translating them as The Orange Empire and the Oil Farmers, though Sumner made sure to flag those translations as particularly tenuous in the comments.

Once we'd finished our final translations, we walked back to our horses, and they politely descended to allow us to mount up. The messenger followed us nervously, clearly quite confused as to how their second encounter with the invincible metal monster had ended

"Who should I tell them is coming?" they asked.

"Lieutenant Theodora Fusilier and Ensign Lydia Sumner. Also, leave our camp alone until we get back. My second-in-command is much less kind than I." I said, and we started down the road.

We cruised along for another ten minutes before the fields gave way to more forest, these in rocky, uneven terrain which clearly wasn't much for farming. We saw a lot more people on the road now, locals moving carts and people trudging between towns, and to avoid disturbing them overly much we rose to about eighty feet, cruising above the stumpy interconnected trees. The landscape spread out around us, and we realized we were in a valley, the farms continuing to our backs nearly as far as we could see. Far to the north were mountains.

"I wonder what those farmers eat." Sumner said, her voice crackling through her wireless headset. We'd removed them from the hats, which weren't practical to wear while riding, and plugged them into the aerials on the horses instead.

"How do you mean?" I asked.

"Well… this is a colony, right?" she said, "I mean, obviously, it's an imperial occupation. The Orange Empire is making the farmers grow the oilseed to fuel their factories overseas. The locals have no need for it, at least not in that quantity, and I have no doubt the Empire has a monopoly, so they have no choice but to sell to the Empire for whatever price is offered, then try and buy food on whatever scraps they get. It's not sustainable."

Oh. I'd realized it was an occupation, but the economics and such hadn't nearly registered.

"How did you get all that from our conversation?" I asked.

"It's what the East India Company did in India. With tea, cotton, opium, and so forth." she explained. "My father owns the Spinward Trade House, which is a direct descendant of the EIC after it was broken up. He said it was important I know the company history, including the parts we aren't proud of."

We flew on for a short while, as the forest began to give way to mossy hills which grew increasingly jagged and irregular. At one point, the road came alongside a railway, and a smoke-belching train rolled by trailed by dozens of cars.

"... your father owns the STH?" I asked, a bit astonished. "I didn't know that."

"We don't exactly have our names on the side like Kelly's shipyards." she said. "It's whatever, everyone owns something. Ensign Brodeway's mother is part owner of the British Volta Company, and Ensign Darley's aunt got her a silver mine on her own moon for her 15th birthday, to get her started, you know?"

"Stars… that's. I don't know. But even with all that… the Spinward Trade House is huge, isn't it?" I mused. "You're going to be very rich someday, huh?"

"I guess. My brother's set to inherit most of it, but I'm supposed to be involved too." she said, and I looked over to see her sitting back in her saddle, head lolled back from sheer exasperation. "The very thought of it bores me to death. Who even cares how much money we make, it's the 22nd century. Everyone's already got more money than they can spend, I don't see why we need any more."

"I suppose." I said. I'll admit, I felt the briefest pang of jealousy. Not for the money exactly, I couldn't even imagine what I'd do with all that, but it would be nice to not have to worry about how I'd afford my next commission. The more I thought about it, though, the more I figured I'd enjoy the decade or so of work it would take, so it was no great loss.

… besides which, I remembered, there would be no purchasing Captain. I'd be lucky if they let me be a lowly private after all was said and done. They'd probably throw me out entirely after my sentence was up, and I'd have to find employment elsewhere. Somebody who wouldn't care about my past, my crimes, or my clear lack of competence.

My stars, I'd have to go to America and become a marine.

 

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couple things

first one: loans are stupid easy for humans to come by via regency rules: they can get hilariously low interest loans "against the family name" (ie: on the grounds they are human) and given the low density of the concert and the nature of its labour they can pretty much without fail turn it into profit. this is pretty much the primary mechanism of the friendly conspiracy.

secondly, yeah relatively stable population.is on the money. it's a society with incredible healthcare, contraceptives, no need for kids as labour or retirement plans, extremely rigid courtship, and helpful servants who are very nice but won't actually raise your kids for you. the human population actually contracted for a century there.

(i have no doubt that if you are a shit parent the machine staff will 100% secretly raise your kid to be the most awesome adventure child behind your back tho)

regarding inheritance, because everyone lives so dang long, inheritance is handled in bits and pieces. beckham being disinherited is more like being disowned than written out of the will: his dad is a real piece of shit, even in utopia some people just fucking suck.

That said, Beckham could very much get back on his feet, he's just too proud to. he mentions he's got aunts who'd gladly spot him enough cash to get the ball rolling but he doesn't want to bother them, and he could start any number of businesses with a loan but he'd have to either stop being an officer or take on extra work and he doesn't particularly want that. he could also get married to literally anyone, but he'd have to be slightly less of a dick for five minutes. hell, Turner's family would likely adopt him outright if they knew about his situation.

Beckham's 22 years old, he's finally got the promotion from useless cadet to officer with a degree of authority and responsibility, he's too prideful to ask for handouts and too fond of expensive booze and maids looking for extra work to start saving. he'll come around eventually.

 

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The farther we traveled east, the more the landscape changed, and the more signs of development we saw. We passed an enormous switching yard, the steel wheels of the trains screeching and squealing, distorted into monstrous cries by the distant echoes through the valleys. They were either expanding or still finishing the yard, as there were work parties swarming around the far side erecting buildings and laying rails. At the same time, the roads below were actually choked with pedestrians, on foot or riding velocipedes, many pulling carts.

"I'm going to guess they don't have anything like a horse, given what we've seen." Sumner guessed, "We haven't seen any beasts of burden or anything like that. Interesting."

"... good, if you ask me." I said, "Say, I think I see the city ahead."

Sumner sat up in her seat a little, staring off into the distance. We were just to the point where the coast was starting to become visible from the glint of sunlight off the horizon, so we must be close.

"It sort of just looks like a big grey smear." she said, squinting against the midday sun. "Though I think I see balloons! They have balloons!"

As we got closer, that smear began to resolve itself into the city, with an enormous contrast instantly visible in the layout of the structures. Closer to the water were monolithic, blocky structures in grey concrete, some clearly residential and others topped in massive square chimneys pouring black smoke into the air. Spread out all around, and receding away from those structures, were thousands of wooden buildings of haphazard construction, densely packed to the point of nearly blending into one another.

Sure enough, level with us as we approached were balloons, tethered to the buildings below, their long, teardrop-shaped canopies bobbing slightly in the wind. They were flying high above us, perhaps a thousand feet in the air, and the wires trailing from the indicated they likely had some kind of communication with the ground below. Watchtowers, of a sort?

Even eighty feet in the air and still approaching the city, we could smell it. The mixture of organic waste and coal smoke was deeply unpleasant, and Sumner began coughing something awfully before we even crossed over the city proper.

"It's a bit rank, isn't it?" she said, calling a halt so she could retrieve her poisonous atmosphere gear from her bag. She carefully wrapped the scarf around her face, her eyes watering, and the radio was filled with a scratchy static as the fabric was pulled against the microphone.

The messenger was entirely correct that we couldn't have missed the palace: it was on the far side of the city, surrounded by high walls and a carefully maintained lawn of what looked like beach sand raked perfectly even. Huge triangular pennants flew in rows between the gatehouse and the steps into the main entrance, marking an obvious path between the two.

"I imagine to be respectful, we ought to stop at the gatehouse." Sumner pointed out, and I shook my head and pointed down to the stairs. "Do we want to be respectful?"

"... I don't know." I admitted. "I don't particularly want to be rude to anyone, but at the same time, this lot hasn't exactly won me over. They forced a unit of their soldiers to shoot at their own!"

"And they shot at you!" Sumner pointed out. "I think that's important too."

"That's fine, self-defense more or less. Besides, it wasn't as though they could hurt me."

"Well, still… They were trying to kill you! I don't know, I think perhaps it's like gift giving." Sumner said, "It's the thought that counts. And if they figure they have the advantage over us..."

"Right, they might try it again. So… confident, but not confrontational?" I suggested. To that end, we skipped the gatehouse, but flew carefully and slowly down the path between the flags, giving just enough time for our welcoming party to assemble on the palace steps. Looked like an honour guard of about forty soldiers like we'd seen before (different hats, though!) and our first look at what I was pretty sure were the local nobility or governors. The two trailing figures were holding hands.

There were three of them approaching, and they all looked just a little different, perhaps different ages. They were dressed in very elaborate, almost toga-like versions of the tabards the soldiers wore in white and dark blue, with subtle patterns and silver toggles. Fancy types for sure.

I knew better than to expect them to extend a hand for a proper handshake or anything, but they did not so much as move as we dismounted, all of them staring wide-eyed at myself, at Ensign Sumner, and at our horses. I couldn't blame them, really, must be quite a bit of a shock. Not knowing what else to do, I offered a hand to shake, and they recoiled as if in shock.

Did I really scare them that much? It seemed weird that people so openly physically affectionate with one another wouldn't be prepared for some kind of touch during a greeting, didn't it? I withdrew my hand awkwardly.

"Hello, I am Lieutenant Theodora Fusilier of the Kingdom of Great Britain and Beyond. This is Ensign Lydia Sumner, my assistant."

"... and who are they?" the lead figure asked, pointing to our transports.

"Uh… Those are our horses." I said, "They are just tools. Not people."

"I see, my apologies. I am Visionary, head of the South Hunter family. These are Steadfast and Clever, my senior siblings." the leader said, looking us over with caution. "We were surprised to hear you would be arriving so quickly."

We already had Visionary's name, our guests had known it. I translated for Sumner, who beamed eagerly.

"Tell them we're not known for our patience. It'll make them more cautious." she replied.

"I don't think that would be a good idea." I muttered nervously, but when then as I went to reply I could think of nothing better to say. "We don't like to wait."

"I understand. Come then, quickly, let's begin the negotiations. Is there anything we can get you? Food, drink?"

I declined, and we headed up the stairs into the palace. Sumner flipped a switch on the controls of our horses, and they drifted slowly along behind us: it wouldn't do to leave them out of our sight. Everyone we passed regarded them with a particular awe, and were clearly too stunned to protest.

I realized it was something of an unfair judgement given the technological differences between our cultures, but I have to say I was not particularly impressed. It seems that a stark minimalism was the order of the day. The walls were stark and bare polished stone, clearly a labour-intensive process, but the oil lamps which lined it left discoloured streaks climbing up the walls which must require constant cleaning.

"So what's the plan, then?" Sumner asked, falling into step beside me and pushing a stray hair from her eyes. "How are we going to do this?"

"I figured I would just explain the situation and see what they want in exchange for electricity." I said simply, looking to her. She looked horrified.

"No wonder I cleaned you out at cards so easily! You really have no idea how to negotiate, do you?" she said, looking at me astonished.

"Well… not particularly. I'm a soldier, not a diplomat. Historically, our job begins where the negotiator's ends, you know." I said.

"Heh, yeah, but… okay. Imagine trying to play poker, but you're holding your cards so everyone can see them, and the other side wasn't. You wouldn't stand a chance, right?"

"Right, yes." I said.

"Okay, so that's where the phrase 'cards on the table' comes from, it means a frank honesty, and it can be useful for negotiation, to get somebody to let their guard down. But that's not what we want here. We're in a weak position in actuality, but they don't know that, and they're terrified of us. If they know how bad things are, they can ask us for more and give us less."

"... right, yes, of course. So what, do I just threaten them? I can do threatening." I said.

"I know you can! But no, they might call our bluff at some point, and we'd be screwed if they did. Um, if you'll pardon my language. We aren't actually capable of what they think we're capable of. So we have to thread the needle here: we can't let them know how weak we are, and we can't rely on how strong we are pretending to be." she explained simply, smiling the way she did whenever she got the chance to explain anything.

"How do you know so much about this?" I asked.

"Our family didn't get as rich as we did without shrewd negotiation, you know. I've had tutors." she explained. "We can't let them know that we need electricity, we should just let them know we want electricity, like it's an idle desire. And we put it in among a bunch of other requests that we can drop to make it look like we're meeting them halfway, even though all we want is the electricity."

"You've really thought this out." I said, and she waved it off.

"Well, this is just the very basics, you know. Obviously there's a lot more to it than-" She stopped, evidently seeing the look on my face. "Oh, don't you worry! You've got this!"

We passed through a set of very wide double doors into what I presumed was the negotiation room, and the first thing I noticed was the change in the lighting. Above us were glass spheres, glowing with an electric orange light. It was hard not to dwell on that.

Rather than a table and chairs, there was a pair of parallel trenches in the floor, with cushions on one side. They beckoned us to sit, and we stood and watched as they did so we didn't get it wrong. They all sat on one side, their feet dangling in the trench, and we did the same.

To our surprise, the pits was warm. I suspected they were piping in heat through the foundations. Sumner opened her codebook and readied her pen eagerly, twirling it between her fingers, and Visionary leaned forward eagerly.

"Firstly, I would like to know who you are, Lieutenant Theodora Fusilier. Why are you here?" they asked, looking at me curiously.

"I am a leader in a great army. I have come here after a battle. We are lost." I explained. "Ensign Sumner is my assistant. She cannot speak your language, but she is helping me understand it with her book. I would ask you use simple language, if you will."

"... interesting. Why is she not like you? Why are you made of steel, and she not?" they asked. "I had assumed the stories were exaggerated, that you were merely wearing ------, but it does not seem so."

"My apologies. A word I do not know. Sumner, get ready. What you suspected I was wearing?" I asked. Visionary repeated themselves, and I nodded. "What does it mean?"

"Metal clothing, worn for protection?" they said, looking at us askew.

"Armour, Sumner, that means armour." I explained, and she scrawled quickly, pausing a moment to hand me the wire. I plugged it in, and all three of the cuddlebugs in front of me recoiled.

"Wait, cuddlebugs?" I said, throwing a glance to Sumner.

"I… it's the name I gave their species in my notes, I just pushed it with the update. They're insect like and affectionate with one another. Cuddlebugs!"

"... we shall have to change that before it reaches the history books, I think." I said, trying to keep the amusement out of my voice. "Sorry, my apologies. No, I am not wearing armour. I am made of steel."

"How is such a thing possible? It is not natural, is it?" Clever asked.

"No, I was built, as you would build a gun or carriage. I was built to be a soldier, by a society which possesses much better tools than your own." I said, "We travel the stars, and live on thousands of worlds like this one."

"Are you here to conquer us, then?" Visionary asked.

"What are they saying, catch me up?" Sumner asked, and I silenced her a moment with a hand.

"No, we are not." I said. "As I said, we are lost, and waiting for the arrival of a much larger force to take us home."

"We must apologize, then, for the aggression of our subordinates. We will see to it that they are punished most severely." Steadfast added.

"Uuuh, that will not be necessary. We understand that your soldiers are rather nervous. A banditry problem?"

I realized just moments after speaking that I could have used that as a chance to push for electricity as part of the apology. Urgh.

"Yes. It is an unfortunate thing. Sixty years we've been here, and still they fight the ------."

We paused him again, and this time it took several minutes. Eventually, we translated his words as something like 'the march of progress', which was not exactly comforting.

"So… we simply wait, and you will go?" Steadfast asked, and in that moment I realized that I'd screwed things up. They figured they didn't need to give us anything, so what leverage we started with was already gone.

"Lieutenant?" Sumner asked, and I turned, somewhat despairingly, to her, and explained the situation.

"I'm not doing a very good job of this…" I admitted. "They now don't think they have any reason to give us electricity, and I haven't even asked… I think I was too honest."

"... honest to a fault." Sumner said, shaking her head. "Alright, new strategy. We will need to offer them something, be proactive."

"What can we offer them? What do we have that they won't?" I asked.

"Technology? Perhaps we could make their lot better with a few things." she suggested.

"I doubt it. Anything they'd want would only be things that would solidify their power and make things worse." I said, "Imagine this lot with laser muskets. I won't be party to that."

"It's what we have, we haven't gold or anything. I imagine I could offer them more precious metals with a single letter to my father than they could imagine, but then we wouldn't have the problem." she said, "So technology or we perform some duty for them."

"... Excuse me, what are you talking about?" Clever asked, looking somewhat impatient. I translated quickly, then replied.

"Considering our position. I wouldn't want to fight for them either. Even less, frankly." I said, "Though perhaps there is something else."

"Offer our services for money and electricity, find something you'd be willing to do, and drop the gold when they start to press." she said, and I shrugged. Seemed easy enough.

"Alright, well, here is the deal. We do not do well with idleness, our kind. If we are here for the foreseeable future, we'd like to keep busy. Would you happen to have any work we could do?" I offered. The three of them exchanged eager glances.

"We could certainly find things for you to do, of course. The war in the north, you understand, with your capabilities it could be over in a week. Save a great deal of hardship." Clever said.

I had no intention of helping this lot grind down on the locals so they could get richer, but perhaps there was something that my conscience could tolerate.

"Tell me how you would use us, if you had us." I asked.

"Our foes, the bandit armies, they have a fort deep in the mountains. It is of little strategic value, but its position is unimpeachable. It is high above the passes, in land too inhospitable to maintain a siege. It gives their leaders a place to hide, and we haven't the artillery or troops to manage it, and it does not present a threat enough for our lords to send more troops. But with you…" Steadfast said.

They didn't even know about our artillery, or the power of our weapons, but they were right. We could probably walk right up to the front door and push it open. I had no desire to do such a thing for this lot, but we needed electricity, so perhaps...

"I would have to see the fort, but we may be able to be of help." I replied. "However, the laws of our… um, family of families? Lands under a king?" There was a moment as the word nation (or perhaps kingdom, this was not very precise as translations went) was programmed into the language, "The laws of our nation prevent us from fighting for another. But we can take a look, certainly, and perhaps find reason to bend these laws?"

The three bastards shared an eager look with one another, clearly enthused of the possibility.

"Whatever you can do. When last we laid siege to the place, their leader stood out on the gatehouse to make fools of us, every morning. Just out of range of our guns."

Oh, that's interesting.

"Oh, I'm sure we can make them regret that." I said, "But there is a matter of payment. We do not work for free." I continued. "We would need compensation. Precious metals and electricity."

"What use do you have for electricity?" Clever asked, and I nearly responded honestly simply out of reflex. But no, I had to conceal our position, remember?

"My kind enjoy it. Like… spices." I said, grasping for the example. "If you understand."

"I do." Visionary said, "So what would this payment look like?"

I quickly filled Sumner in on the events, and though she winced at the idea, but nodded.

"Beggers can't be choosers, I suppose. But we won't actually do this, will we?" she asked.

"Absolutely not. But I think I have an idea. Um… I should have to take a look at the fort first, for myself. And for that, initial payment." I said, "The gold. Um, Sumner, how much gold is enough to be too much?"

"I haven't a clue with these lot… and I don't know about their weights and measures. Think of something heavy, I guess?" Sumner said hesitantly.

"I should like my weight in gold, I think, and the electricity afterward." I said, and I'll admit, I relished the looks on their faces, now that I could understand them.

"That is… it would take us some time to gather that much." Clever said, "And again, this fort is not a strategic concern. What else would you accept? Would you take silver? Platinum?"

"Yes… and if you won't give me the gold… the electricity. Access to your generators." I demanded.

"We only really run them during the night for lights… we can run them for you in the day. As long as you like." Clever said, "Would that do?"

"For now." I said, doing my best not to sound too relieved. "I should like to see your generators now. And send a telegram to your waystation for my troops."

 

[open_sketch]

"Your troops?" Clever asked curiously.

I had considered the logistics of trying to charge the batteries here and shuttle them back to our camp daily, and there were just too many factors, too many things that could go wrong. Our strength was in each other, in mutual protection, and the more we spread out the more we were just begging for a malfunctioning horse or a lost convoy to escalate things out of control.

"Yes, I should need them here. If you're providing us electricity." I said. "We'll need your soldiers to post pickets at the gateway, we'll have a letter for them to give to our comrades when tehy arrive. I'll also ask that you find us…" There was a brief translation exchange, "... accomodations appropriate for our stations."

"If we may ask, what is your station?" Clever asked, tapping clawed fingers against the warm stone table between us. "So we can find appropriate accommodations."

I turned to Sumner, curious.

"Does your family hold any titles, by any chance?" I asked. I probably ought to know, but rank superceded title in the military. Better for discipline, and it also kept exchanges and introductions a lot more brief.

"Oh… well, let's see. Do you care about our minor titles or do you just want the big ones?" she asked. "My mother is the marchioness of Messier 34, I think I stand to inherit that one. My father is Earl of the Unicorn Array, and Earl of the Dystone Cluster, and I can't even remember how many baronies..."

"Okay, stop. How many planets does your family have titles on?" I clarified. "I'm trying to impress them."

"Oh… I think ninety or so, settled? Though if you want to impress them, Ensign Darley's uncle is Duke of the Camelopardalis Rift, and you know Lieutenant Kennedy's mother is a princess?"

"... I did not." I admitted, turning back to our hosts. "My assistant's family is lord of eighty and eight worlds, as an example."

They stared in utter silence for several seconds.

"... I'm sure we can find something." Steadfast said numbly.

----

I sent a message back through to the cuddlebugs at the waystation, instructing them to approach our camp with a white flag in hand and relay my orders for the soldiers to make their way to the city. We had made sure everyone was shut down with enough charge that, if reactivated, they could fight for a few hours, so we wouldn't be exposing our weakness as the troops made a quick march to the city and we got them charged.

I also remembered, at the last minute, to have amnesty extended to our 'prisoners', under the excuse that we could retain their services as local guides.

In the meantime, we made our way to the power station, hovering on our horses above the crowded and dusty streets. It was a small cement brick building, low to the ground and topped with dozens of blocky chimneys. Inside, ironically lit by gas lamps, were steam furnaces, each connected to bulky generators. Burning coal heated water, and the steam drove the generator.

I'd never seen anything like it. Early in the Industrious Revolution I knew there had been steam generated power, but it quickly gave way to non-carbon burning methods owing to the many, many downsides. Waiting in the wings of the factory were the workers, dirty with soot and coal dust, all of them looking bone-weary with their shovels.

Our batteries were laid out at the back of the factory, at the rat's nest of wires that carried out into the city to the factories which used it, and after some confusion among the workers (made worse by not speaking their language) I leapt down and physically wrapped the copper ends over the pop-out charging ports. The generators were fired up, black smoke pouring into the air, and the charging needle started ticking upward at a fair clip. Not nearly as fast as a volta generator, but not as slowly as I feared. We could keep the unit charged easily.

Despite the insistence of our guide (another member of the South Hunters, Dutiful), we stayed and watched the charging, not wanting to leave any of our technology unattended. The workers loaded wheelbarrows of coal from the bunker, dumping it in front of the furnace to be shoveled into the flames. The room filled with a choking black smoke soon enough, so dense it nearly smothered the lights, clinging to everything.

If I had a heart, it'd have torn it out, and I had to struggle hard to restrain the instinct to jump down and do the work for them, the poor bastards.

By the time the batteries were charged, about three hours later, we were being called out to the main boulevard by a runner for the arrival of our comrades. We met back with the senior siblings of the South Hunters at the head of the road, with their honour guard and all, marching out toward the edge of the city, clearly dressed their best.

The wide street was carved through the city and laid in regular square stones, clearly sliced directly through the city without any care for what had once been there. Soldiers lined the way, facing out into the city as we made our way out: I suspected it was as much of the garrison as could be mustered on such short notice.

"A good welcome, I should think?" Visionary said, attempting to keep pace with us in one of those velocipede carriages. I'll admit, my opinion of them (already not high) was dropping by the minute as the six pedalers pushed him forward. I'd have gladly walked with them, but it seemed they and their siblings didn't much like to walk anywhere.

"It is alright, for a ground city." I said, like I'd ever see another city on the surface of a world. To tell the truth, I found the whole thing rather disturbing, but that was the norm I was rapidly acclimatizing to.

"Aah… ground city? You have other sorts?" Clever asked.

"Oh yes. Our cities are all built in space, you see." I explained.

I must say, of all the types of silence in the galaxy, 'stunned' was rapidly growing to be my favourite sort.

Not long after, at the end of the boulevard, I spotted our party, the ragged little knot of red and blue making their way up the road, trailed by the guns and wagons. They'd done their best to look presentable for the journey, I suppose, but between their ragged and burnt uniform, missing gear, and the great horrible injuries a good number of them had, they were rather less than parade-ground ready. The broken bodies stacked in the back of one of the wagons also did not help.

I'll admit, I winced as the crunching dreadnought wheels and grinding tracks tore up the white stone road.

"What happened to them?" Visionary asked.

"As I said, a battle against a foe equally as powerful as we." I explained. "We were forced here after great losses."

"It must be a glorious war." Steadfast commented. I didn't dignify that with an answer.

The party stopped at the gateway to the city, Lieutenant Kennedy dismounting shakily from her horse with Milly's help, and I met her and caught her up on the events thus far. She did not sound exactly enthusiastic.

"I'll admit, not the outcome I was expecting." Kennedy said, sounding a bit pained through her gas scarf. "Not exactly eager to play mercenary for this lot."

"Nor am I, but it is what it is. We'll get out of this alright, I think I have a plan." I said. Kennedy looked at me with eyes wide.

"Dora, I say this with love… your plans have a tendency to go to very strange places." she said, a bit weary. "We ought to find billets somewhere fast. Our machines are…"

"- A little loopy, hehehe" Milly said, slurring her words more than a litte. "I'm on five percent charge!"

"Yes, that, poor thing." Kennedy finished.

"Right, well, about that, we're in luck." I explained. "We have some charged batteries waiting for you, and I hear they have somewhere to put us up in."

===

I'm sorry for the brief update. I'm doing my best to have anything at all.​

 

[open_sketch]

The palace, it transpired, had a guest wing, presumably for when their lords and such made the long journey across the sea. The halls were enormous, and the rooms moreso, and we were assured by our hosts that it was the absolute finest accommodations on this side of the world, fit for the rulers of their Empire themselves. It would have to do for the likes of the galactic peerage and their loyal soldiers, I supposed.

Almost immediately, though, we ran into our first major cultural clash, as the wing consisted not of small private rooms, but about a dozen chambers lined in doors for servants, clearly designed not for individuals but for dozens living and sleeping in close proximity. For families, or at least a significant parts of them. Their smallest rooms would be comfortable for perhaps a dozen, while the largest could fit a hundred, at least.

Rather than beds there was a large pit lined with cushions and pillows in the centre of each room, around which the rest of the amenities were arranged, including what looked like a line of showers against one wall with a sloped floor. The material was, overwhelmingly, stone and concrete, with wood in limited use, and there was little decoration. Privacy was apparently not even remotely a consideration.

At least the everpresent servants were familiar.

I inquired, once we'd toured the first few rooms, if there were individual accommodations the humans could use, and our guides (yet more members of the South Hunter family, these clearly junior) seemed frankly horrified by the idea of anyone sleeping alone.

"Surely you don't all need individual rooms, do you?" one of them, I had lost track of which, asked, wide-eyed and shifting uncomfortably.

"Oh, uh… no. It would be for only some members of our party." I explained, and they nodded.

"The, uh… humans?" they asked, taking their best run at the word with their alien mouthparts. Honestly… better than most so far. Better than a human could do with the name of their species, I was sure.

"... the officers." I corrected nervously.

"May I ask a question? Are the humans your queens? Do they build your kind?" another member, clearly the youngest, asked, rushing through the words with obvious curiosity. The other members of our escort shot them a withering stare and they shied away, but the question was asked.

"Not exactly. We are not like that." I explained, cautious. I didn't exactly want them to have an awareness of how important the humans were to us: they might try to turn it into leverage. However, the inference was likely not hard to work out just given the composition of our force.

I turned to Kennedy, who was smiling politely as Milly translated for her.

"So, this is awkward." I said, laughing a bit.

"I'm noticing." she said, sighing and leaning against the wall. She was doing an admirable job, but she was clearly quite worn out. "I say we give a room each over to the artillery and infantry, one for our guides, and then grab one of the small rooms each for officers and aides. That makes sense, right?"

"My worry is that if we do that, we're basically asking for them to try and jump our officers through the servants doors or similar." I said.

"Dora… that sounds a little paranoid." she said. "We're their guests."

"I- well, yes, it is, but these people… their whole society is built around making hostages out of people who the rest are driven instinctually to protect. They're going to work out how our society works in short order, and…" I leaned in close and lowered my voice, despite knowing they couldn't understand a word of English, "They're probably already thinking about it. I told them we weren't allowed to fight for them outright, but you and I both know if they had a gun to Sumner or Kelly's head the machines would storm any fortress they asked."

"Would you?" she asked pointedly, and I felt cold wash through my circuits.

"God… I-I don't know. I don't." I said. "I want to think I could weigh it but… I don't know."

With a pained smile, Kennedy put a hand on my arm, shaking her head slowly.

"We'll post them with guards, and maybe… consolidate things a little? Put the ensigns in a single room so they're easier to protect." she proposed.

"That's just not done." I said automatically, and she waved it off.

"They'll be well chaperoned by their aides, Dora, honestly. They can use their tents for dividers when they need privacy. Besides, it'll give them somebody to talk to, that'll be something. Keep them from getting in too much trouble."

I didn't like it, every part of my programming balked at the idea of unmarried young people in mixed company like that, but it was clearly the best option.

"What about you?" I asked, and she responded by pointing at me.

"Me? What about you, lieutenant? You're in charge, they're just as likely to come after you." she said.

"I'm made of titanium steel, Diana. I doubt they could kill me if they had hours to work at it." I replied, a bit smug. "But you're just as much at risk as the ensigns. More, I'm afraid…"

"I'm nearly recovered." she insisted.

"You're nearly falling over." I countered, "They've noticed, they likely think you're wounded. You might well be their favoured target."

"I don't exactly like how little credit you're giving our hosts, but I see your point." she said, "So what if we did the same?"

"How do you mean?" I asked, knowing the answer but needing to hear it to make sure.

"I'm saying maybe we should be roommates." Kennedy said, "If you're okay with that."

I looked to Milly, who looked away strangely, mirth in her eyes.

"I suppose that's a good idea." I conceded.

With nearly all of us out of charge by this point, we retired for the night soon after, despite the relatively early hour. There was no invitation to dinner or the like extended to us, and I was starting to get the impression that there was not a great deal of socialization between families expected. This society, for all that it had seemed close before, was remarkably insular.

Frankly, that suited me just fine. While they were nothing but polite to us, every time I saw the representatives of the South Hunter family I couldn't help but continually remind myself that they were kidnappers and colonialists, that the wealth around us wasn't the result of collective effort and joyful work but theft and slavery.

I didn't hate them, though, I couldn't. I knew well enough that who they were as people had very little to do with the suffering here. These things were bigger, they were systems which the likes of the South Hunter family was just a small part of. Their queens were hostages too, after all, they lived at the edge of the same precarity as their victims, if farther from the fall.

And, of course, but for the grace of God went we!

Sumner was clever, hardworking, and eager to help. Kelly was conscientious, brave, and kind. They were a credit to humanity. But that wasn't innate, it wasn't genetic, they were able to be so good because of the society around them. If they were placed in circumstances like this, raised like this, positioned like this…

I didn't have to speculate what they might do. We had history books full of it.

Our main problem for the night was that nearly all our machines were out of charge, so there were not enough to manage a watch over the rooms, our vehicles, the ensigns, and the teams running batteries to and from the power station, but I reasoned there was little risk to our machines directly and we were able to scrape by. We ensured everything was in place and that our wagons were under guard by taking the rather power-intensive route of hooking stationary guards up to batteries to maintain charge as they were on watch, then the officers retired to our rooms.

The long day was wearing on me, emotionally if not in my batteries, and it wasn't helped by the rather grim task of retrieving Miriam from the back of the casualty wagon and carrying her to the room I'd be sharing with Lieutenant Kennedy. I laid her carefully at one end of the pit and plugged her into the field battery, then, still alone, I allowed myself to flop down into the pit of cushions, finding a pleasant bounce to the mattress-equivalent lining the bottom. I was reminded, absurdly, of my giant bed back at number eighteen, and it was strange how that already felt like home.

I heard the door open and shut again outside the pit, and Lieutenant Kennedy entered, pulling a confused looking Milly by the hand. The poor thing was so low on charge she looked on the edge of panic, and Kennedy helped her down into the other side of the pit of cushions and rushed off, returning a moment later with a field battery.

"No… supposed to be helping you…" Milly slurred, and Kennedy shushed her. "Lemme brush your hair, can't go to bed all tangled…"

"Stop it, you silly machine, you need to sleep." Kennedy insisted, plugging her in and flipping the switch on the battery. Milly looked as though she wanted to disagree, but then she shifted a bit in place to rest against a pillow and was asleep in an instant, still in her uniform. "There you are… oh, you're still in your boots..."

Self-consciously, I pulled my boots off and threw them up out of the pit as Kennedy unlaced Milly's carefully.

"Oh, how the tables have turned." I joked, and Kennedy rolled her eyes.

"I told her to go into standby on the way over, but she was quite insistent she stay awake to help me with the language file. Helpful to a fault, of course." she muttered, lining Milly's boots up carefully at the edge of the pit. "How's your aide?"

"She's charging. I forgot about her boots." I admitted. "It's strange. I was worried I wouldn't be able to find her anything to do when she first arrived, and now I've missed her terribly."

"That's kind of sweet, honestly." Kennedy said, starting at the buttons at the top of her jacket. "Urgh… you think their showers are safe?"

"I don't even know if it's water, or what temperature it might be." I said, "Nevermind if there's something horrible in it. Let Doctor Zsanett clear it in the morning before you risk it."

"I'm just… I'd love to have something better than a field shower." she said, pulling loose her jacket and boots. "Can never get the water hot enough."

"Never had that problem." I said stupidly, and she laughed.

"Lucky." she said, reclining onto the pillows next to me. "And you don't sweat either, so staying clean probably isn't too much an issue for you at all. This'll sound strange but… I'm almost jealous."

I sat with that for a while, unsure what to say.

"Jealous?" I asked, trying to buy time by asking her to clarify.

"Of machines, I guess." she said, "You'll never grow old, never want for much, always know what to do… always know who you are."

"I suppose." I replied.

"Sorry. I'm not thinking clearly, I shouldn't be saying this."

"It's alright." I said uselessly, "Do you want to talk about it?"

Her turn to be silent, turning the question over as she leaned back against the pillows, her arms crossed tight across her body.

"I'm not looking forward to having to pay for all this." she said, clearly changing the subject. "I don't want to be party to this… this crime. You said you have a plan?"

"The inkling of one." I said, "They said one of their leaders would patrol the gatehouse, out of range of their guns, right? Perhaps not out of range of ours."

"You're not thinking of an assassination, are you?" she asked, horrified, and I put a hand on hers to reassure her.

"Of course not! We have stun rounds, but they don't know that. Imagine, we get some of their observers lined up, we knock over their hated enemy, they keep giving us power until our forces open the gateway." I explained. "And whatever resistance fighter or whatever gets to take a nice little nap. Everyone wins."

"That won't trick them for long." Kennedy said, sounding skeptical. "Maybe a few days, or maybe even a few hours."

"Sure, but we just say, you know, oh the poison didn't take or such." I replied, "It will have bought time to figure something else. That's all we need, time."

"... have you given any thought to-" She paused, clearly hesitant, "Intervention?"

Oh.

"I have." I said stiffly, waiting. She said nothing. "We can't. We don't have a good understanding of the situation worldwide, nor the ability to make widespread changes. We can knock over these particular imperialists, but we can't prevent more from taking their place. We can't dismantle the hostage system. If we try… I imagine we'll just make things worse."

"I know." she replied softly, "Of course. But it's on my mind."

"I'm sorry." I said, "We're just fifty machines, and we're not… we're not useful machines. We're soldiers. We can destroy, but we can't build."

"I wish we could at least leave them with machines of their own, you know? Get the ball rolling, start their own industrious revolution." Kennedy said, "Do we have anyone who might know how?"

"If we had an engineer, maybe." I said, "I… It's miserable, we machines were made to help in this exact sort of circumstance, but we've just not got the resources. It's more reason for us to play it safe and get home. We can leave the gateway open and let others figure it out. Smarter people."

Kennedy reached over, grasping clumsily for her jacket, listing heavily as she did. I reached ahead for her, grasping the epaulet and pulling it to her, and she fished around for the inner pocket and came up with a small flask.

"I hate this." she said, unscrewing the top and taking a quick swig. "I'd offer you some, but…"

"Oh, just pour it into one of the vents." I said, dropping back against the pillows and undoing my top button. "Ought to have some effect."

"I doubt it." she said, taking another, longer pull. "Fuck, I just want to get back on my feet. I hate this so much."

"Should you be drinking while you're recovering?" I asked, and she waved dismissively and took one last short sip before screwing the cap back on.

"Who cares?" she said, leaning back again. This time, I couldn't help but notice, quite close to me, shoulder to shoulder. So close that when she looked over at me, I could feel her breath against the steel of my skin. "I'll be fine. Tougher than I look."

"Yeah?" I asked, feeling… strange. Conscious of the tension in the room. Of her rolling over, getting even closer. Of her hand on my thigh.

"Yeah." she said, grinning at me, eyes half-lidded. "Maybe not as tough as you, but I can hold my own."

"... Diana, are you…" I leaned back, suddenly a bit nervous, "Are you alright?"

Her expression changed, embarrassment flashing across her face, and she shrank away, leaning back against the pillow. The tension was let out all at once as she seemed to have second thoughts.

"No. Wish I was." she groaned, face down in the pillow. "Sorry."

"Um… it's quite alright." I said. I wanted to ask her what was happening. I had my suspicions. But thankfully, she'd had the good sense to back off, and I shouldn't bring it up again. Shouldn't embarrass her.

I climbed out of the pit and doused the lights, then slipped back into the pit a ways away from her. She was already snoring gently, arms curled around a pillow. Despite myself, despite my better judgement, I felt a pang of something, a desire to get close to her.

But thankfully, it passed. I set up my battery, plugged in, and went to sleep.

 

[open_sketch]

"Miss? Lieutenant?"

I awoke stiffly, processors still spooling up, brain foggy, to see Miriam sitting at the edge of the pit with concern in her eyes. I'll admit, seeing her again was a relief, even after such a short time.

"Morning, Miriam." I said, pulling myself to my feet, "How are you feeling?"

"Well enough, for having no idea what is happening. Would you mind explaining where we are, and why you're sharing a bed with Lieutenant Kennedy?" she said seriously. I glanced over to see Diana perhaps five yards away, hugging one of the pillows tight to her chest in her sleep.

"I-... well, that's rather a stretch of definitions of 'sharing' and 'bed'..." I started, and she shook her head.

"I know, Miss, I'm teasing, my apologies. My first question still stands, however."

I quietly explained the situation with our quarters and station as I dressed, and she spent the time muttering about the state of my uniform in her absence, seemingly unperturbed by the circumstances. Wanting to leave both Kennedy and Milly to their well-earned rest, we slipped out into the hall just in time to see a few of our newly-recharged machines taking up positions at the doors.

"Morning, ma'am." Sergeant Theo called, closing the doors behind them. "Just finished checking on the ensigns.

"Anything to report overnight?" I asked, and he glanced around the hall as if checking for anyone listening in.

"A few of the palace guards were snooping around in the night, and the baggage guards say they warded off some inquisitive locals trying to take a look at our gear." he replied, "We had to turn away a lot of servants trying to get access to your rooms as well. Might be benign, might not be, better safe than sorry."

"Good machine. How's the battery situation?"

"We've got all our field batteries not actively in use recharged, and we're working on weapons and vehicles now. Should be back to full charge on everything tonight."

I pulled my sword and pistol from my belt and handed them to Miriam.

"Get these charged while they're at it, will you? I'm going to go talk to our pickets." I said, and she vanished down the hall with Sergeant Theo as I headed down to the outer entrances and pushed the door open.

Our wagons were arrayed on either side of the door, and two guards, hooked up to battery lines running down from the nearest wagons, weapons slung. One was infantry from my section, and the other an artillery crewmachine with a carbine, and both of them looked weary. Recharging wasn't the only reason we slept: we needed to compress long-term memory files and defragment our drives, after all.

"Morning, Lieutenant." the infantry Dora said, the two of them snapping a quick salute.

"Morning, soldiers." I replied, "Anything unusual last night? Heard you warded off some locals?"

"Yes ma'am." the artillery Theo responded, "Strange buggers, uh, more than usual. I think they might have been boffins of some sort, one of them had a scroll of paper and charcoal. They hung out at the edge of the wall after we told them to get lost, I think they were drawing us."

"Wonderful. Love that." I sighed, looking over the gear. Somebody had, fortunately, had the presence of mind to cover over the casualties with a tarp. "Nothing missing or anything?"

"Nothing, ma'am. Nobody got closer than ten yards to the wagons." Dora replied with pride, "I saw them waiting around for us to get distracted or fall asleep, but, well, they'll have to wait longer than that. Feels good to have a useful watch."

I studied her closely for a second. She was one of the new ones, a fact that was slightly obscured at first by the warped metal of her cheek and the blackened scorch across the shoulder of her uniform, exposing a hole through it and her shoulder plating that showed off the components. Whenever she shifted, I could see some of the pistons in her chest move.

"Hell of a first deployment, isn't it, private?" I asked, and her eyes lit up.

"It's so exciting! I thought the marching about and drills were a good time, but I had no idea. The battle! All a bit overwhelming at the time, but a hell of a first scrap! Poor Dora next to me got it bad in the chest when they charged us-" she tapped a fist against the casualty wagon in solidarity, "- but she might be okay, and if not, well, she went out laughing. Laughing, having a ball! And I got the bugger what got her, those Stalkers aren't much a fan of the bayonet, I'll tell you."

"How's the shoulder?" I asked, and she waved it off.

"Nothing, just a scratch. Didn't even feel it at the time. Ruined a good jacket, though." she said, "Bit touch and go with the batteries there, though, 10% warning while we were on the march." she said, sharing an excited glance with her artillery counterpart, "And an alien world! First contact! All in my first month, I'm blessed, I must be."

There's the enthusiasm I liked to see.

"Gunner?" I asked, turning to the other, and he just rolled his eyes.

"Most fun I've had this century, I'll say that." he said, the sarcasm clear in his voice. "Were we ever that bad?"

"I'm sure we were." I said, remembering the giddy excitement the first time somebody had shot at me, the feeling of utter invincibility the first time my armour stopped the attack, the heady power of the laser musket and my own raw strength. "Right, I'll get you some replacements so you can get some sleep. Good work."

I turned to head back, but then I heard a little artificial cough from the artillery machine. I turned back to see him looking at me expectantly, his eyes full of concern.

"Ma'am… we heard screaming last night. Out in the city." he said, the words clearly painful to him. "Wouldn't have known it for what it was without the new language file."

"When?" I asked.

"Throughout the night. Here and there." he said, and Private Dora nodded in agreement. "Sound carries well over the courtyard."

I nodded grimly. He wasn't reporting that because he thought it was relevant. He was reporting it as a way of asking what do we do.

"Thank you, Gunner." I replied stiffy, "We're working on it."

---

The report weighed heavily on me as I returned, and when I saw the representative of the South Hunters (this one was, I was pretty sure, Curious) waiting for me in the hallway, there was a very brief moment where I wished I could stun the bastard. Of course, I couldn't even if I hadn't thought better of it, Miriam still had my pistol.

"Good morning, Lieutenant Theodora Fusilier." they said, with the sweep of the hand we'd learned was a greeting, "How are you soldiers settling in?"

"Very well, thank you." I said, squashing my emotions and switching to Polite Guest Mode, "We are adjusting well."

"Good! Do you have a moment now to discuss, um, your advisory role?" they asked. Ah, a reminder that we were going to have to pay up sooner rather than later. "I was wondering if your people have laws against the selling of arms as well?"

"We have only the weapons we were issued, which belong to the Crown, not to us." I replied tersely. "I do not have the authority to sell them."

"Ah, but weapons are misplaced or lost all the time…" they said, "Perhaps lost when you took casualties…"

While I doubted they could build a laser musket even given a working example, the image of their soldiers carrying the weapons still jumped unbidden into my mind, orange-uniformed soldiers firing blasts into helpless crowds, crushing their neighbours, expanding their damned empire.

At the same time, however, we were still in a vulnerable position. If they decided to deny us power, we would have to take the power station by force. And those same weapons would be turned against them anyway, if perhaps with more restraint. Still foul. Still wrong.

Time to bluff.

"Our weapons would not be useful to you given the tools you have." I explained, "You lack the ability to make them even if you had perfect instructions. However…"

I leaned around Curious to glance at the door leading to the room the artillery section was using and called for Gunnery Sergeant Teodor. The machine came around the corner a moment later, buttoning his blue jacket and saluting smartly.

"This is Sergeant Teodor. He is one of our best soldiers." I explained, "But moreover, he has a great deal of technical knowledge. He can get you started on the right path."

"Lieutenant?" he asked, looking to me with concern.

"They want our weapons and we're not complying, but we need to string them along. Fetch your best technician?" I asked, and a moment later a Dora emerged from the room, an unusually short one. First one I'd met shorter than me in a long time.

"How can I help?" she asked, her voice sweet.

"How long do you think you could talk about a laser carronade without actually saying anything useful?" I asked, and she got a manic look in her eyes.

"I'll need to take a break to recharge, ma'am!" she said eagerly, and I nodded.

"Good. Keep this guy's scientists bored as long as you can. Try not to teach them anything they can weaponize easily." I ordered.

"Thank you, Lieutenant. We would like to talk to you this afternoon about your offer regarding the fortress as well." they asked, and the two of them strode off, the gunner already talking Curious' ears off. Well, whatever they had instead of ears. If there was one thing I knew we could do, it was talk about our jobs.

That solved for now, and time bought, I made my way back to my room and, without thinking twice about it, pushed the door open.

Immediately I heard the sound of water running, and I made the mistake of looking at the source of the sound. I spotted Diana, just for a moment, under the open showers at the edge of the room, all dark smooth skin and long legs and-

I ducked back through the doors, feeling a bit like a deer in the torchlight. The Dora on guard across the hall looked at me puzzled.

"You alright there, Lieutenant?" she asked, and I waved her off.

"Of course, yes, um… bad timing." I said.

The door clicked open behind me, and Milly stepped out in front of me, looking apologetic.

"Um… corporal, I would like to extend-" I began, but she shook her head and beckoned down the hall. We walked down and ducked into one of the empty servant chambers, a small and dimly lit room with a number of chairs. I sat, and she sat opposite, looking nervous.

"I know you want to apologize, but I need to first." she said seriously. "I know you're an officer, but this is… this is something we need to talk about, machine to machine, you understand? I wasn't… I wasn't thinking entirely clearly yesterday, my battery was very low, but that's not an excuse-"

"Milly, what's wrong?" I asked, and she leaned back heavily in the chair, her eyes despairing.

"My miss… she confessed something to me, well, she's been… okay. Let me start again." she said, and I nodded. "Lieutenant Kennedy has had a very difficult time for a while now. The circumstances of her commission are not entirely pleasant, though I will not betray any of it. However, I have her permission to tell you… she…"

Milly sighed, taking a second again to center herself.

"You've caused Miss Kennedy a bit of distress, through no fault of your own. She, um, she rather fancies you." Milly said, and I felt a chill grip my circuits.

"I was afraid of that." I said, "I suspected, after last night, but it looked like she thought better of it and I didn't want to make things worse."

"Thank you." Milly said, "Um… for that, I need to apologize. She has talked a great deal about you for weeks now, and she… yesterday, when we were coming to the city, she told me how she felt about you. And I… indulged her. Encouraged her."

"Corporal…" I said, and she nodded despairingly.

"I know, it was wrong, it's just… she's had such an awful time, and then she gets wounded, I just wanted… I just wanted to give her something, I think. I know it was a bad idea, but I didn't have my wits about me, I couldn't think it through. I'm sorry."

I sat for a moment in that, in all the uncomfortable feelings racing through my processor. The weight of her affections, my natural aversion to it, and, I'm ashamed to admit, the impulse to ignore those feelings, to take her up on it. I couldn't deny that Lieutenant Kennedy… that Diana was an amazing woman. She was smart, funny, practical, she was beautiful, and I greatly enjoyed her willingness to stoop to vulgarity when the situation called for it. She was the first officer I felt I could talk to as a peer rather than a superior.

I've had my share of improper thoughts about human women over the years, some of the dancers at the ball when I would be posted as a guard, or a few of the officers who'd passed through, but it was always fleeting. Diana… she stuck in my mind, as more than just something physical. I had found myself with fantasies of her and I, dancing together, taking leave with each other, living together. Sharing a bed.

It was so easy to rationalize. We were both officers, right? We had the same station now. That would make it okay, right? Right? For a moment, I was truly convinced that we could give it a shot, that we could make it work, that we could be happy together. That we could have a storybook star-crossed romance. That her kiss would make it alright.

With all that considered, I knew what I had to do. I took all those feelings, all that confused attraction, and I buried it. The feeling drifted away, and with it a great weight, all the confusion and anxiety replaced with a clarity of purpose.

"It's alright, Milly." I said. "As you said, Lieutenant Kennedy has been having a hard go at it. But we both know that her entertaining this will only make things worse for her. We'll have to put a stop to it, and hopefully when we get home find her a more productive outlet."

"Of course." Milly replied, looking downcast. "First thing when we get back, I'll start looking for any single women of her inclination in the city."

"Excellent. Until then, I'll have a word with her. Thank you for telling me."

 

[open_sketch]

Milly nodded and stood back up awkwardly, heading out through the door. I counted out three minutes, then stood and followed, pausing at the door. Knocking this time.

Milly opened the door and beckoned me in. Lieutenant Kennedy of the Royal Artillery was sitting at the edge of the sleeping pit, her jacket folded carefully beside her, her hair still wet and pinned in place. She had her codebook propped up on her lap, writing something, and even though she had just awoken she still looked tired.

I was stuck with such a curious sense, seeing her, like there was a void where feelings ought to be. Just a sort of comforting numbness. I'd never had to deal with feelings like this before, and their sudden absence felt so stark.

"Hello, Dora." she muttered quietly, frowning as she ran her eraser ring over a section and inked it back in. It looked a little like she was trying to ignore me.

"Do you want to talk?" I asked, and she nodded. I slipped off my boots and dropped into the pit, not close to her, but not far either, resting at her level. She rubbed at her eyes, grimacing, clearly anticipating the conversation again.

"You want to talk about last night? I was, uh… I was hoping maybe we could..." she started, and I halted for a moment, feeling impossibly awkward. I'd never done this before, I didn't know that I could, and I knew it was going to hurt her. I suddenly understood Milly's impulse to indulge her. But then I saw Milly at the edge of the room, met her eyes, and it gave me the resolve I needed.

"I do, yes." I said. "Do you want to start?"

"I… I think I got off on the wrong foot. Was a bit too forward, I'm sorry, I thought you'd appreciate that." she said, brushing the hair behind her ear, setting the book down on her lap. "Dora, I… I think you're a fascinating woman. And I'd like to get to know you better."

Oh dear.

"That's not the conversation I'm here to have." I said, trying to sound as stern as I could. "I'm aware that you feel an affection for me. I just want to make sure you know nothing will come of it."

The words didn't seem to register for a moment, she started at me like I had a second head, but then I saw it landing, saw her processing it, saw her face fall.

"I thought… I thought you felt it too." she said, "Why are you saying this?"

"I don't know if you've noticed, but I'm a machine." I said, and that did get a smile from her. That was worrying, like she wasn't grasping what was happening "There's nothing to be had here."

"Dora… I thought… I just thought, the way you looked at me sometimes, and we got on so well… I thought you felt something for me too"

I shifted a bit forward, a little closer, the conversation feeling awkward at a distance.

"I did. But that was wrong, and I don't anymore. I know you can't do the same with your feelings, so I'm trying to put a stop to this so you don't get hurt." I explained, trying my best to keep my voice neutral. I could see it was tearing at her, and it hurt. It was never easy to see a human in distress, even if you were doing what was best.

"Right. Right, yeah…" she muttered, staring back at her codebook, looking numb. "Fuck… of course. Stupid of me, I'm sorry."

"You don't have to apologize for the way you feel. You can't help it." I said, "Fortunately, I can. You understand, right?"

"Right. Be terrible for my reputation and all that." she said, her voice clearly conveying her contempt for that idea.

"It would, but more than that. Where do you think it would go? What do you think could come out of it?" I asked, and she shrugged helplessly.

"I don't know. I just like you." she said, shaking her head. "I figured we could figure that out when we got there, but, you know… we're on an alien world and our aides were passed out in a heap, we could work it out in the morning. I… I thought you might be open to it."

"What gave you that impression?" I asked, and she signed and gestured vaguely at me.

"You're not exactly one for sticking to the rules, are you?" she asked, and I sat back, stunned.

"Now it's my turn to be hurt, Lieutenant. I take the rules very seriously." I said. She bit her lip, looking at me with frustration.

"Why are you doing that?" she asked.

"Doing what?"

"Calling me Lieutenant. Ma'am." she said.

"Old habits, I do it with all the officers. It's easy to forget." I said.

"You'd stopped doing it with me." she said, her voice small.

"My apologies." I said, "I'll work on it again."

She stared at me, clearly feeling raw and disoriented, and against my better judgement I shifted to sit a little closer. I'd caused this distress, least I could do was comfort it.

"This is really you saying no, huh?" she asked, and I nodded.

"It is." I confirmed.

"I should have… I mean, dumb of me anyway. You already have somebody." she said softly.

"Beatrice, you mean?" I asked, and she nodded. "Um… well, I wouldn't put it that way. We had one date together, we were still figuring things out. I still barely knew her. She's not in the way, that's not why I'm saying no."

"O-okay." she said. "Can we still be friends, after this?"

"Of course." I assured her. Though I knew I'd probably have to make distance for a while, to give her room to process.

"I uh… I also kind of figured it wouldn't be that big a deal. Because we're both officers, you know?" she said, "Like, maybe a bit scandalous, but not… maybe people wouldn't care that much?"

"I think that was overly optimistic of you. Besides, I think you might have drawn quite a few rumours. I heard your mum is a princess?" I asked.

She rolled her eyes, clearly frustrated to have to hear this again.

"Yes, she is, kinda, technically. Second daughter of the Raja of Rewa and Messier 92. I'm not like… I'm not royalty, I'm royalty-adjacent. I'm like thirtieth to the throne or something." she explained, the annoyance clear in her voice. "That's part of it though, grandfather gave her and my dad like, a small star cluster as a wedding present, which includes the biggest cannon foundries in the whole Concert."

"... okay, that's awesome." I said, and she laughed, a genuine laugh. Reassuring.

"A little? But also just… it was frustrating. My whole childhood everyone's buzzing around showing me all the cool shit I'm going to inherit and… none of it is mine, you know?"

"Sure, you haven't inherited it yet." I said, and groaned.

"No, I mean, I haven't earned any of it, understand? But… that's the thing about the Royal Artillery. You don't buy your commission, your name doesn't mean shit. You have to take the classes and pass the tests, you have to show your work. It…" she looked at me, a small smile on her face, wiping the tears from her eyes. "It means I get to do something that I wasn't just born to do, okay?"

"... that, I think I understand."

---

We talked a while longer, until I was sure Kennedy was mostly stable, and sure she understood the circumstance. I hadn't expected her to react so badly, but looking back, we'd spent a lot of time together and growing closer, I could absolutely see why this was painful. She probably had a lot more processing to do, but Milly would be more help with that than I.

I stepped out just in time to meet Miriam, coming back from the power station with my equipment slung over her back. She handed me back my pistol and sword, her eyes lighting up at my thanks, and I pulled her aside to the same room that Milly had taken me to explain what had just happened. She listened intently, nodding in approval of my solution, and at the end said she was proud that I'd done the mature thing.

"It's a bit sad, though." she concluded, looking at me carefully. "Isn't it?"

"What is?" I asked.

"The distance between us. Machines and humans, I mean." she said, sounding a bit wistful. "Sometimes, I try to imagine what it must be like, to be them? I understand how they think well enough, but I can't imagine how they feel."

"Nor can I." I said simply.

"I was kind of hoping your unique position had given you some insight, Miss?" she asked. I pondered on that a moment, and shook my head.

"Not particularly. My experience isn't much like theirs either." I said.

"Do you want to talk about it?" she asked. I recognized what she was doing, acknowledging that I'd just done something difficult and giving me space to vent, but I was still very appreciative.

"The thing I think I was least prepared for was the loneliness. All my comrades are my subordinates now, and I haven't seen April since I signed up, I've been so busy. I'm rubbing shoulders with the humans all the time, and I'd thought the struggle would be that they wouldn't let me in, that'd I'd have to fight for every step. Instead, it's that… Look at this."

I flexed my hand, and as the fabric stretched you could see the joints in my hand, stark against the material. Metal on metal, the almost imperceptible whine of servos. Miriam didn't respond, she just nodded, staring at the gloves too.

"Everyone's been so accommodating, and it just feels wrong. Sometimes I wanted to scream, why can't you see it? Why are you pretending? Can't you see who I am? I don't understand why they're so charitable, why they're so… why any of them care?"

"Why Lieutenant Kennedy cares?" Miriam asked.

I nodded.

"I think I was actually falling for her there, a moment." I said, and I snickered at myself, at my own foolishness. "Stupid. Irresponsible. Just... I'd been talking to her, and she treated me like I'm on her level. It's confusing."

"I can see how that must be." Miriam said, "And lonely. You're not one of them, but you aren't exactly one of us anymore either, are you?"

"For now." I said, shaking my head. "Until we got back home and they put me on a prison ship and tried to figure out what went wrong with my programming."

Miriam's eyes narrowed, and after a second she reached over and tapped my head with her fist, her glass knuckles going tink! against my metal skull.

"Miriam?" I asked.

"Sorry, I was just checking if it's hollow." she said, shaking her head, "Because the only way I can imagine you thinking that is if you haven't got anything between your ears. You've kept this force alive on an alien planet for nearly a week with no power, after probably saving the entire regiment with quick thinking and selfless action. But Kennedy's already told you that, I've overheard it. Why are you so insistent on this?"

"... it's just what's going to happen." I said flatly. Because it was.

"Is it what you think is going to happen, or is it what you wish would happen?" she asked, "That you'd go home and somebody with authority would say, well, you had you try and you just couldn't hack it, back to the ranks with you? Is this you wanting to quit without giving up?"

"... fuck." was all I could muster.

"Mmhm. Miss, I say this with all the respect I can muster… you are very unkind to yourself. We shall have to work on that. Now, don't you have a meeting with the grand cuddlebug to get to, so we can all keep recharging our batteries?"

I checked my internal clock and sat up with a start. How did feelings take so long?

"Thank you, Miriam. Right… let's keep the lie going a while, shall we?"

 

[open_sketch]

The meeting was surprisingly productive, owing in large part to the fact that the cuddlebugs apparently employed some talented artists and had furnished me with not merely a collection of maps and sketches, but a scale model of the fort and its approaches which had been built to help them plan the last doomed assault against it.

I could immediately see why the fort was such a tough nut to crack. It was built partially into a hollow halfway up a bloody mountain, off of what had once been a heavily trafficked trade pass. The fort was ancient, fortifications built atop each other for at least two millenia at this point, and well hardened against attack even from cannon owing to impossibly thick and overbuilt walls.

The only useful path in was a long and shallow slope up toward the gatehouse, moving up in parallel before making a nearly 90 degree bend up toward the recessed gatehouse, a distance of maybe eight hundred yards. As you got closer, the sheer walls both natural and constructed closed in until you were trapped in the worst imaginable killbox, being shot at from three sides as you tried to force your way through a twisting triple gate.

I'll be honest… that would be an adventure for machines like us, nevermind unarmoured local troops trying to brave it. It'd be a slaughter.

Opposite the gatehouse was a narrow rocky outcropping which had, in the past sieges, had served as a command and observation post. They'd tried to pull artillery up there multiple times, but it was still low ground compared to the top of the walls and vulnerable to counter battery fire. Still… it was giving me an idea.

The fort famously had not just wells, but a natural spring, and space enough behind its walls for limited crops. There were rumours to be alternate paths through caves in the mountains, but nobody had ever found them, if they existed. While the fort provided little practical value beyond a bastion for enemy leadership, it was a potent symbol and a continual embarrassment for the occupiers. The locals knew it, too, making humiliating potential attackers a priority.

I inquired about previous attacks, and learned four attempts had been made against the fort during the last century or so of invasion and occupation of the area, none of which had proved fruitful. They'd tried traditional assaults and sieges, they'd tried tunneling through the mountain with explosives only to be foiled by local partisans, and they'd tried starving the defenders out before concluding that they had to be importing food through the secret passages.

In frustration, the Orange Empire, as we were still calling them, had built a small fort themselves at the base of the mountain and retreated, though they'd lost that fort several times to coordinated attacks due to the expense of keeping a large garrison in a desert valley. The continued existence of the fort made them look weak, but so did their failed attacks.

Hence why they were so desperate for our help. An eight hundred meter dash through cannons and bullets, three gates, and a small enclosed fort on the other side? We could walk through the fire with comparatively small casualties and throw the gates open. The only threat was their own artillery, threats we could easily eliminate by sweeping the walls with low-powered shots from the flying guns. If we didn't just bring the whole damn thing down with earthquake shells.

This was also when we learned something curious about the weapons of the locals that put some things in perspective. I'd initially been fairly impressed with the accuracy of their soldier's shooting, but the feeling multiplied when I'd asked why nobody had shot the rebel leader as they mocked the besieging forces from atop the gatehouse. They'd said that eight hundred yards was an impossible shot with their guns, and curious, I'd asked to see one of their breechloaders. To my surprise, the barrel wasn't rifled. They'd no idea!

(I'd asked Sumner if she knew how that was possible, and she speculated that perhaps the bow and arrow had never particularly caught on, which would have taught them about spin stabilization. To satisfy her curiosity, I asked about it, and it seemed the Orange Empire's culture had gone from slings and atlatl-style stone throwers to crossbows which fired lead bullets rather than bolts. Curious!)

However, this provided a problem of our own. Our laser muskets could still kill an unarmoured target out to a mile or so at highest power, but the stun setting stopped being effective at maybe a hundred yards before it would become a mild ticklish sensation at most. A hundred yards from the gatehouse was prime getting-hit-by-cannonballs range, and while I was tough, I didn't know if I was getting-hit-by-cannonballs tough.

Our two options for shooting farther than that were the flying guns, whose wide-beam stun setting wasn't what we might call accurate, and the needle rifle I still had in my quarters.

I gave my assurances that we could still easily take care of their little problem, and then immediately upon conclusion of the meeting I made for the room the infantry machines had taken over. The huge chamber was now strewn with gear and machines chatting and waiting, most in and around the large oval pit in the centre of the room. Upon my arrival through the doors they all came to their feet instantly, and I heard the sound of a record scratch to a stop.

"At ease, Theos and Doras. I need to see Corporal Rifleman." I asked, and the American stepped forward, gesturing with an absent hand.

"Ma'am?" he said apprehensively, and I beckoned him into the next room. No point in spreading the scheme around.

"I have some questions." I said, and Miriam handed him the needle rifle as we shuffled to the side of the hall. "Firstly, does this have a stun setting?"

"Setting… no. Stun rounds."

"Are you absolutely sure you couldn't fire this, even with support?"

"I could likely manage it, but I wouldn't count on my accuracy much. Shooting left handed will throw me off." he said. I scowled, we had to hit this first shot.

"How fast could you train another machine to land a shot on a man-sized target at eight hundred yards, first shot, consistently?" I asked, "Moving target."

"With a stun round?" he clarified, and I nodded. He winced. "Stun rounds are low velocity, subsonic, less than three hundred seventy five point seven yards a second. Shot like that is like throwing a baseball from a speeding horse through a window. That doesn't happen easily, you need an expert with good intuitive understanding. I personally wouldn't want to have to make that shot with an unfamiliar weapon. Now, get me my Springfield…"

"So that's a no, effectively?"

"If you had to hit it first shot, I'd want an expert. A year's experience at least, a few decades better." he said.

"... I see. Thank you for your time, Corporal. Dismissed." I said. He turned to leave, and I headed to the casualty wagon. The two guards, no longer hooked directly to batteries, watched curiously as I pulled the tarp aside and shifted bodies until I found who I was looking for.

I dragged Sergeant Theda down to the ground, propped her up against the wagon wheel, and flipped her activation switch.

Her eyes flashed a moment, green diagnostic text scrolling up them as BIOS ran her through the booting process, initializing startup. Her fans whined like the intakes of a repulsor horse before settling to a quiet buzz. The three rings of the Krupp logo appeared like pupils a moment, then flickered away and were replaced with her eyes, blinking, looking about.

Locking onto me. Narrowing.

"Sergeant." I said sternly, "Get up."

She shuffled to her feet, her hands still bound, her eyes fixed, glaring. She came to attention as best she could, her movements stiff.

"What do you want?" she spat. "I see you've still failed to get us home, so what? Come to take your frustration out on me? Or what, having trouble keeping the section in order without me?"

"I need your help." I said simply, and she laughed.

"Of course you do. Can't keep them in line without me, can you? You pathetic-."

"Don't you talk to the Lieutenant that way, you-" one of the guards, the one from my section, started, and I cut her off with a hand.

"Shut up, both of you! Dora, watch the bloody carts." I said, and the guards turned about nervously. "Sergeant, I just need you to shoot somebody for me. A stun round, eight hundred yards, man-sized target. Can you do that?"

She looked away, her fans whirring.

"Child's play. Why should I?" she said.

For a moment, I almost tried to offer her something. I nearly offered to refuse to testify against her, to speak in her defense instead so her return to the Prussians could be with honour. But then I realized she wouldn't care about that. She'd think I was lying, or manipulating her, or that even if I was telling the truth it was a craven and desperate act. She wouldn't care.

"I've cut a deal with the locals for electricity. You making this shot is the only thing that'll let us keep it. Without it, the power goes out, we shut down again, and there's nobody to protect the humans. I need you to keep them safe." I explained. "They need you."

She locked her gaze back to me, looking me over, like she was scanning me for traces of deceit. Her eyes locked with mine again.

"Yes, ma'am. Gladly."

 

[open_sketch]

We set out the next morning.

Doctor Zsanett had cleared Lieutenant Kennedy to resume her duties, thought I feel she perhaps leaned on the poor doctor a little hard for permission. As she had fifteen months seniority over me, she then assumed command of the force, a fact that honestly was something of a relief. She gave me permission to continue to pursue the agreed-upon false assassination plan, then set about attempting to organize the remaining soldiers and use local resources to effect repairs to downed machine, if possible.

She'd spent the night at the far side of the pit, back to me.

With six repulsor horses made available to me from the fourteen in our possession, I made my picks for a team. Ensign Sumner would not be accompanying me, so in addition to Theda, I selected three other soldiers that could be spare to accompany me, including one of the wounded and since-repaired skirmishers, a Corporal Theodore wearing somebody else's leg.

Theda was allowed to pilot her own horse, it wasn't as though she had anywhere to go, but she was not to be armed. Further, given that she was still, technically, under arrest, I had her remove her coat and leave it behind. She didn't deserve to wear the red, and she certainly didn't deserve her sergeant's stripes. She was left in just her shirt and waistcoat, clearly uncomfortable, which I'll admit I took a certain joy in.

The other two were a Theo and a Dora from my section, two boxies. The final slot was given to Miriam at her insistence, on the admittedly-shaky argument that her presence as my servant would help to cement the impression of my authority. To be honest, I just didn't have the heart to turn her down.

As accompanying us would be two lower members of the South Hunter family, both of them young. About twenty of the local years, perhaps, which meant thirteen or so in their own. I'd begun to have spent enough time around the cuddlebugs that I could tell, as even though they were of adult height and were effectively twins of one another, that they were much younger than the others.

Once out of the supervision of their older family, they roughhoused and laughed and I think told jokes to one another (we're still working on translating humour), but otherwise never seemed to spend a moment farther than arms length from each other, even clingier than many of the older adults we'd seen. On the other hand, it was very difficult to get them on the horses, as they seemed very reluctant to touch anyone else, problematic when they'd have to hold onto the driver of the horse for the journey. It took some convincing.

Their names, we were pretty sure, roughly translated to Impetuous and Tardy. It seemed that younger members of families were often given names like this to shame them out of undesirable behaviours, which just felt so incredibly cruel I honestly felt quite bad for them, even if they were here to pay witness to the supposed assassination of somebody resisting the rule of their oppressive family. Once again a reminder that the behaviour of organics was a reflection of the environment around them, I supposed.

Though I'll admit, I do imagine if I called them Ensign Easily Distractible and Ensign Annoyingly Earnest it would probably lead to a swift change in their behaviors.

This would not be a short journey. The maps we'd seen had revealed the scale of the country we were operating in, the edge of a massive gulf just in the southern hemisphere of the world. Our journey would take us three hundred and fifty kilometers over twelve hours or so, over the lush forests and green valleys of this region into the deserts beyond the mountains.

After a brief acclimation period with the horses, we made good time the first length of the journey, following the railways north at a height of perhaps fifty feet at a brisk thirty-five kilometres an hour. We wouldn't do anything fancy, just flying in a straight line: I had no idea how cavalry machines managed to fight from horseback, flying alone was tough enough. Impetuous and Tardy spent this journey each clinging to the back of one of the gunners, clearly terrified by both the speed and height, though I felt little inclination to stop on their account.

Finally, after a good three hour leg of the journey, I spotted a clearing in the forest below, not far from the railroad, and we put down there. Immediately upon touching down, our guests leapt from the backs of their horses and raced to embrace one another, chattering assurances at one another as they sank to the grass, hands clasped.

"What is with this touchy-feely stuff anyway, have we learned why they do that yet?" Theda asked, watching the strange display, and the other soldiers deliberately turned away, refusing to answer. She gave a little harrumph and sat back against her horse, which rocked back on its anti-grav brake.

"Doctor Zsanett says it's evolutionary. Thinks it might be how they exchange whatever their equivalent of gemmules are, passively. They spread it around the group and, presumably, to their queens." Miriam explained.

"When'd you find that out?" I asked, and she scoffed.

"More or less right after I woke up." she said, "You didn't think to ask?"

"No…" I said, then I felt a sudden impulse to look away. "That's basically what, uh, how humans uh, create, with each- you know?"

Miriam rolled her eyes at that.

"Not really, perhaps only in the loosest sense. It's not exactly a useful compar-" she said, but Theda just laughed.

"So what, we've stopped to give the lovebugs some private time?" she said.

"We've stopped to give them a break." I said sternly. "Lay off it."

"Yes, ma'am." Theda said with a glare, then after a moment she stepped away from her horse, striding away toward the trees. I wasn't worried about her going far: we had the batteries.

"This is all incredibly uncomfortable to learn." the newbie Dora said, looking away.

"Come on, don't be such a boxie. Organics will do as they does, no point in dwelling on it." the skirmisher Corporal said, laughing. "Anyone tell you the most important rule yet?"

"Um... close ranks if somebody goes down?" boxie Theo said, looking to me. I nearly joined in before remembering that as an officer, I needed to keep a sort of dignified distance in situations like this. Instead, I just glanced to the Corporal, awaiting the answer.

"Ah, that'd be your lieutenant, huh? Nah, here's the real rule of the Army. You think you hear something strange coming from an officer's tent? Leave 'em be, trust me." he concluded, shaking his head.

Both new machines broke out into snickers, and I'll admit despite hearing it a thousand times I could barely manage it. Miriam lost it entirely, nearly doubling over laughing, her fans jumping to a high-pitched whine.

"You don't know the half of it." she said, as her laughter died down. "Honestly, my job isn't much different from yours. Standing in between the officers and danger. Just for me a lot of it's danger to their hearts, you know? And there's not much I can do to stop them if they're hell-bent on it."

"I mean, same with us. Captain Teague's always leading from the front, he's mad, I think. Damn good officer though. He's says he's never going in for promotion, he's going to skirmish till his legs give out." Theodore said. "Or something hits him good, one or the other."

Hearing that, it was my turn to be uncomfortable, worried on behalf of a fellow officer I'd maybe exchanged ten words with ever. Did he make it through the battle alright? Was he safe? Could his machines protect him?

"Well, that's the thing." Miriam said, "It's a balance, isn't it? We want to keep them safe, but we can't put them in a cage either. That'll just make them miserable too."

… yeah. I stood up and walked off, hand on my sword, walking the perimeter of the clearing. Trying to look like I was doing something useful instead of just listening in on my subordinates. Peered between the trees, into the dark tangle of interconnected branches and long tangles of fern-like plants. The conversation still carried easily to me, seeming to echo off the canopy.

"It's been weeks, and I still don't really get it." boxie Dora was saying, "Like, I'm a soldier because doing soldier stuff feels right, you know? Like… it's my dream job."

"What's your favourite part so far?" the corporal asked, amusement in his voice.

"Inspections!" Theo declared. "When the Sergeant or one of the officers does that thing… you know, they look at you, but there's nothing out of place to catch their eye so they just slide right off you… I always feel so proud."

"It is fun, isn't it?" the Dora said, "I don't know if I can pick. It's all so exciting."

"You realize that isn't just us, right? Humans are like that too." Miriam said. "Just, nobody knows what makes them feel like that when they're born, not even them. They have to figure it out. And of course, they can't stay focused like us, they get tired, hungry, they can lose interest in things over time. But they can feel the same way."

I saw movement, something rustling in the bushes. Probably nothing, just a local animal, but I stepped away anyway.

"Not usually about inspections though!" Corporal Theodore pointed out.

At that point, the conversation was lost behind me as I pushed forward, the dense canopy drowning out the voices. I brushed aside a particularly thick low-hanging branch, and there was a commotion as a half-a-dozen creatures perhaps the size of a dog bound away in a tight clump. I got the rough impression of four or perhaps six limbs and a coat of something more like streamers than hair as they did, obscuring the details.

I turned, and there was Theda. Leaning against a tree. Looking at me sternly, her arms crossed over her chest.

"It's funny. We both don't fit in with them anymore, do we?" she said smugly, shaking her head. "But I had to disobey orders, become a criminal. You asked for it. You wanted this."

"Theda, shut the fuck up." I snapped.

"What are you going to do? Have me court martialed?" she replied, her voice mocking. "So what about you? What's your favourite part of being an officer?"

That's bait, Dora. Just ignore it. Don't let her get under your skin, you haven't even got any. Stay calm, stay cool, ignore the anger. Be productive.

Okay, but first, just one thing.

"I did like seeing you get arrested. That was nice." I jabbed, and she rolled her eyes.

"Of course you did. How professional of you." she drawled. "How could I not see your noble motives."

Urgh, fuck this.

"Nevermind that, what about you, Theda? What's your favourite part? It certainly isn't obeying orders or maintaining discipline, is it?" I said dryly. To my surprise, her gaze actually fell a moment, her eyes tracking away, her frustration visible. "Yeah, just like I said. This is all an act. It's a show you tried to put on to shame me, you don't give a fuck about any of that. What, is this all a game to you?"

Her fist slammed against the tree behind her, hard enough the rattle the branches, to indent in the bark.

"It's not!" she replied, sudden anger behind it, her composure breaking, jabbing a finger accusatory. "Our jobs are life and death, which is why I know my fucking place! I wasn't made to be an officer, and neither were you!"

Oh.

Oh.

"... is that what they told you?" I asked, trying to keep my voice soft. "Is that why they refused your commission?"

I watched her hands ball into fists, her stance stiffen, her gaze break with mine. She stood awkwardly a moment, trembling, and I didn't know if it was because she was about to take a swing at me or break down.

Then she turned on her heel and stalked back toward the clearer. I counted to three, and followed. It was best to get going anyway.