Lieutenant Fusilier in The Farthest Reaches

[open_sketch]

I stood up, taking stock of our forces. We were close to the gate, I was sure of it, the bend in the road seemed familiar. If I was right, we were less than a quarter-mile from the gate, just over the top of the hill. They might have even heard us.

"Sergeant Theo, take half and one of the revolver cannons and push down the flank, skirmish order!" I called out, indicating north. Looking back to the wagons, I saw Kelly shifting from around a tree, and Theda steadying her rifle nearby. "The rest of you, form up! Horace, over here, quickly now!"

Soldiers started shifting as Kelly ran over, his sword deactivated and at his shoulder, passing by the wounded cuddlebug as the machines guarding the horses scooped them up into the wagon. His eyes looked apprehensive, but not scared. Ready.

"Dora?" he asked.

"We're going to be pushing up the path, potentially right into their guns. I know we're just supposed to be scouting, but I think they're trying to open the gate, and we have to stop them now. You keep your head down and don't rush ahead, right?"

"Yes, Lieutenant." he said, as our ragged knot of a dozen soldiers, "We're going to draw their fire, and the Sergeant flanks them? L-shaped ambush?"

"Good lad." I said, glanced up. Theda was pacing forward, looking a little out of place, and indicated to the line. Properly, with that rifle, she ought to be with the sergeant, but too late for that now. "We have to go quickly, they likely already know we're here. Section! Double march!"

The line pushed quickly up the hill, the two of us walking behind, crashing through burnt tree trunks and fallen branches with abandon as they sprinted up the hill in a cloud of ash. I could hardly see what was in front of us, but that didn't matter, all that mattered was we press. Kelly was having to nearly sprint to keep up, the actuators in his boots whirring as they helped pull his legs along, faster than a natural run.

"Ahead, steady!" one of the noncoms called, and there were purple lights strobing between the figures ahead of us, throwing up dirt and washing heat over us. The Dora in front of us was hit and staggered back into me, and I put a steadying hand on her back and pushed her into the line, forward, forward. Another at the end of the line dropped like a rock and I glanced over to see her clutching a smoking hole in her sternum, trying to stagger back to her feet.

"Come on! We're not due the scrapyard yet!" Theda called, and I could feel the pace quickening as we reached the top of the hill, the enemy in sight. The Theo to our right tripped and fell, his foot severed by a blast, and I spotted the shooter turning and running in the gap in our line before Theda stepped into his place. Wherever I spotted the enemy, they were pulling back.

We might have made a tempting target, bunched up, but we were also like a ship at full sail. Anything in our way was getting crushed.

"Down! Down at the edge of the ridge!" I called, and everyone dropped ahead of us, giving me just a second to look down at the sight of the gateway. There it was, a monolith over the blackened landscape, it's scale obvious now with the forest canopy burnt away. There was maybe two dozen stalkers or more in the field, some running, some running toward us, spread out, scattered, unprepared. At the center, in front of the gate, there was a group clustered around one of the sides of the frame, clearing doing something.

"Theda, light them up!" I called, and Theda looked up from her scope, her eyes wild, joyous.

"Make ready, full power! Aim!" she called, "Fire!"

The muskets discharged in a corona of orange light and a cloud of steam, and down below the retreating Stalkers stumbled, fell, the nearest hit by several beams and turning into an instant pyre. One of the scorched trunks exploded from a near-miss, the dead tree collapsing in slow motion, the charred, interlinked branches in its canopy snapping loose.

One or two shots lanced back up at us, tearing up the top of the cliff. Something flashed against my screens, a soldier's shako was whipped from her head, but they weren't formed up yet, still shocked, still not ready.

"Up! Up and press the attack!" I called, and everyone scrambled to their feet, thundering down the hill. They outnumbered us, but we had shock. We had to prevent them from getting organized, keep forcing them back to the gate. "Bayonets!"

With a roar of ionizing air, the torches of the bayonets lit, like white flares in the rapidly falling evening, a wall of light ahead of us. One of the stalkers, caught behind a grove and moving too slowly, its shadow cast large against the field, staggered away, fired a wild shot, and we barreled into it, two bayonets catching it through the torso before we simply stepped over it, ground it underfoot. As we passed, Kelly swiped his sword across its throat.

We were close now. Ten of us left. More shots landing among our ranks, another soldier falling out the ranks with a red-hot hole punched through her hip. Kelly stumbled as a shot sparked on his shield, the lined wavered. They were trying to form at the gate, the fire getting thicker, and I could see molten metal dripping off the soldiers in front of us as we pushed into the heavy fire.

Theda twisted and fell as a shot struck her knee, her ankle left behind in her boot as she collapsed. Without missing a beat, she rolled over and fired past us, and one of the stalkers pitched away with most of its skull missing.

Another machine dropped like a stone, struggling to roll over, her uniform almost entirely burnt away and her body glowing red-hot from repeated impacts.

We weren't going to make it. Their guns were charging, we were going to take one more volley at maybe ten paces, it was going to tear us apart. I tried to put myself between the guns and Kelly.

Then, at once, there was a great flash and the crack of the revolver cannon as our forces on the flank began firing, musket fire slashing into their flank. Their line wavered, creatures trying to spread out and avoid the storm of fire, hesitating both to shoot and to stand firm. One of them broke off, ducking behind the gateway. Their guns pointed away from us at a critical moment.

"Huzzah!" I cried, the cheer taken up by the troops as we closed the last few paces.

We hit them like a battering ram, bayonet points first, the sheer force of it throwing our foe from their feet, the thunderclap of steel hitting carapace like a hammer on an anvil. The soldier ahead of me impaled his opposite number and literally lifted it bodily at the end of his bayonet, sending it tumbling behind him as he shouldered into the next one. The creature scrabbled for my leg, and I slammed my boot into its chest, leveled my musket, and fired, everything above its neck blown apart in a flash of light.

Discarding the smoking musket, I drew and ignited my sword, pushing my way past a reeling Dora and driving it point-first through the nearest alien creature I found, pushing it back against the pillar of the gate. It's clawed hand gripped at my face, sweeping my shako off, prying under my jaw, and I tore my sword down through its hips and slammed my forehead into its creepy little mandibles as hard as I could. It reeled, sinking down, and I drove my knee into its throat as it fell, feeling bone shatter and steel deform from the impact.

Something hit me in the back, a sharp pain, and I looked down to see a blade emerging through my gut, probably through a battery by the feel of it. I swung around blindly, my blade scoring the chest of a stalker as it pulled a long, thin blade back, hunched in strangely human a fighting stance, spittle dripping from its maw as it came in for another swing. I threw my blade in the way, punching with the hilt just like in the simulations, and caught it out, throwing its attack aside, but as I tried to come around and chop for its shoulder it twisted the sword in the way, deflecting the attack and stepping back.

This wasn't like the last one I fought up close, the one with the axe. This wasn't a mindless beast, this thing was trained, or perhaps programmed. I could hear the fighting all around me, but none of it existed, just this one stalker, just the tip of its blade as it wavered, stepped towards me.

He's feinting right, I thought, the instinct honed from hours and hours in the simulation, and I pressed forward instead, direct, my blade toward its chest. It reeled, the sword coming in awkwardly to intercept, and I drew it back, pulled his guard up, and came down like a hammerblow. It leapt back, lightning fast, and I drew my pistol, but just as quickly it flicked out the blade and the weapon dropped from my hand, along with three of my fingers.

I swear, despite the lack of eyes, the lack of anything that could be called a face, it looked smug a moment, pushing toward me with bladepoint up.

I threw my ruined hand at the tip, impaling it through the palm and wrenching the blade out of the way. Then I smashed my hilt into its face, dropping my sword as I kicked clean through its knee, and grabbed its arm as it fell, pulling it clean from its shoulder with a boot on its chest.

As the limb came free, I staggered back, feeling strangely faint, and took a brief moment to check my battery. 38%... yeah, that wasn't great. I gripped my sword, flicked it back on, and looked around for a fight to help in. It looked like things were pretty much done, though I helped a nearby Dora finish off one that had apparently taken her arm off by driving my sword through the back of her opponent.

With that, I sat down roughly against the ash-strewn ground, feeling a little like everything was spinning, the darkness of the oncoming night rushing in quickly. It was remarkable how for all my armour, the tiniest bit of damage in the wrong place was all it took. 29%...

"Horace, you alright?" I called, and a moment later the ensign came into view, looking at me with concern. The front of his jacket was soaked with dark liquid, but from what was dribbled on his trousers it looked like blue Stalker blood, thankfully.

"I'm fine, Dora. Are you damaged? What's wrong?" he asked, then a moment later there was a snapping of muskets and some muttered swearing.

"I think the bastard nicked my batteries." I muttered. "What are you machines shooting at?"

"There's one doing a runner right now, ma'am. Up the hill, long range. Funny looking head on it." one of the Theos said, and it took me a second to make the connection, back to the battle. The ones without crests…

"Cease fire!" I cried, sitting up as best I can. "Theda! You see the bastard on the hill?"

"Ja?" I could hear Theda reply, from somewhere on the other side of the field.

"Stun the fucker!" I called.

There was a short silence, a tonk from her rifle, and we watched a bright blue tracer pass almost lazily overhead in a sharp arc. A few seconds later, there was a flash just visible from behind the assembled soldiers.

"Got 'im!"

 

[open_sketch]

Returning from a battle is always strange.

The journey lacks the tension of the movement into battle, the nervous anticipation, the questions. All that has given way to the sort of stunned disassociation, as reality felt so much less real on the other side of experiences that intense.

One of my soldiers, I don't remember who, pulled out my damaged battery and stopped the short, and Sergeant Theo helped me back into the wagon., where I collapsed against the side. By force of habit, I pulled out my pistol, wincing at the notch in the handle from the stalker blade, and opened the lock to inspect the firing crystal.

There was a clattering beside me, and I looked over to see Theda being unceremoniously dropped into the wagon, clutching her shoe in her hands. Almost absently, she turned it over and shook it, and her foot and ankle clattered out onto the floorboards. There was a molten channel from the front of her shin to the back, cables melted together in a blackened smear, oil dripping from a ruptured hydraulic actuator as it was inverted. The melted remains of her trouser's cuff and her stocking clung to it, reduced to a consistency like cobwebs by the heat.

"Oh, that's going to take some fixing." she muttered, setting it aside. "What happened to you?"

I almost reminded her to call me ma'am, or at least my rank, but one thing at a time.

"I got stabbed." I said, worming my thumb under my jacket and through the hole carved by the blade. "Tiny little hole, right through my number two battery. Down to six percent charge from the short."

"Nasty." she said simply, inspecting the empty shoe curiously. "You get the one that did it?"

"It's dead. It's strange, sometimes they fight with intelligence and discipline, sometimes they just throw themselves at us like mindless berserkers." I said. "I wonder why that is?"

We were soon joined by five other damaged machines, all of them in bad states, but nobody offline, fortunately. Immediately to our left was the Dora with the hole through the center of her chest, her ruined jacket and waistcoat draped over her like a blanket. Through the hole in the back, I could see the broken metal, cracked and fused silicone, the deep wound all the way through her vital workings, and she wavered in her seat as though drunk. She was clearly in quite a bit of pain, which meant there were deeper issues, something we couldn't address with our trauma mechanic back in the city.

"Private? How are you holding up?" Theda asked, and she gave a pained chuckle and waved a dismissive hand.

"I'll be okay. I'm gonna." she replied, her accent thick, Scottish. "That was glorious. Never had so much fun."

"Glad to hear it." I said.

"Couldn't done without getting hit, though." she continued, wincing. "Fuckers shot my tits off. Fucking expensive."

"Next time we meet, bill them." Theda suggested, and she laughed a moment before doubling over, the movement clearly too much.

"... fuck it hurts." she muttered, listing over a little. "Jesus Christ."

"We can turn you off until you're repaired?" I offered, and she shook her head desperately.

"Don't want to, ma'am. No offence… but I'm not sure I'll booted up again at this rate. If something's gonna kill me, I wanna see it coming."

"Amen." one of the other machines replied, half his face sheared off by some kind of sharp impact. "I'm gonna die on my feet."

"Lucky bastard." another machine, her leg a ruined mess from a hit in her thigh, replied.

"We're not going to die." I said sternly. "Cut that talk out, right now. I know things are bad, but this isn't the end. We're going to get that generator, we're going to kill all these fucks, and we're going to get home. Then there's a fucking reckoning coming for the bastards who sent cuddlebugs with black powder against those things."

"Begging your pardon, ma'am, but it wasn't exactly an easy thing with a regiment against them. What chance do two sections have?" the first machine asked. "I just want to go down swinging."

"I hadn't really expected my career to be so short." the Theo said, and a quick check made it clear he was one of the new ones. "Going for the record, I guess."

"Oh, definitely not you, Theo. The Crown hasn't even finished paying for you yet, you are not allowed to die." Theda said. "Enough of this defeatist talk, all of you. You are still here. There are more than a score of alien bastards who aren't. Show some fucking gratitude, mein Gott."

"Yes, Sergeant." they all echoed. I heard some commotion, and I peered over the edge of the wagon at the other wagonbed, where three soldiers were wrestling with the alien prisoner, who had apparently just fought off the stun. It took a swing at one of them with a clawed hand that pried the armoured glass off the machine's eyes, then the other two shot it point blank in the back with blue flashes from their stunners and it crashed into the wagonbed.

"... besides, if we can get that thing to talk, we might know what we're up against." I said, sinking back down, pain shooting through me from the hole in my middle. "Goddamnit… Sergeant, remind me not to get stabbed next time."

"If you need a reminder, there's no helping you." she replied.

---

My remaining batteries did not carry me all the way home, unfortunately. I woke up back in my room, Miriam fussing over me, doing something to my face, and when I reached out to push her hand away I couldn't help but notice three new fingers.

"... I'm not looking forward to having to return all these parts." I muttered, and she shushed me, leaning back in. "What are you doing?"

"Replacing the epoxy in your scars. It melted off." she replied, smudging something with her thumb. "Lieutenant Kennedy wants to talk to you."

"I'll bet. Probably not happy I stuck around and fought." I muttered.

"Stop that." she replied sternly, waving the epoxy applicator in my face. "No more of that talk, remember? You taking a prisoner may have saved us. But moreover, she's worried sick for you."

"Why?" I asked stupidly, and Miriam looked at me with great exasperation. "... right, yes. I"ll go talk to her, once you're done. What happened with the prisoner?"

"Well, Milly was going to help translate, but that was no help, it doesn't want to talk and might not be able to. We've got it in the cuddlebug dungeon and we're stunning the damn thing every time it wakes up because otherwise it tries to kill us. Doesn't really seem to get self-preservation. But…"

"But?" I asked.

"It's got a bracelet on its arm like all the others, but this one is active. We figure they shut down if they die so their enemies can't use it, but this one… it's tabulator of some sort." she explained. "Milly was telling me earlier, though I couldn't follow it all. She's as much of a bookworm as her Miss, I swear."

I heard the door click behind me, and Miriam mutter "Speak of the devil…" as I peered out of the sleeping pit. Milly was walking through, with Kennedy and Sumner close behind.

"Dora! Are you alright?" she called.

"Hello Lieutenant. I was just getting my makeup done." I remarked, and she laughed, sitting at the edge of the pit. "I'm fine, I promise you. I'm not looking to die more than once here."

"You better not. You good to move?" she asked, and I sat up as best I could, sparks of pain playing through me.

"As good as I'll be, I suspect. I hear we have information?"

Sumner sat down as well, clearly buzzing with excitement, and unfolded a map between us. On it was a crudely rendered landmass I'd never seen before, but I soon realized it was a part of this world, identifying our city, the gate, the desert to the north and the mountain forest, several other urban areas and a squiggle of roads and train lines. And in the northern valley, not ten kilometers from the old fortress, a glowing blue icon.

"That's them, then?" I asked, tracing a path from the city up to it. A dotted line formed behind my finger, the label trailing it listing the distance, marking terrain and elevation, calculating how long it would take to march. "Their base?"

"That's the thought." Kennedy replied.

"Doctor Zsanett says our prisoner is a clone! Nearly genetically identical to the footsoldier sorts, a bit more complex. I guess it's like an officer." Sumner said. "But not, uh, not like us. It's still a genetically engineered war machine, not really a person."

"So like me." I replied, and Miriam grumbled from where she was putting away her epoxy. "Bad joke, sorry. So not really a chance of brokering peace?"

"Doesn't look like this. We're pretty sure these are… they're like an immune response to protect the gates, not a civilization. Whoever made them has left them unattended, dormant bases, and when something unexpected interacts with the gates it comes online and starts cloning soldiers." Kennedy explains. "That's my theory, anyway."

"Makes sense to me, and it explains why their numbers ramp up like that. And why the base is so far from the… oh."

"Oh?" Sumner asked.

"... that's why you need me to move. We need to go deal with this, don't we?" I asked. "Before they make more."

"As soon as possible." Kennedy replied. "We don't have time to finish the generator. We have to go now. Within the hour if we can. We were waiting on you and some of the other repaired machines to recharge, because we'll need everyone we can get."

I pulled myself unsteadily to my feet, stretching as best I could, shooting pains from damaged systems still rolling through me.

"What's the status of the generator?" I asked. "And what do the cuddlebugs know?"

"Most of the way done, just waiting on the cuddlebugs to finish smelting us the copper coils we need." she said. "I told the South Hunters. They tried to pledge us forces to help."

"You turned them down, of course?" I asked.

"Of course. They'll just get in the way." she replied, then sighed. "I just worry what will happen after. Especially if we take a lot of losses."

Cautiously, very carefully. I took her hand, and instantly she relaxed. I found myself wishing, in that moment, that the gesture had meant to me what it meant to her.

"That's for tomorrow. We have a planet to save."

"... ew." Sumner muttered, and I released her hand. Yeah. A little ew.

"A-ah. Well, I have to go get everything packed up. Collect your gear, I'll see you downstairs in a half an hour." Kennedy said, picking herself up. "You too, Lydia. And don't forget your shield, for heaven's sake."

The two of them shuffled out, and I fought off Miriam trying to polish my cheeks or somesuch thing and told her I was going to talk a quick walk to make sure everything was working for the march. Mostly, though, I just needed a moment alone with my thoughts.

There was clearly a panic in the cuddlebug estate, with important-looking officials and their servants moving this way and that, carrying stacks of paper and supplies, a buzz of constant activity. I found myself thinking it really was a little like an anthill, though I suppose that comparison was a bit unfair, prompted by their superficial similarity to the Earth insect. All of them gave me a wide berth, but I wasn't seeing fear on them anymore. Awe for a few, new ones I supposed, but they'd gotten used to us in our short stay here.

I climbed the stairs to the highest floor, the fourth, not really sure where I was going, and while I was sure the guards would have preferred I didn't carry through the doors they also clearly didn't have the heart to stop me. The floor here was just as beautifully minimalist as the rest of the palace, the same elegant and smooth marble, the same gaslamps, but everything was quieter, less busy, more reserved.

At the end of the hall was a small figure, talking with another, who threw a glance toward me, clearly startled. They were dressed in a long, flowing garment of white, and something about them looked so very different. Curious, I followed down the hall as they finished their conversation, releasing the hand of the person they were talking to, who fled back into their room, and they looked up at me with, eyes wide.

Everything about them was different. Rounder, softer, shorter, wider. Fewer pieces of hard carapace, eyes like a baby deer. I thought perhaps they bore some resemblance of the local cuddlebugs, in colouration and the shape of their heads, but I'd never seen a cuddlebug like them, and I couldn't help but want to know more.

"Hello." I said, leaning against the wall, trying to look casual. "I'm Dora. Who are you?"

They responded with a sound that had no meaning in my dictionary, and I asked what it meant, Wishing I had Sumner to help translate.

"It doesn't mean anything. It's just my name." they replied. "It was my -----'s name as well, and their ------'s. If it had a meaning, I don't know it."

Another blank, another missing word.

"I see." I said neutrally.

"You're one of the visitors from the stars." they said, not really a question, looking over me, and then they reached a hand out toward my face. I held very still as their claw touched my cheek, traced along it, to the intents where the epoxy hid my scar, around my eye. I'd never seen a cuddlebug voluntarily touch one of us yet, but this one did it unhesitatingly. "You really are made of metal."

"It's true. I'm a machine." I said, showing my flexing hand, the joints articulating, the new fingers gleaming. "I was made by very skilled artists in a city which hangs above a star called Procyon."

"Made?" they asked. "With tools, like a train?"

"That's right." I said, and they laughed, this little high-pitched squeaking noise. They gestured with a claw to the doors at the end of the hall, and I followed them out to a balcony that looked over the city, over the walls, the gleaming boulevard that led out into the dark wilderness beyond.

"That is so strange! You are not the same as the visitors which have everyone so scared, are you? The ones here to kill us all?"

"No, they are different. Here with destructive ends." I replied.

"And what are your ends? Why were you made, visitor?"

"To protect people." I explained. "That is why I exist. I'm very lucky to have a purpose like that."

"... that is also strange." they said, contemplating me, their hand touching mine. "I have a purpose as well, though I do not think of it as particularly lucky."

"You are a Queen?" I guessed, and they nodded.

"More than that. I am what keeps my family loyal." they said, leaning against the balcony. "I protect people too, I supposed."

"I'm afraid I don't follow." I said.

"Do you know about our history, visitor?" they asked, and I responded in the negative. "Before, every family lived only for their own queens, and we just fought constantly. There were some alliances, but they were fragile. When the Orange Empire came here, took my -------'s and held them, it stopped the fighting. That's my purpose. As long as I'm here, I protect them."

Everything about that rang hollow to my ears. Even if it was true, there was sorts of violence that wasn't war, violence that was clearly endemic here. Violence that machines like me weren't made to stop.

"Is that true?" I asked.

"I tell myself it is." they responded. "Because it's my purpose."

"I understand." I replied simply. I knew how that felt.

There was a part of me that wished in that moment I could simply take them, leap from this balcony, find their family. Upset the whole system at once. Bring it all down. But it wouldn't work: they had siblings that would be endangered, the system was too big for one mission queen to crush. I also tried to think of something brave and clever to say, to plant the seeds of a revolution, but there was nothing there either. They already knew their position better than I ever could, anything I could say would be trite, useless.

The best I could hope for was that if I could a way home, I could hold the door open long enough for my society to offer the material aid which could empower change. It was too big for me.

"Is there anything I can do to help you?" I asked finally, and they nodded.

"Nothing can change if we are dead." they replied. "Perhaps you can give us time, visitor."

---

We took every expedience we could north, aided by the locals. Their trains carried us half the way, packed in bare cargo cars, the wheels groaning with the weight of our metal bodies. The rest of the day's march carried us to the edge of the desert along their roads, the final leg done in the night. The ensigns road on the repulsor horses, clearly bone-tired by the end, the planet's rings above us giving the only illumination.

We brought everyone along, leaving only our fallen, with a warning that we had a full catalog of every part on them and we would know if they took anything. They would, of course, try to study them in our absence, they would be stupid not to, but if we won we ought to be back in time to prevent them from learning anything unfortuante. If we lost… if we lost it wouldn't matter either way.

We were accompanied by cuddlebug soldiers every step, locals and occupiers from the empire in equal measure at the trainyards, along the roads, everywhere. The news had raced ahead of us on telegraph lines, they all knew who we were and why we were here. Their grim faces and stark terror surrounded us at every turn.

It wasn't a burning horizon and black clouds of oil smoke choking the air, but it was very nearly as ominous.

We called a halt for the night at the edge of a great valley, along a windswept cliff, and I stood with Kennedy and the ensigns, with Beckham's spyglass in my hand, sweeping over the cliffs opposite.

"I had meant to ask. What did we do with our prisoner?" I asked.

"... I had it shot." Kennedy replied, her voice tensing up. "It was that, sacrifice three of our soldiers to watch it in our absence, bring it with us and potentially warn them through their network, or leave the cuddlebugs to try and contain it."

"I don't disagree." I said, and intellectually I didn't, even if it sent a shiver of disgust through me.

"If we survive this, the courts can decide." she said tersely. "There, I see it. 12 degrees, at the edge of the mountain. I count three stalkers moving in and out."

The narrow mouth of the cave resolved in my spyglass, the bodies of our alien foes picked out in black against the cool whites of the thermal sensor. The cave was tiny, perhaps fitting two of us abreast at the widest point, a crack in the cliffside. We wouldn't have spotted it without the movement of the alien creatures.

"I don't think we're going to be able to drop a shell in there." I pointed out, and Kennedy sighed, handing the glass to Sumner and kicking a rock from the edge of the cliff.

"No, it looks like there's a bend in the cave. We'll have to go set a charge manually if we want to destroy the base." she said. "I was afraid of that."

"We should use the last transmutative shell." I said firmly. "It's the only way to make sure."

"Yeah." she said, her voice breaking. "You're right."

"Can we do that?" Sumner asked.

"I'll rig a timed charge. We'll have to fight our way to the cave and get it inside." she said. "We'll cover you as best we can with the guns, Dora."

It would be incredibly risky. And transmutative charges were delicate, fail-safe. If it got shot, it would turn into a dud. If we left it and one of them cut into it, it would be defused. If we placed it wrong, set the timer wrong, it would all be for nothing. We would have to be very careful, very thorough. It had to go off, even if I had to carry it in myself and set it off with my own hand.

It was my fault we were here at all. If it came down to it, it ought to be me. Ought to. Ought.

"We'll get it done." I assured her. "We should sleep."

"Yeah." Kennedy said. "Ensigns, go. We're up at dawn. Dora, a word?"

The ensigns tramped off, yawning and exhausted, the long march battling their obvious anxiety. Kennedy stepped a little closer, her face a map of worry.

"Diana?" I asked.

"I'm sorry about everything." she said. "I… I really went out of line. But… I know you well enough to know I need to ask this. Please don't do anything stupid tomorrow."

"... Diana?" I asked, overwhelmed, unsure what she was saying.

"Don't… don't stay behind to make sure the bomb goes off, don't throw yourself into certain death. Be safe. You deserve to go home too." she said. "I don't care if it's the only way or whatever justification you come up with. We're both making it home, or neither of us are."

"... I can't promise that." I said, pulling the spyglass back to my eye, scanning their position again. "You know that."

"Dora… come on." she said, pleading. "Don't do this."

Very slowly, I lowered the glass.

"I'll try."

---

I awoke the next morning to the sound of cannon.

 

[open_sketch]

Not our guns, not the low hum and thump of the gravitic howitzers, not the whip-crack of the flying guns. These were the report of chemical guns, black powder.

I shot up from my bed, snatching my sword, a crash behind me as my battery was pulled on its wire off the mattress frame. I tugged it free of my neck and emerged into the predawn darkness, seeing the lights of machine's eyes coming on as soldiers picked themselves up off the ground.

"What the bloody hell is happening!" I called, and at that moment I saw a gunner running up the hill, hand on his shako, calling to us.

"Cuddlebugs behind the ridge! They're coming in to attack the cave from the west!" he shouted, stumbling on the loose dirt as he approached. Lieutenant Kennedy emerged from the tent beside me, shuffling her jacket on, Milly emerging from the tent opposite and immediately coming over to fuss with the buttons.

"How the hell did they sneak up on us?" she said, "Milly, get my glass, damnit, I can do my own buttons!"

"They're behind the ridge on the west, they went around us the long way! Shadowed by the hill and a berm." the gunner explained, coming to a halt in front of us and shrugging his carbine back on his shoulder. "Didn't see them until the guns opened up."

Of course not. Our pickets were set up to try and stop stalkers from coming to us, not to stop some suicidal, idiotic locals from making a run at the cave.

"Get on a horse and tell them to fucking stop." I snapped, turning to Kennedy. "It's now or never, we have to go. They're going to find us either way."

"Yes. We'll get the battery down the hill, go before the bugs get killed." she said, as Milly came to her side with her telescope and pistol. Miriam emerged a moment later, my jacket strung over her shoulder.

"Take a second to get dressed at least, miss.' she said, and I reached to take the hanger before I realized that what was on it was not the red coat of the private I'd been wearing, but my coat. My officer's coat, crossbelt, and sash. My expensive boots, white britches, the bicorn with its red plumb.

"... thank you." I said, taking it reverently and stepping into the tent. "But what about-"

"Your machines should know who's leading them, miss." Miriam said simply, laying out my boots. "And I don't think you'd want to go in with anything else."

I dressed quickly with her aid, the boots feeling snug on my feet, the uniform right, the sword and pistol at my side. I had no idea what I was to face, but by God, I felt I could face it dressed like this. Miriam took a second to adjust my epaulette and nodded, approval in her eyes.

"Miriam…. Corporal, if the battle turns against us today, you take the support crew and you run back to the city, you understand?" I said, and she laughed.

"With respect, miss, I'm going to be waiting here with a music player and a rag to get the blood out of your uniform, and I won't be moving until you get back." she said firmly, gesturing to the pistol at her hip. "It's my job."

Unable to think of a response to that, I nodded, pulled on my gloves, and stepped for the tent flap.

"Though if things do go poorly…" Miriam began, taking a second to centre herself, "Working for you has been the worst job of my entire life. I've never had less to do, and every day is frustrating. And I would gladly do it again."

"Well…" I started, "You're the worst aide I've ever had, and I don't know what I'd do without you. So we're even."

With that, I stepped out and made my way to the gun posts, where Lieutenant Kennedy was standing with a cluster of gunners around one of the ammunition wagons. As I approached, I saw our final transmutative shell, its casing open and wires spilling from it, what I swore was a pocketwatch at the centre of it all.

"That's it, then?" I asked.

"That's it. When you want it to go, you pull this tab." she said, indicating with a finger. "Then you run, you'll have two minutes. Stash it somewhere they'll have trouble getting at."

"That enough time to get clear?" I asked, and she winced.

"If you go fast? I don't want to cut it any longer or they'll be sure to stop it." she said. She indicated to her gunners, and the device was carefully lowered into what looked like somebody's backpack, and she handed it to me. "Here you go. Don't drop it."

"... it won't go off, will it?" I asked. It ought not, but I didn't know what she'd done to it.

"Oh, no, it just might break it. It's a bit… shit." she said, sighing. "Dora, be careful."

"I will." I said. "You too."

There was a tension in the air, and I imagined, just for a second, what this moment would have looked like had I made different choices. How much harder it would have been. How much more it would have meant. The absence of those feelings, the void where a connection was supposed to be, were almost more painful.

"... After this is over, we should talk." I said, "I have some things to… if you like."

She smiled sadly, reaching into her pocket for her targeting monocle and stepping away to her guns.

"We'll see. Good luck, Dora."

I hefted the bag and walked away, sitting in a haze of confused feelings. I let them linger a little, turning them over in my head before chasing them away; I ought to be focused. I would have to process this later.

There we were, thirty-seven machines, all we could get working, and two officers with their swords standing by. Their uniforms were in a sorry state, many with holes through them, burn marks, some reduced to rags barely clinging to their bodies. Said bodies weren't doing much better, with pitted armour, mismatched limbs, a section of Frankenstein's monsters stitched together from the dead. Theda was standing slightly unevenly, an unfamiliar silver leg stuck in a mismatched shoe, and another machine was entirely missing her faceplate, just two eyes above raw machinery and the armoured core of her skull.

They stood in two perfect lines, awaiting inspection, and I walked the line quickly, looking them over. Finding no fault.

"Corporal Rifleman, glad to see you joining us." I said. He raised his hand in salute, and I noticed it was a crudely wrought iron hook, just enough to keep a laser musket reasonable steady.

"Wouldn't miss it for the world, ma'am." he said. "Don't know how much use I'll be, but I'll be damned if I sit it out."

"Tell you what. I need somebody to lug this thing around, might as well be you, right?" I said, carefully dropping the backpack with the bomb at his feet. "You be careful with it, you hear?"

"Of course, ma'am." he said, clearly touched, and I moved on down the line.

"Private, you sure you're ready?"

The Dora was the one who I'd last scene with a hole through her chest. She was still wearing that uniform, but I could see that she'd taken a piece of steel from somewhere, maybe the downed flying gun, and was wearing it over her chest like a knight's breastplate, chained in place.

"Absolutely, ma'am." she responded crispy.

I reached the end of the line where Old Theo and Theda were waiting, turned, pretended to contemplate it a moment. This was a moment where there ought to be a speech, I knew there ought to be a speech. Human officers literally hired rhetoric coaches to practice their speeches, studied the speeches of antiquity, and made an art of it. The one Captain Harrison gave before we fought at Fomalhaut was etched into my memory. I'd read books on the subject, when I was younger, fantasizing about this moment.

"I thought, when I received my commission, that I had been given the greatest honour of my life. I realize now that was in error." I said, "Because that honour was commanding this section..."

God, that sounded so trite. It might have been inspiring coming from one of those trained in the proper rhetoric, but that wasn't me. It wasn't right.

"... you're the best machines I've ever known, and I couldn't ask for better representatives of Britain, of the whole damn Concert, to have fallen through time and space with me. I'd go on, but we're on the clock, so let's just kill the bastards and get this over with!"

The laughter that broke out there, genuine laughter as the tension of the moment broke, that's what we needed.

We took off down the hill at double time, dust in our wake as we pounded down the hill, as the rings of the planet above us started glowing brighter in anticipation of the sun reaching the horizon. The crash of cannons rolled against through the valley, small pops of red flame against the cliffs as shells went off, purple and blue lights swirling as the enemy moved.

For doing an incredibly stupid thing, the cuddlebugs were at least being cautious: they had set up a position at the crest of the hill to our west, just inside the range of their guns, and started shelling the cave entrance. A pre-dawn bombardment, because they were presumably planning on a dawn assault, just like we were, but they knew enough to try and soften the enemy first, to use the hill for cover so they could unleash a reverse-slope ambush on the enemy if they tried to dislodge the gun. Not that it would do anything, it was still suicidal, but where the politicians who had ordered the cuddlebugs into position were idiots and brutes, at least their commanders seemed shrewd enough.

We paused at the edge of the path leading into the valley, the ensigns and NPCs clustering around me as I checked the scene over with my spyglass. It looked like the stalkers were fanning out from the cave entrance, forming a firing line in anticipation, and a cold fear gripped me as I counted perhaps a hundred of them. The cuddlebugs, from what I could see, must have numbered in the thousands, two or three regiments by the count we'd use.

"Why aren't the stalkers firing? Surely with guns like that they could sweep them from the ridge?" Sumner asked, and I was about to respond when Kelly beat me to it.

"They're waiting for the cuddlebugs to push in, so they can fire at close range and keep firing as they run." he said grimly. "Bastards."

"I really should probably be more cautious with my language around you two." I said, sweeping the scope across the alien lines once more. As I watched, a solid cannonball bounced perfectly in front of the stalker line and struck one of them perfectly in the face, cracking its head backward and sending it sprawling. It crawled back to its feet a moment later, wounded but clearly not dead. "Oh, they're fucked."

"We need to get stuck in." Theda said, likewise watching through her rifle's scope. "The sooner the better. Before the cuddlebugs move."

"If we just charge them, they'll massacre us. That's a four hundred meter charge over open ground, and they outnumber us." I said. "Sergeant Theo, thoughts?"

"If we could get them moving, we would have more room ourselves." he said thoughtfully, tapping a thumb to his chin. "Push straight north from our position here and work our way down the edge of the mountain. They'll have to wheel about to put fire on us, and Lieutenant Kennedy can put enfilading fire right down their flank. We'll have them wrapped up nice with a bow and everything like that, I think."

"Hell, that's good." I said.

"We did it at Port Nowhere and they didn't much care for it, call it a classic." he said with a shrug. "Course, we did that in vacuum gear and with chemical cannons. But there's a reason it never goes out of style, ma'am."

I was struck for a moment picturing Old Theo as he would have been then, two hundred years past, in the uniforms from the paintings. Those fancy frock coats with the black shoulders, lined with pockets of magazines stuffed with caseless ammunition for their mechanical muskets. Must have been something.

"It's good. Let's go, we're going to have to make good time." I said, clicking my wireless on. "Kennedy, we're going to be pressing down the right flank as far as we can and seeing if we can't get them to show you their flank. Stay quiet until we do?"

"Got it." she replied, voice crackling. "Go fast. Our runner just got back from the cuddlebugs, they aren't stopping."

"Stupid bloody bastards." I muttered. Presumably the South Hunters had sent word to the regiments up here to get stuck in and be important so… so something. They could get the credit with their bosses back home or something. I felt an irrational but, I think, entirely reasonable regret that I'd not gone with storming the palace when we could, though had we we'd probably be in an even worse position. "The clock is ticking. Go!"

We raced across the valley as best we could, taking advantage of a dip in the ground that let us make quick time along the flank. The sun began to climb above the horizon as we did, rays flooding between mountain peaks like flowing water, the valley slowly lighting up. The rumble of the cannons was intensifying, the dull crump of shells and the whistling of solid shot as we ran in a low crouch.

"Contact front!" one of the machines ahead of me shouted, then there was a purple flash and they collapsed into the ditch. The machine behind them stepped over without hesitation, musket going to his shoulder, snapping a shot at a foe I couldn't see. Skirmishers in the ditch, slowing us down. They must have spotted us and sent this lot to slow us down while their line…

I peaked my head over the edge of the ditch, and sure enough they were wheeling around. The joy I felt at that was tempered when, beyond them, I saw the hills to the west shifting, shapes moving along the rim. The cuddlebugs had seen it too, and they were getting ready to charge.

"Fuck! Help!" voices from the front of the group drew my attention back, and I decided to brave climbing the edge of the ditch to get a good look at our foe. Our soldiers had run into a dozen of theirs, some behind a rock at the edge of the dip and the others blocking the narrow confines the ditch with blades and barrels. One of our soldiers was on the ground, a stalker looming over them, the others firing down the ditch, daring us to rush into a killing zone.

I raced forward, plasma tearing through the air where I'd been just moments earlier, sliding down into the ditch behind the ones slowing us. One of the stalkers whirled on me and I kicked it as hard as I could into the rocks opposite before drawing my pistol and splattering its meagre brains across the landscape at close range.

"Forward, bayonets on! Come on!" I called, drawing my sword and clicking it to the brightest green I could. "Forward!"

Another stalker threw the barrel of its weapon toward me, and I dropped my pistol to grab it and push it skyward, the blast discharging with a ripple of my shield as I drove my sword through its middle. Ahead of me, my machines rushed the gap, the first staggering under a blinding purple blast, while the stalker I'd run through pulled a blade from the belt around its waist, rearing back to stab it through me. I mashed my forearm into its face and shoulder, trying to prevent it from getting leverage, and it collapsed to the ground dragging me with it, the knife flailing useless as I dragged my sword down its torso and along its thigh. The sound of the superheated energy blade breaking its carapace was a scream, like steam escaping a kettle, but it wouldn't die.

"Get off me, you stupid fucking-" the machine struggling on the ground near me screamed, the sound of his metal fist smashing into its carapace echoing. I tore my blade free and smashed the pommel into its open wound before pulling away, just in time to see the poor Theo get a knife driven through its eye and go limp. In desperate anger, I swept my blade across the stalker, its head rolling into the dirt, and its body actually turned and shambled a half-step forward before collapsing into the dirt.

I had no time to contemplate the fallen machine, though, because at that moment there was a flash of light and heat against my screens, the stalkers in the rocks above firing down at me. I tried to throw myself out of the line of fire, but it was just back next to the stalker I'd been fighting, and to my horror it grasped at me, the knife still held firmly in its hand despite the trail of blue organs it was dragging along the ground to get at me.

"Will you just fucking die!" I shouted, grabbing its wrist and forcing it back, pressing my sword edge-first through its chest until it had sank halfway-in, its other claw grasping at my face. I pulled the sword free along its cutting edge, sinking the rest of the way through its body, and finally it twitched to a stop in a spray of viscera. Finally, I pulled myself free, fishing my pistol up from the ground and wiping the blood from my eyes with my sleeve.

When I turned around, there was already a press of machines moving past me, Theda in the lead, rushing the stalkers at the rock with bayonets blazing. A shot connected with Theda's shoulder and deflected in a spray of ionized gas, then her own gun went off and took the crest off the shooter's skull, and she pulled herself over the collapsing body into its fellows, laughing like a maniac. Kelly was at my side a moment later, waving the remaining troops forward with his sword glowing green.

"Good lad." I said, voice pained as I pulled myself up. "Keep your head down, though."

"You alright?" he asked, offering a hand to help me up uselessly.

"I'm fine." I said, pushing myself to the edge of the ditch and looking up. The stalkers had formed a long line, two deep, straight out of our playbook, and were advancing on our position. This loose sandstone would offer little cover when they started shooting, if they all were on target. "Oh hell, there really are a lot of them…"

Even as I said it, there was a yellow flash across the field, and one of the flying guns from the clifftop tore through down the length of the line, spraying molten dirt skyward. Wherever the beam touched, stalkers burst apart like overripe fruit, the pieces of their exoskeleton spraying as shrapnel for dozens of meters. Moments later, the first real shells burst among their line, the charge in the heart of each shell explosively converting its reactive core into expanding plasma and a shockwave. A sheet of thick, dark dust hung in the air, pieces of blasted rock raining down and buzzing off our shields.

"Yes!" Kelly called, grinning wildly as he pumped a fist skyward. "We got 'em!"

"Down! Get down!" I shouted, grabbing his arm and pulling him below the lip of the ditch. "Section! Form at the edge of the ditch, weapons at maximum power!"

Theda's group emerged from behind the rock dripping with gore and dropped into position, weapons pointing outward, and Theda fell in beside me, her eyes dancing mischievously. Beside her rifle she had one of the alien weapons, one of those smouldering hatchets, and it was absolutely coated in ichor.

"This guy and his buddy both picked the wrong fight. They're tough bastards, huh." she mumbled, buzzing with excited energy. "I should have transferred years ago, you Brits get in some fun scraps."

"Theda, when Rifleman moves with the bomb, I want you covering him, okay?" I said, "With the rifle if you can, but get your body in the way if you need to. Just keep it safe."

"Of course, ma'am. How you holding up?" she asked, adjusting something on her scope. Out at the field, a second barrage, this one fired blind, slammed down like thunder, spraying more dust in the air.

"Just wonderful. Already got three." I said, knowing that would needle her. She nodded, clearly impressed.

"... show-off. I'll make it up in the shooting here, though."

I glanced at my pistol, feeling suddenly inadequate. After a moment's hesitation, I stashed it, turned around, and grabbed the musket from the fallen Theo behind me, staring lights-out at the sky with a smoking hole in his eye. The blade was thin… if he was lucky, it might have only partially damaged one of his processors, they could bring him back, mostly. If he was lucky.

"Hang on, friend." I whispered to his corpse, dropping back into position and pushing the weapon over the lip of the ditch. "Sumner! Where are you!"

"Here!" I heard her call, somewhere back down the line. Still with Corporal Rifleman. I sighted down the holographic sight, staring at the dark shapes in the swirling dirt with anticipation.

"What are the cuddlebugs up to, can you see them?"

"Yes! They're moving-"

She didn't get further than that, because at that moment the silhouettes in the dust resolved as stalkers, at least fifty, pressing through the dust as one, their feet moving in a perfectly coordinated march, weapons held forward. At least as many of them as there were us. To my right, Theda's rifle tonked, and one of them twitched as the needle passed through it, carving a hole through its shoulder in a blue spray, but its footfalls didn't even waver.

"Verdammte Außerirdische! Bastarde!" I heard her mutter, pulling the bolt open and fetching another bolt. "I'm out of exploding tips, the solids are just passing straight through them. This would be easier if they had bigger brains to shoot."

"What do you have left?" I asked, curious.

"Three poison, two acid, five EMP that'll do fuck all, and about two dozen solid shot. Plus stunners, if you're feeling merciful."

"Do your best." I said. "Hold, Theos and Doras! Let them get close, pick your targets carefully!"

Theda lined up, leaning against the scope as she steadied, and this time one of the stalkers suddenly convulsed as she fired, like something hot had fallen down its collar, before dropping to the floor, limbs spasming madly.

"Urgh. Think I lobotomized that one." Theda said, chuckling. "Sorry, friend!"

Christ.

The stalkers paused, the first rank kneeling, and I knew that if they shot, it would throw us off. It had to be now.

"Fire!" I called, the ensigns and NCOs echoing it instantly, and every gun in the light burst with light and smoke as the volley went out. The enemy was instantly obscured by the smoke, and I pulled back from the lip of the ditch just in time for their volley to crash down all around us, spraying dirt and rock up. I watched the lock of my gun, mentally counting down the seconds as I lined back up at the ridge, and the moment the light turned red I called for the next volley, squeezing the trigger at the same time, firing at the shape of one of the stalkers.

Again, their volley followed just a second later. The air was now so thick with dust and coolant we were firing entirely blindly, just flashes of light into the storm. Sometimes one part of their line would shoot and the purple flashes would cast their shadows against the cloud, and I'd aim at the centre of one for my next volley and shoot there when I could, five or ten seconds later. The coolant of my gun ran dry and I tore the flask from the fallen soldier's belt to recharge it, and then I had to discard a cooling rod which was so overheated it curled as I pulled it free, bending instantly as I threw it into the dirt ahead of us.

Over the din, I could just hear Sumner directing the fire of the rotary cannons, sweeping up and down the line systematically. Beside Theda, the machine next to her was stuck at the crown of her skull, and her friends desperately pulled her back by her crossbelts, calling for the trauma mechanic as they took her place. Thomas raced up the line, dropping next to her as she grasped for his coat and babbled desperately, spraying her skull down with cooling foam and trying to calm the poor machine down.

I forced myself over the lip of the ditch, sighted again at nothing, and fired. The laser flashed and I dropped back, the Dora on the floor now deactivated for her own safety, Thomas already racing further up to another injured machine. Theda, unable to see anything through her scope, was just screaming uselessly over the edge of the trench, snatching up the fallen machine's musket and firing blindly as she hurled epithets and threats.

In my ear, I could hear my radio buzzing, but the fire, the dust, the discharging plasma, it had turned whatever was being said into a wash of static.

The lock of my musket turned red, and I lined up and squeezed the trigger. Instead of the flash I was expecting, there was a spark and a loud pop, the sound of a crystal shattering from overheating and the discharging energies shattering the dozens of lenses along the barrel. With a roar of frustration I threw the useless weapon out into the field like a javelin and pulled my pistol, slamming a fist against the dirt.

"Come and get us, you fucking bastards!" I called, and Theda laughed.

"Yeah, come get us, ihr schwanzlosen Feiglinge!" she called, and something about that threw me.

"... dickless cowards?" I asked.

"It's true. I mean, look at them. They don't wear clothes. They reproduce with clones. They're categorically dickless." she said, shrugging.

"Yeah, but so are we. What does that have to do with anything?" I pointed out.

"Yeah, but… they're… sort of masculine, so it's like… Oh, one second." The light on her musket had turned red, and she snapped a shot off over the edge of the ditch.

"So are half our boxies, and like… they probably don't have dicks either." I pointed out. "And it's a bit, I dunno…"

"It's also not great for blokes with received genders, you know?" Kelly pointed out from beside me, pressed as far into the dirt as he could get to avoid the storm of fire.

"Thank you, Horace."

"Yeah. Okay, look, the coward part was really the operative thing." she said, offering me her stolen musket. "You want it?"

"You're probably a better shot." I said, and she nodded, the lock turning red again, and leaned up. This time, a purple blast blew the top of her hat off, and she pivoted instantly to the source and fired. Somewhere distantly, over the din, I heard a very satisfying crunch as her target's exoskeleton blew apart.

"Look, the point is, they're right fuckers is all." she said. "And they should have charged us, they might have overwhelmed us."

"Yeah… hold a tick. Are they still shooting?" I asked. Theda glanced over the edge of the ditch again, and gave a noncommittal jerk of her head. "Alright. Cease fire! Cease!"

The guns around me fell silent, and then the farther ones as the call was echoed. It didn't seem like we were being shot at anymore, no more purple beams overhead, no more shapes in the dust.

But we could still hear shooting, still see flashes. Small flashes of red, purple flashes in return, somewhere deep in the smoke.

We could hear the pop of blackpowder musketry, drowned by the roar of plasma guns.

We could hear screaming.

 

[open_sketch]

"Kennedy, Diana, come in. Are you there?" I asked, pleaded into the wireless. There was just static crackling at first, but then the dust finally began to settle and I heard her voice.

"Dora, can - - hear me?"

"I can hear you! I can! What's happening we lost-" I started, but she cut me off.

"Oh thank God, we thought- - bugs have gone in, they've- - I'm trying to get my guns down the hill, you need to help them-" her voice was desperate, terrified. "Dora-"

I scrambled to the top of the ditch, feet slipping on newly-excavated dirt, and I could finally see over the settling dust to the battlefield beyond. Ahead of us were stalker corpses, at least three dozen between the bombardment and subsequent shooting, some still twitching, and beyond we could see the survivors, joined by others, forming a long, thin line.

Opposite, the cuddlebug formations were still moving, and from my distant vantage point it looked less like a group of people moving and more like the ground itself was shifting, a forest of bayonet-tipped rifles and fluttering banners grinding across the landscape in a haze of dust. For a moment, just a moment, it was impressive, awe-inspiring, before I remembered that forest was made of people, terrified people compelled, forced by the weight of the law and honour and the physical press of all the bodies behind to walk into certain death.

They weren't stopping or slowing, pressing on toward a foe that must look nearly nonexistent in comparison to their numbers. If you knew nothing else of the battle, it must have seemed like trying to stop a flood with a sheet of cardboard.

There was a rolling sound, a crackle like a campfire from the distance as the muskets fired, three ranks deep into the stalkers. They didn't so much as twitch as a storm of dust was kicked up around them, the lead deflecting off them with whistles and cracks. A moment later, the return volley came, the landscape illuminated with a crash like lightning.

The first five ranks of the cuddlebug lines just vanished.

What I felt in that moment was… it was just too much. The sheer scale of it was like a sledgehammer to my sternum, painful at a level that was nearly physical. I was made so that nobody would ever, ever have to face that, and here I was. Watching it.

I tore my eyes away, to our objective. To the cave, so close, maybe three hundred paces away. Not unguarded, but the cuddlebugs had distracted the stalkers enough that this was our chance.

I hated it. I hated it so much. They should have stayed back and our artillery could have done the work for us. As it were, our guns had to hold for fear of landing among the cuddlebugs, or even just killing them with blast overpressure. Their own cannons had no such worries, firing over the ranks and crashing down among the stalkers to negligible effect.

There was a temptation, more like a need than anything, to abandon my mission and just charge into the flank of the enemy, to disrupt their fire, to save as many as I could, but it would risk the bomb, it would risk our only chance of stopping them before there were more scenes like this. They outnumbered us, and our flank would be open to whatever forces remained into the cave.

It'd be suicide, and I still wanted it.

I toggled my sword to signal follow and held it aloft, and started at a run toward the cave entrance. Behind me, I could hear the thud of heavy steel footfalls, my machines falling in behind me without hesitation. I knew all of them had to be feeling something like what I was, we were programmed for it, but they still followed.

As we closed on the cave entrance, sporadic fire started leaping from it, from a dip in the ground just in front, rocky enough to give cover to the rearguard they'd left behind. My shields flashed as a blast caught it dead centre, the expanding plasma billowing out around me. Behind I heard someone clatter to the ground, others blowing their speakers out in a sort of wordless roar, and I only realized moments before we made contact that I had joined them.

I threw myself shoulder-first at the first stalker I could, pulling my blade across it as I pressed through, surrounded by the crash of metal and chitin.

That's when I spotted one of their officers. The one without a crest, with the blue tabulator at its wrist, its eyeless face locked on me. It had a sword, a proper one, not an axe or needle like the footsoldiers.

"Officer! Somebody kill that fucker!" I called, trying to level my pistol for it, but another stalker fell in the way between us, absorbing the blast and staggering forward, bringing the muzzle of its gun toward me. I brought my blade across its chest and it barely twitched, and I only just managed to knock its barrel clear before it discharged. In the brief moment while it was staggering I spotted Sergeant Theo, Old Theo, smash one of the stalker soldiers to the ground with the barrel of his musket before driving the bayonet at the officer, textbook perfect, the blade sinking through the chitin of its chest.

It balled its claw into a fist, struck him across the face so hard it knocked the glass screen for his eyes clear out, and then it swung its heavy blade clear through the sergeant's body, passing through without stopping.

I don't remember if I killed the stalker I was fighting or no, I just punched past it toward the enemy officer, my swordpoint dipping low and tearing across the ground as I swung back up, spraying molten glass ahead of the swing. Its own blade whipped out, a straight sword shimmering with golden light, ending in two parallel barbs, and there was a shriek of contrasting energies as they met.

Then the momentum of my charge, too much to stop, carried me into it, and we tumbled to the floor, blades locked and twisting, into the mouth of the cave. It seemed as though the ground sloped here, carrying us under the earth, and we clattered down the drop, falling maybe ten or twelve feet, the fighting above us instantly muted to a distant echo. Down here, in the dark, the only illumination was our swords.

Pain lit up along my forearm, my thigh, my collarbone, where the blades pressed into us in the tangle. I grabbed for the rough surface of its exoskeleton, its claws raking along my face, and then somehow it was looming over me and pressing my own blade toward my throat as I smashed my fist into its skull uselessly. It's snapping mandibles were inches from my face, and if I didn't know better I swear it was grinning as my own sword sunk into my chest.

I grabbed one of its horrible little mandibles and pulled, and it tore free in a spray of blood. Gripping the sharp piece, I drove it as hard as I could into the creature's shoulder, one, twice, snapping it off. It twitched, it's strength faltering just a moment, and I was able to twist its blade away from my body and drive my own through its side before I shoved it back, pushing us apart. Its sword fell somewhere, I didn't see, and mine remained embedded in its chest.

I tried to push myself to my feet, to get back to it before it could retrieve a weapon, but there were two more stalkers between us now, maybe from the cave, maybe pushed back into the cave from the fighting all around us. I drew my pistol as fast as I could, but they were already leveling their weapons. The heat of the point-blank blasts, even partially dissipated by my screens, was so overwhelming it felt blinding. I could feel something hot roll down my face as the epoxy in my scars melted and ran down my cheek, partially smearing across my eye.

I shot the first in the throat, the wall behind exploding outward from the shrapnel of the exit wound, then I threw it aside as the other came for me, slinging its longarm and drawing one of the axes. I rolled back to avoid the first swipe before throwing myself at it, trying to get inside its guard, wrestling to get the axe from its hand. Its claws snapped at my jacket, tearing rents out of it before closing on my gorget and tearing it free, but then I had two hands on the axe handle and I pulled it free and drove it as hard as I could through its skull.

Getting it out took some work.

I cast about for the officer, my vision blurred from ichor and epoxy. There it was, alone in the darkness leading farther into the cave, staring sightlessly at me. It gripped the handle and pulled it free, slowly, steam pouring from the wound, the bloody wound in its face giving the impression of a mocking smile as it did.

I leveled the axe at it.

"Do you have any idea who that was back there?" I said. "You're a fucking clone. You're what, a week old? That machine was two bloody centuries-"

It pointed the tip toward me, lurching forward.

"Oh, you best hope I kill you, because if they can put him back together, he's coming back for you, I promise." I continued, clinging to the absurd words about the only thing keeping me calm. "And they're going to put him back together. You're not fit to clean his fucking boots, nevermind kill him!"

It snarled, rearing back, swiping for me. I punched the axehead at it and knocked it aside, swinging around for its head, and it leaned away, stumbling back.

"Whoever built you should be fucking ashamed." I said, stepping forward, casting around for something better than the little axe. Spotting its sword sparking against the ground, halfway under one of the bodies. "They could have made you anything, and they chose to make you this. What good are you?"

It came back in, diagonal slashes forcing me to give ground, staggering over the uneven rock on the floor. It made another clumsy swing, the sword sparking against the rockface, and I kicked it inside the knee and I brought my axe down hard at its wrist as it staggered. The tabulator sparked and burst from the energy, but stopped it before I could take its hand, and it brought the sword back across in a swipe across my forearm and chest.

My left arm fell away as pain gripped me, enough to take me off balance. I collapsed to the ground, swung my axe in another clumsy arc and embedded it in its shoulder, and it responded by slamming a knee into my face. I felt something pop, the lens from my eye, and suddenly my vision was clear, just in time to see it pull back the bladepoint for the final blow.

"Do it, fucker!" I spat. "Do it!"

The creature drove the sword down, and I rolled. Not fast enough to avoid it entirely, it pierced through my shoulder, but far enough that when it embedded in the rock, it wasn't getting it out easily. I got my knee between us and pushed it away, against the wall, and threw myself over to the bodies, over to where its sword was still sparking against the ground.

There was an awful snap as I moved, and the light of my blade winked out just as my fingers closed on the handle. I swung around blindly in the near-total darkness, and the alien blade flared as it embedded in the stalker officer, its features illuminated by the energy carving through it.

The two pieces of the creature pitched over with a wet splatter against the stone, and I staggered back against the wall of the cave, the room swimming. Numbly, I deactivated the alien blade, stashing it through my crossbelt, and gripped the handle of my own sword. The projector was dull and deactivated, and the metal whined in protest as I pulled it free from my side.

"Fuck." I muttered, staring at the dead creature, triggering the activation switch over and over in desperation. "You know how fucking expensive this thing was? It cost three years of my bloody life, it's almost eleven months of my wages now, I have to save for captain you know. Bloody inconsiderate alien bastard… you know, I'm taking your sword. It's mine now."

Finally, the blade lit back up, flickering, and I laughed absurdly at the small victory. Finally, something went right! I cycled through the signals, hoping to get one of the brighter ones so I could see where I was, finally switching to a phosphorus white so bright it lit the entire caves as far as I could see.

Deep down in the cave, I could see something moving. Light reflecting off of stalkers rushing up toward the entrance, weapons forgotten, mandibles clacking, clawing over one another in a mad rush to get to me. Easily a dozen or more in a tide of horrors.

"First rank, fire!"

The flashed with golden light, too bright against my now-unshielded camera, as a barrage of musket fire crashed overhead. The first rows of stalkers burst apart, staggering and collapsing down the cave and dragging their uninjured friends with them, flailing in the pain and heat.

"Second rank, fire!"

From my vantage point I could no longer see them, but I could see their silhouettes flashing on the cave ceiling, limbs writhing as something in them ignited, the pings and whistles of shrapnel from their armoured bodies all around me.

"Get the revolver cannons up here, finish them! Keep shooting!"

There was a moment of delay, then a rumble as the tripod guns opened up, a strobe light that brought with it a hellish heat until the entire cave felt like an oven. The screeching of the alien creatures died away, the scrabbling of their claws against stone stopping.

"Cease fire! Stop, damnnit!"

"Ensign Kelly?" I called, the voice only now familiar. "Horace?"

"Lieutenant!"

There was a tumble of rocks around me and then the young ensign suddenly slid down, his sword glowing, face smeared in ash and blood. His hat was missing and his flop of purple hair was matted to his face, but in this moment he looked overjoyed.

"Oh thank Christ, you're alive." I muttered. "Where's the bomb? Is Sumner okay?"

"We're bringing it down. They almost had us, they had shooters up on the rocks to our flank, and then they just… lost it. Just ran at us blindly. Why-"

"The officers." I said, putting it together. "The officers keep them fighting proper. Without them, they just go mad. Scary, but much less effective fighters."

"Did somebody kill an officer?" he asked, and I pointed to his boots.

"You're standing in him."

"... gross."

I staggered to my feet, stashing my sword (it didn't quite want to go into its scabbard) and finding my pistol. Sumner arrived a moment later, Corporal Rifleman and Theda behind her, the bomb still snug in its backpack.

"Okay… Lydia, Theda, Rifleman, and uh… you two, you're with me. We're planting the bomb." I ordered. "Horace, take everyone else back up to the cave entrance, get our downed machines and wounded clear of the blast zone, and lend what support you can to the cuddlebugs."

Everyone filed up and out, and I staggered as best I could

"Lieutenant, you sure you're okay?" Sumner asked, and I shook my head.

"I'm very much not, but it's something I can deal with after." I said, trying to keep the pain out of my voice. "I don't see anything that looks like a base here… it must be deeper in."

"Do we have to go all the way there? Won't the cave direct the blast?" Rifleman asked, and Theda scowled.

"We have to make sure, or else all this was for nothing." she said firmly.

We pressed down the cave, muskets arrayed ahead of us, maybe five minutes, crunching over the dead bodies of the fallen stalkers as we went. As we progressed deeper, the cave became wider, more regular, started to feel almost artificially, until finally we came to a section that was entirely square, the walls supported with pillars of blue steel not unlike the gates, receding into darkness.

We could hear things, machinery clanking and hissing, the hum of ancient machinery, and as we stepped in our swords illuminated what looked like a factory workshop almost. Arrayed on the floor and against the walls were devices I could not describe, intricate machinery of nearly organic curves, churning pistons, hoses and pipes and cables that undulated like living things. The chamber seemed to just go on, the walls themselves shuffling with a slow grinding noise as they pushed outward, and it looked nearly as though in the distance some of these devices were creating new tools on the floor beyond, building the machines that would build an even greater army.

Lined evenly along the wall were hexagonal pods of dark metal, with a mass of tubes and cables emerging from a plug at the center, into which fluids were being circulated. The cables pulsed like a heartbeat, a rhythmic thump that we could feel in the floor, something distant wheezing in and out with the wind in the cave.

"It's nearly a shame to destroy all this." Sumner said, staring all around her. "The technology in here is fascinating, and could probably be put to good use."

"It's creepy." Theda countered.

"No more so than the vat facilities that grow meat, I think." she countered. "Save that instead of making food, it makes… merciless unfeeling soldiers. To be clear, I'm not advocating we don't blow it up. It's just a waste."

"Well…" I looked around the chamber, trying to escape the creeping dread. "Let's find a spot for the bomb, and if you see anything easily carried which might be worth having, take it with you. But let's be quick about it, the next wave could be born while we're standing here."

Within a few minutes, we'd settled on a particularly dense mass of wiring and pipes we were pretty sure was a power unit of some kind to stash the bomb. Corporal Rifleman and Theda unpacked it and did their best shove it in among the tangle to make it as hard to notice as possible, and we all sat back and grappled with an unfortunate truth.

"I don't think two minutes is long enough to get out of the cave." I pointed out.

"Was thinking just that." Theda said. "Fuck."

"If we place it any closer to the entrance, the blast is going to leave the cave rather than destroy the machinery back there." Rifleman said, pointing down to where the machinery was carving new sections of the factory out. "It has to be here. I'll pull the tab."

"Like hell you will, American. I'll do it." Theda countered. "They're already going to court marshal me when I get back, it'll save you lot the trouble."

"Shut up, both of you." I countered. As their commander, it was my responsibility to do something like this, I couldn't ask something else to stay instead. I nearly said it, but the words died on my speaker, the discussion with Lieutenant Kennedy in my mind.

There was a loud clank somewhere nearby, and we all looked over to see one of the pods in the wall opened, a shape falling out with a wet sound on the steel floor tiles. A stalker, gasping its first breathes on an alien world.

"... private, shoot that!" I called, and one of the Doras stalked over and blew it apart with a blast from her musket.

"No. Start pulling wires out of the walls, we'll make a cannon lanyard and buy ourselves a few hundred feet. Get on it!" I ordered.

"What if they defuse it?" Theda asked, and in response I simply pulled one of the cables down out of the mess, tugging until the entire length came loose in my hand. A clear liquid of some kind dripped out of it, hissing and smoking where it touched the ground. "What if the lanyard comes undo?"

"Then we come back in here and we start breaking it all manually, or we use smaller charges, or something. Nobody is staying behind." I said. "Everyone is going home."

There was a moment's indecision from the two machines, then they both started grabbing cables and pulling, joined by the two privates. Working together, and with the length of materials available from around us, we very quickly had at least a few hundred feet of wire, and one of the privates started running the end up the cave.

"Lieutenant!" I heard Lydia call, and I dropped the cable I was pulling and went to investigate. I found her staring at something, a box nestled against the wall, covered in small white buttons and switches.

"What is it, Lydia?" I asked, and she indicated to the device, sweeping her hand over it.

"I could be wrong… but I think this is the controller for the gate." she said. "I think this is how we get home."

Now that she'd said it, it was unmistakable. There was no doubt in my mind that's what it was.

"Good eye, Lydia." I said, clapping her on the shoulder. "Take Rifleman and the privates and get this out of here, now. We'll finish up. Go!"

The remaining machines shuffled out with Lydia in the lead, carrying the console with them, struggling to get it up the cave. We'd have to give them time to get free too, and I was very conscious the whole time that the longer we stayed down here, the worse the battle upstairs was likely getting. Two more pods opened in that time, the two to the right of the first, and having learned the pattern I went through and cut the cables to the next three with my sword, hopefully doing a number to whatever life support those things had.

"I know they're genetically engineered unfeeling alien monsters, but something about this feels fucked up." I remarked, bringing my blade through the last of the cables. Theda laughed, still tying the last of the cables together.

"That's because it is. We're going to stand before so many tribunals when this is all over, you realize that, right?" she said, "Especially you. You'll be doing paperwork on this for the next decade."

"God, I hope so." I muttered, flicking my sword off. "That's the last of them?"

"Looks like we have a few hundred feet. It's not much, but it might give us enough time." she said, tying the end into the tab on the bomb. "Who's pulling?"

"... do you want to?" I asked, and she considered a moment before shaking her head.

"I think it's your job, ma'am." she said. "You earned it."

---

I'll say this: I was expecting the explosion to be impressive, and I was not disappointed.

We pulled the cable out as far as we could, which did not feel nearly far enough, then I pulled the cable until the tension gave and we both ran for it. Having Theda there was a great help: it is surprisingly difficult to climb up and over things with one arm otherwise. We raced out the cave entrance to find the battlefield a quiet, smoking ruin as far as the eye could see, then we made as far as we could toward the cliff where our camp was. That was maybe twenty feet from the cave entrance.

There was a roar and rumble from deep in the earth, then an enormous jet of flame over our heads, the temperature instantly leaping. We crawled on our hands and knees away from the blast and started up the slope. A few soldiers in the picket found us crawling over the bodies of fallen stalkers who had tried to rush up the slope toward the guns, torn apart by canister and solid shot, and we were both dragged up to the and taken by horse about a mile, to where our reserve camp had ended up. The noise was so loud that not a word was spoken until then.

We could still see the enormous pillar of flame burn across the landscape from there, and within a half an hour black rain, contaminated by soot and fallout, began to fall across the landscape.

Lieutenant Kennedy came and sat with me after a few minutes, watching the blast, her filter mask tied around her face. She looked exhausted, hollowed out by the battle, her face blackened by soot except for around her eyes from the flash glasses. Milly stood nearby with an umbrella, frowning as the poisoned rain pattered off it.

I recall asking if we had the gate controls, and then about how the cuddlebugs had done. I didn't like the answer to that one: they'd lost at least a thousand soldiers before they managed to retreat, and it had been an utter rout: they'd even left half their cannons. There were about fifty wounded survivors in our camp that Doctor Zsanett was treating, but that was all: the weapons of the stalkers didn't allow for much more.

We also resolved what to do with the stalker weapons (save some for study back home, stick the rest in a big hole and blow them up), and laid out our plan for going home. No point in lingering, we'd rush back to the palace to recharge, collect our wounded, and leave tomorrow if we could. We decided we'd let them keep the volta generator, but as we'd be taking our guns and capacitors with us, they'd have to figure out how to start it on their own. I could only hope that vast quantities of cheap electricity would do more harm than good here.

We didn't talk about anything else, very deliberately so. After a few awkward minutes, I picked up and headed back to my tent, where Miriam was waiting, and shucked out of my contaminated gear.

"That's a hell of a sword you got there." she said, indicating to the stolen officer's blade.

"It's what did this… and this… and this…" I said, indicating to the missing arm, the slash across my chest that had taken most everything with it, and the cuts across my side and hip. "So it's mine now. That's the rules."

"A hell of a trophy." she said, examining it. "You know… after we deal with all the lethally radioactive fallout coating it, I know a few dealers in alien artifacts who might be interested."

"... I was thinking of keeping it. Hang it on my wall, maybe." I said.

"You could do that, but see, I was thinking of working for a captain sometime." she said, "And something like this… you could name your own price for it."

"... I'll consider it." I said.

---

"So you say your comrades can make us rich, once the portal is opened?"

"Richer than you can imagine. The lowest of your peasants will live like kings, I promise you." Milly replied. We were riding together in the wagon: the humans were exhausted, and to be honest I was barely functional at this point with all the damage I'd suffered. One of my knee joints had given out last night, and Thomas had found impact damage to the oilers while inspecting it, so the less walking I did, the better.

"Everyone?"

"Everyone."

"That sounds very generous. No wonder you wish to get home to your wealth." Visionary said, "I'll admit, I am eager to see more of your society. It is humbling, to know we share a universe with such a power."

Sure. Humbling. Says the person who ordered hundreds of his soldiers to their deaths for the glory of it. Humbling.

"Steady, Dora. We're almost home. We give them machines like us, then people like that won't have power much longer." Miriam whispered to me.

"I know." I replied. Within twenty years of the first machines, people like him had already been locked out of decision-making, or guided by their servants to better choices. Change like that had to come from within, they're just be replaced with another like them, but it didn't make me feel any less like I'd be doing the planet a favour if I broke his skull.

The ruined landscape around us was a grim sight. The flames had died down now, stopped by the firebreaks between farms, but the smoke and dust hung in the sky, rendering the sky a strange dark orange at midday. The machines and our escorts from the cuddlebugs left a cloud of ash behind us as we walked.

"There's the gate. About time." Miriam muttered, fussing with the dust on my uniform. Back in the private's uniform, still technically dead on this world. Not that it would matter any longer, but might as well not turn to shooting at the last possible moment.

The wagon ground to a halt, the tracked horses pulling it detaching and rolling up off the road, through the skeletal remains of burnt trees toward the monolithic alien structure. Our cannons and flying guns arrayed themselves around the gate, barrels charging, crews loading, and our soldiers formed a line as Doctor Zsanett and some of the spare gunners moved the console in position. A panel in the gateway opened as soon as the console came near, plugging easily in, the controls lighting up instantly.

"Lieutenants, can I have a word?" she called, and I walked over stiffly, Kennedy following close.

"Yes, Doctor?" I asked.

"I'm not coming with you." she said simply.

"... what?" I asked, and she nodded.

"Look, you've all done your jobs and I'm sure you have places to be, but these poor bastards still need a lot of help. They don't even know about germ theory yet, it's been an uphill battle getting them to wash their damn claws. But if I can manage even just that, boiling and filtering water, sterilization, then… I'm going to save millions of lives. I can't wait on whatever ethics committee in the Concert to approve funding and start assembling a team of doctors. I've already talked to Visionary, they're going to get me a ship back to the imperial capital tomorrow so I can talk to their medical schools."

"... I can't disagree with that." I said, holding out a hand. "It's been a pleasure working with you, doctor."

"You've certainly given me the best opportunity of a lifetime, I'll say that. And you, Miss Kennedy. You get to a doctor with experience with radiation poisoning treatment the moment you can, I did not like those readings."

"You said I was fine." Kennedy said, her voice breaking.

"I was trying to keep you from panicking, you were coming down off the adrenaline and you didn't need it." she said, "Trust me, your lungs will thank me in thirty years. You know how much those suck to replace. Now, come on, go get on your guns."

A little numb, we walked back to our places in the line, as everyone readied their weapons. As we'd explained to the cuddlebugs, either our side had won and we'd have a welcoming committee, or there were still stalkers on the other side and we were going to have to garrison here for the time being. I was fairly sure that after a week, though, we'd have won out no matter what, even if the Navy had to bomb the continent flat to make sure of it.

I took up position next to my section as the rotary cannons were set up, guns held at the ready, and after a moment of indecision I drew my sword rather than my pistol, wishing we'd had time to attach my other arm. Beside me, the cannons rolled into place, ready to fire if the worst was true.

Just twenty-three infantry machines and most of an artillery section against whatever the gate would have to throw at us.

The gate flashed, a wall of white light forming between the pillars, and then we began to see flashes of imagery through it. A desert with four suns, an underwater vista, a sheet of solid rock, a gas giant looming over the horizon of an airless world. Unfamiliar, alien planets flashed by, each a place an explorer could spend ten lifetimes.

Then, it stopped. There was mud, concrete, something bright defused through a massive sheet of tent canvas. Figures in red coats, scrambling to their guns as the image in the gate resolved, machines and men slowly relaxing as they saw who we were.

I exchanged a glance with Lieutenant Kennedy, and we strode forward together, toward the portal. On the other side, an officer approached, shaking his head in disbelief, and I'll admit I've never felt anything quite like the pure joy of this moment.

"Fusie?" he asked, his voice distorted through whatever filter on the portal kept the air pressure from spilling over between worlds. "My God, you look like shit!"

"You too, Miles! Thank God you're okay!" I called, and he beamed.

"I knew you'd made it out, I knew it!" he said. "I was going to say you missed the fun, but it looks like you found- my stars, is that an alien?"

"Yes, we'll explain, but can we please come through?" Kennedy asked, and he smiled, waving us in.

"Absolutely, but you have got to tell us all about it." he said. I signaled for my machines to started packing up to come through, but I couldn't wait any longer to ask the most important question.

"How's the 7th? What happened?" I asked.

"Oh… Mauled pretty badly, but we made it out." he said. "Most of us are upstairs right now in reserve. We couldn't evacuate with the, uh, transmutative blasts on the riverbed, so we had to camp out for two days under siege. Fortunately, our reinforcement showed up before it got worse. The bloody Sixth Warwickshire made a landing more or less on our heads."

"... we got rescued by the Sixth? We'll never live it down. Oh, one second!" I said, then I had to scoot aside as the first of the dreadnought tractors started rolling toward the gate. "You didn't manage to find the gate controls?"

"They must have squirreled them away someplace! Good God, what happened to you lot!" he called, watching the casualty wagon roll by. "You fighting with the locals, Fusie?"

"In a manner of speaking! Give me a moment to organize the troops, alright?"

Our guns shuffled out next, then the troops, then Kennedy and the aides. I glanced to Doctor Zsanett, at the cuddlebug guards, at Visionary, mixed feelings welling up inside me. Our presence had, thus far, done nothing but make things worse for the poor bastards, as the scorched countryside testified. I could only hope our absence, and the real help we could provide now, could make a difference, make up for it, maybe make things better. I could only hope.

I turned and stepped through the portal.

The instant change of air pressure, the quality of the sound, all of it, even though it was an alien world clinging with the stench of sulfur, the act felt like coming home. You know, I actually missed my bed at number 8? Miles clapped a hand on my shoulder, smiling, laughing, and I turned to take one last look at the alien world, for now at least.

Just in time to see Visionary push Doctor Zsanett out of the way and slam a claw down onto the portal controls.

The image vanished in a flash of white light.

 

[open_sketch]

"Arm and hand replacement, £38 6s 6d. Full oiler and bearing replacement for two knee joints, £12 3d. Three hundred kilowatt brushless hip motor and installation, £16 8s. Associated replacement parts… £18 1s… why is everything so expensive? I don't pay a quarter of this…"

"April, you're mostly made of glass and aluminum, and the most intense action you perform is a vigorous dusting." I explained, sighing. "Everything's more expensive for Theos and Doras. It's a blessing the Army covers working part repairs replacement."

It just so happened my first day back at Antares City after nearly a month in Starhall was April's half-day, and we took the opportunity to go to the park we usually frequented and I explained everything. From the battle to the gate, to the trip to Starhall for a general debriefing. That had turned into a series of tribunals attempting to determine if any of my actions rose to the level where a court marshal would be needed. And I'd had it easy, Kennedy was still there when I left, as they debated pressing charges for executing a prisoner. I was pretty sure she'd get off, but they were being thorough.

"Well, most employers cover that sort of thing… but they aren't covering you?" she asked, and I shook my head sadly.

"No, officers pay for their own healthcare, or repairs as it were." I said, "Which normally isn't a problem. But I haven't exactly got a family treasury to dip into, and these are only the start of my costs. I've got travel costs and hotel while I was in Starhall, I'd need repairs to my sword and to replace my force screen gorget before I can serve in the field again. Not to mention I'm twenty bloody pounds in debt to a tailor to fix my uniform up enough to appear in tribunal, atop the debt I was in already..."

"... not that Beatrice you were telling me about?" she asked, and I sank my head against the table, utterly defeated.

"Not even. She heard I died from the first reports of the battle and I think it might have shook her pretty badly. Her apartment's empty, she left the day before I got back. She left Miriam a letter, says she's taking a break from writing. No return address yet." I explained.

"... oh, Dora." April said, her voice breaking. "Rotten luck, really, she sounded so nice. But…you said you were cleared of the major charges, at least?"

"Yes. My retreat was considered tactically sound, the transmutative shells were used in line with precedent for emergency protocols, though I may face a fine, and a lot of the other stuff is being written off for extraordinary circumstances. They're currently quibbling over details of first contact protocols and field discipline, I think, nothing I'll get cashiered over."

"Small mercies. When you return to duty, how long is it going to take to pay all this off? Not long, salary like yours?"

"... I can't." I said stiffly.

"You can't?

"I'm suspended on half-pay until the end of the investigations, and I have to be fit for action when that ends." I explained. "We figure it's two more weeks at the outside, which is not enough time to scrape together… I need a hundred pounds, or more, to get my gear in order. And I still have to cover Miriam's pay in that time. There's no way I can secure a loan of that size from any force screen manufacturer, and the interest..."

"I… I have some savings, I can help-" she offered, and I recoiled at the thought.

"Absolutely not. This is my own mess." I said. The thought of accepting money from somebody else, especially from April, who worked for seventeen pence a day, was profane.

"What will you do, then?" she asked, and the question weighed on me, like a lead on my chest, straining my motors. I'd already resolved the question in my head, but I'd told nobody yet. Not even Miriam. But if I said it here, it felt like it would make it real.

"I'm… I'm going to ask for a hardship exemption and sell my commission." I said. "Ensign Parker in 3rd company is due to move up, it'll clear in an instant. That'll give me enough money-"

"Dora! You can't!" April said, reaching across the table, taking my hands; the worn and beaten metal of my right, the shiny silver of my left. "You saved your whole life for this. It's not fair!"

"It's not." I said simply. "It isn't. I d-don't want to, Christ, I was just feeling like I was figuring it out… but the numbers are what they are. Seven hundred pounds will go a long way, and I can pawn my pistol too and finally get refurbished properly. Then, if the Army won't have me back in the ranks… I'll go to the Canadians, or the French Foreign Legion. Or, hell, the Poles are always looking for good soldiers for the spinward push."

"Really?" she asked, her eyes falling. "Dora…"

"I know." I said, the words weighing heavily on me. "I'll be okay, I promise…"

We parted ways reluctantly, promising to meet again in a week on her next break, and I headed home, back to the base. September was closing out, the leaves turning red and falling all around as the weather controls slowly turned down the temperature degree by degree, and the effect along the paths to the base was simply lovely. Overhead, a ship was rounding the edge of the dome for a new berth on the far side, the sails half-extended, leaving glittering trails behind from the reaction engines. Against the blue of the sky, it looked almost like a ghost of a ship, passing behind a cloud.

Despite my misgivings, despite all the hardship, being an officer was still my dream. Leading the charge, taking the initiative, seizing the moment, it was all I ever wanted. And the unexpected parts, the mess halls, the ballroom dances, the resentful soldiers, the unnecessary servants and the cavernous empty house, it was all starting to feel natural too. Proper. Like where I belonged.

I felt like I ought to simply accept the reality and get things over with. Ought to march into regimental headquarters, plead my case, sell my commission on the spot, and return to where I belonged. I ought to simply be grateful for the opportunity. Ought to be satisfied with my lot in life.

Ought.

Ought.

Ought.

… but when did I ever do what I ought to?

I could afford to wait another day. Spend an evening in the mess hall instead of avoiding it. Talk to Miles, with the Captain, with the ensigns. With good old Lieutenant Duncan as an equal, not a subordinate. Raise an empty glass to King and Country, toast our guests from the Royal Artillery for the ten thousandth night in a row, look sharp in my tailored uniform, the expensive boots, the crimson sash, the sword at my side. Belong, for one night.

I'd earned that much, at least.

---

The next morning, I awoke to Miriam throwing the curtains open.

"Up! Quickly now, dress your best!" she declared.

"Miriam, I'm on leave." I protested, and she threw a letter on the bed as a response. I reached for it, but before I could read it she explained.

"We have a visitor, and I need you looking as official and officer-like as possible, understand?" she declared, sweeping past me. "Gloves and all, miss, look the part."

"Ah, about that-"

"No time, we're cutting it close. Abby and Gale are already dressing up the sitting room. Come on, up!"

Confused and overwhelmed, I pulled myself from my bed, detached my charging cable, and Miriam helped me into my uniform, fussing over the buttons and smoothing it out almost violently. Apparently deciding I looked good enough, she sent me to my study and told me to wait, and I did, utterly out of my depths. Before me lay a pile of paperwork from my adventure which had accumulated in my absence, expenditure forms and casualty reports, repair summaries and replacement requests. There was a part of me bitter I'd never get a chance to sort it out all: would have been a fun few months.

But one part needed my attention while I still could. Numbly, I flipped through the repairs, though I already knew the fates of everyone. Of the 39 fallen machines we'd returned through the portal with, all but nine had been fully restored. Six of those had extensive repairs, processor damage, or memory issues that were still being resolved, and three were gone, among them Old Theo. They'd pieced him back together as I predicated, but he hadn't booted back up.

"Old bastard was probably pleased to just have some leave." I muttered. Taking my pen, I signed off his form, affirming the date, and repeating my recommendation for commendation, as well as forwarding news of it to his old comrades in the 35th. They deserved to know.

The other two… one of the skirmishers, I never knew him properly, and one of the new Doras, seventeen days since activation, shot to the neck in our first battle, the fall into the muddy water of the dig site shorting her out. Poor thing, she never should have had to go out with as little training as she had. I signed their forms too, the gesture feeling utterly inadequate. I wished I could come back on duty just long enough to talk to my section, to talk to them about what had happened. It wasn't fair.

There was a knock on the door to the study, and I opened it to find Gail.

"You have a guest, miss. In the sitting room." she said.

"Thank you, Gail." I set my pen back in the charger, checked my gloves over for stains, and headed down the stairs, careful to hold my sword so as not to damage the walls. I caught sight of myself in the mirror by the door as I rounded the corner, and took a moment to study the reflection, straighten my collar, brush the epaulettes into shape. They might have made this uniform for humans, but it looked so much better on me.

As I entered the study, a machine in a simple brown suit stood from one of the chairs opposite Miriam, extending a hand to shake, before pausing mid-stride as though shocked. Eyes wide behind the lenses of his glasses. I never understood how Simons always looked so timid, when their feminine counterparts were so damn attractive.

… Probably because I was gay. That'd do it.

"Welcome to my home, Mr..?" I said, as if I didn't already know his last name. The first and probably last time I'd get to say something like that with the weight of Number 18's grandeur behind me, might as well make it count.

"... Clerk, of course, I… see, I thought it odd when I heard Lieutenant Fusilier but I thought it just a coincidence…"

"I'm sorry, Mr. Clerk, is there a problem?" Miriam asked, her voice cool and even.

"O-oh no, Miss Page, not at all." he said, reaching out a hand again. "J-just, if I can ask, how exactly did you come to be an officer?"

"Nepotism, Mr. Clerk." I said casually.

"A-ah. Well-"

We shook and sat, the poor machine ruffling through his papers and producing a small note, adjusting his glasses to read.

"Right, so. I'm here representing the affairs of Duchess Muriel Fergeusson of Taygeta, who you probably know holds one of the largest private collections of alien artifacts in the British Empire."

"Of course." I said, not knowing even a little who that was.

"W-well, I am here to assess the artifact you mentioned in your letters, and I believe I have verified the authenticity of the item, it-it's a remarkable piece." he said, and it was only then I noticed that the alien officer's sword was resting on the table. "We're prepared to make an offer."

"Oh?"

"F-four hundred pounds." he said.

My heart leapt. That could wipe out my debt in an instant, pay for refurbishment, and go a fair way to my captaincy. I very nearly accepted on the spot, but a glance to Miriam persuaded me otherwise.

"This is a one-of-a-kind, you know. The only one of its sort, as best we can tell." I said, "It's worth quite a bit more, especially if you hear the story of how it was acquired."

"D-do tell." he said, and I held up a hand.

"Let's say… seven hundred pounds?" I said, and he nodded.

"If you'll tell me how it was acquired. The more information you can give me for cataloguing and display, the better." he explained.

"Well, settle in, it's quite a tale. Miriam, cancel my appointments." I said, as if I had any of those. "So, the 7th was called to make planetfall on this undeveloped garden world, llomia J3H. You see, a dig site there had disturbed the creatures that made this weapon-"

"It was taken at llomia J3H?" he asked, and I shook my head.

"Oh no, it gets much stranger." I said.

An hour later, Mr. Clerk left, leaving behind a check and a carbon copy of his description, to be edited into the plaque that the sword would eventually be displayed under. I took up the document curiously, looking it over.

"Now that that is sorted, miss, you had something to tell me?" Miriam asked.

"Oh, it was nothing." I said, waving her off. "Thank you so much for arranging this, Miriam, you're a lifesaver."

"Just doing my job, miss." she said, sounding ever so pleased.

I flipped the protective cover off the copy, my eyes scanning over it. There were many little notes, scrawled reminders, sections marked to be double-checked with newspapers and official reports, but it was as thorough as I could have hoped.

At the very top was a title, presumably to be made bold on the plaque so it would catch everyone's eye.

Power Blade of an Alien Officer
Taken By Lieutenant Fusilier in the Farthest Reaches

 

[open_sketch]

You awoke, as you had for eighteen years, eight months, and nine days, exactly when you were supposed to. For a moment, there was a strange disorientation of an unfamiliar space, a narrow, dark, overwhelmingly brown little wood room, unfurnished. Strange sounds echoed everywhere from the street outside, wheels and hooves on cobblestone, morning conversation, humans and machines with early starts shuffling past one another. The patter of rain.

You stretched, rolling your joints so the oilers could do their work, inspecting yourself briefly for wear. A chip you hadn't noticed, lower forearm plate, near your elbow, caught your eye, and you sighed and ran your finger against it, the silicone pads at the end of your finger catching on the glass. Not painful, but not pleasant. Yet another task for Dotty when you got back: the other side of the portal had not been kind to you.

You pulled on your uniform: the white blouse, long black skirt, the form-fitting red jacket. You looked sharp, but a different sort of sharp than the footsoldiers. They were made to look impressive and bold, stand out on the field, for their unit and role to be recognizable at a glance. Your uniform, by contrast, was meant to make you look fashionable, respectable, a compliment to your Miss without overshadowing her. You liked it.

A stain on the supposedly unstainable fabric, at your cuff. You had the strange and impossible impulse to lick your finger and try to work it out. Instead, you just made another mental note, something for the Abbys to work out when you made it back to number 18. You couldn't spend another moment delaying.

You quietly opened the door, to make your way into your Miss' room and throw the curtains for her. Your first task of the day, to wake her up and get her moving, to spur her to action, and to give her an idea of what the day outside had in store for her.

The bed was empty, already made, perfect hospital corners. The Lieutenant was waiting at the window, halfway dressed already, looking out the window wistfully as rain rolled down the pane, her eyes fixed on something distant. She looked tired.

Every morning's a lovely little challenge.

You've served seven officers in your eighteen years, but Lieutenant Fusilier was by far the most vexing. Not her fault, of course, but it meant that where once you'd known exactly what to do every morning, now was a constant challenge, to find ways to be useful to her. It was difficult, but that made the moments where you figured it out all the sweeter.

"Good morning, Miss." you said, making your way to her. "Good to see you up early."

"Couldn't sleep." she confessed, turning to you with a bit of a start. "Figured I might as well get a start to the day if nothing else."

"Of course." you said neutrally. She didn't like talking about it, but she would if you prodded, so you had to take a light touch. "Do you need some help with that?"

She looked down at herself, half-dressed, a single button done, the wrinkles in the fabric showing the considerable efforts she'd gone through to do it with one hand. She nodded, defeated, and you walked over and started helping, making quick work of them and smoothing out the creases as you went.

"I need to get this fixed, as soon as possible." she said, gesturing with her empty sleeve. "Do I have an appointment yet?"

"I had to cancel tomorrow's, you're wanted at yet another hearing." you explained: she'd been too worn for the news last night, so you'd politely waited. "Pushed you back to Saturday. If that doesn't work, I will find somebody in this town who works Sundays, I promise you."

"Yet another… what is it this time?" she asked, sighing. "They should just put in front of a bloody court already, get it sorted. I can't stand the waiting, rather walk into a cannonball."

"Course you would." you chided, pinning up her empty sleeve and fetching her jacket. "But look at it this way, at least: they haven't properly charged you with anything yet, means they're probably going out of their way to avoid it if they can."

"Don't understand why." she said bitterly, and you sighed, frustration and sympathy welling in you. The Lieutenant had no frame of reference for anything that wasn't the military, and very specifically the duties of infantry soldiers at that. It went beyond a mere focused life and into something like a deliberate ignorance sometimes, that she'd dedicated herself to knowing as little as possible about anything that wasn't her immediate job.

"Your story is big in the papers, you know." you explained, "Which you ought to start reading if you can, I'll give you a rundown on them if you'd like. But in any case, if word got out that they'd charged you for something, and it wasn't an obvious wrongdoing, there could be significant public backlash. They're being conscientious of that."

"... I don't like that." the Lieutenant said, as you helped her do up her buttons. Course she didn't. "Don't want special treatment."

"Well, too bad, Lieutenant, you went and made yourself special." you said, straightening her collar as best you could. "There."

"How do I look?" she asked, amusement in her voice, knowing the answer would reflect the awful state she was in.

"Like you've had a very hard few weeks. Now come on, you're due in an hour and the cabs are slow in the rain."

---

Starhall was an exciting place, no doubt about it. By far the largest city in the British Empire, built as a mirror image of old London but grander, larger, cleaner. You'd been before, even lived here three years with a previous officer, and in better times you'd be eagerly spending your half-days just wandering the city, taking in the sights, learning the ins and outs, what sorts of things you charges might be interested in, maybe just taking a walk in one of the parks. Unless he'd found a new job, somewhere around here lived a certain Simon of your acquaintance you'd very much like to see again.

But now was not the time. You'd have to get the Lieutenant back here under happier conditions, if you could.

The lattice of Gothic Revival architecture worked into every building of the government quarter, as though Westminster had sprawled out like a weed and consumed the buildings around it, every surface worked with fine detail of a proud craftsmachine somewhere. The rain came down thick sheets, the roof of the cab rolling with the sound, and outside was an even, shadowless grey of light diffused through clouds.

"Do the weather controllers just not give a damn here?" The Lieutenant asked gloomily, leaning her head against the door.

"It's tradition." you explained, and that settled it, as it often did. Your Miss, to her credit, knew she knew very little, and her ability to simply accept those kinds of answers was one of the many curious things about her.

"Say, can I ask a question?" the driver asked, his voice halting, a bit hesitant. Probably unsure what the protocol was.

"Go ahead." the Lieutenant responded.

"So um… how'd you get to be an officer, then? Didn't think that were open to machines." he asked.

"Slept my way up the ranks." the Lieutenant replied smoothly, without missing a beat. You swore, she planned those in advance, you'd never heard her repeat one. "General Andromeda is so very gentle."

"Huh. Guess that would do it." the driver responded credulously, then there was a jolt in the cab and he slammed a hand against the dashboard. "Oi! Switch your bloody cameras on, idiot! Apologies, ladies."

"No need." you muttered quietly.

"I swear, some of these drivers need to get debugged, can't drive for anything." he grumbled, pulling the reins back with a clunk and setting the carriage rolling slowly backward, glancing to his mirrors with a sort of manic energy. "Probably a Procyon build, screws loose like-."

"I'm a Procyon build." you protested. The international city, jointly run by the French, Americans, and Britain, was renowned for its craftmachines and engineers. Like most Marias in those nations and a dozen others besides, you were made there.

"Aah, well, no disrespect meant." he said, stumbling a bit over his words.

"Just get us there." the Lieutenant grumbled, and the rest of the ride went by in silence.

Twenty minutes later, you were sitting in the waiting room of yet another perfectly decorated office, the Lieutenant tapping her feet against the marble floor to pass the time, the hall buzzing with clerks, humans, and messengers. You weren't entirely sure what this building was: it was a different one than the Army structure you'd been summoned to before, and it honestly didn't seem like an Army institution at all.

The heavy double doors at the end of the hall clicked open, and out came a rather curious sight: an Adam, a factory working machine, dressed in a fine suit. He approached the two of you with a hand held out to shake, and you very quickly slipped your Miss' hat out of her remaining hand so she could offer it in return. A left-handed shake was better than nothing.

"Good to see you, Lieutenant, wish the circumstances were better." the machine said, "Edison Wright, MP for sector nine. We're waiting for you inside."

"S-sorry, MP?" the Lieutenant asked, and he nodded as if it were obvious, shuffling her forward.

"Yes, some machine's got to do it. You're Antares City, right? Tory stronghold, that, good to hear. Do you-"

"I've never voted." she said, then she paused. "Though I plan to in the next election, I suppose. When is that?"

"Ah, well…" Edison looked a bit strained a moment, then seemed to get over it. "Two years. Excuse me, um, you'll need to leave… your um..."

"Oh, my apologies." you said, stopping. You'd followed without thinking, but of course this was off-limits. "How long will you be?"

"It's an all-day affair of the committee, I'm afraid." Edison said, and the Lieutenant waved you off.

"Go have fun for an afternoon. If you're not back, don't worry, I'll find my own way home." she said.

"Do you remember the address we're staying at?" you asked, and she paused, then nodded. Right, well, you'd absolutely have to be back here before she got out.

But you could take a few hours.

---

One of the strange things, when you reflected on it, was the way that culture had been transmitted to machines from humans. If things had developed organically, nothing like a machine pub would exist, the very concept would be laughable. You didn't drink, you didn't eat, your communities were far more artificial and often more temporary.

But you weren't just machines, not just blank forms made for a purpose. Whoever'd programmed your brain had filled it with images, a vague nostalgia for some part of a homeland you'd never seen, a life you'd never lived, like a mosaic made from snapshots of life in past centuries, assembled into an archetypal feeling. That feeling had pubs, and so now you were sitting in one, close to a roaring holographic fire, leaning against the wall and just letting the calming music wash over you, smoothing out the frustrations and terrors of the last few weeks into a pleasant hum.

You wondered, sometimes, where they got the memories, if they crafted them or took them, but there was a nostalgia for rolling hills and rainy skies, for roaring fires, forests of masts at the docks, ringing bells, nursery rhymes you couldn't quite remember the words for. You'd done a bit of research on this, curious: your accent placed you as a Londoner of the middle classes, which is probably why the streets of Starhall felt so… so much like home.

You wondered if the Lieutenant had the same memories. Perhaps not the exact same… her accent placed her fictional origin somewhere else, Sheffield, maybe. Did she remember factories and forges and hills and… and whatever that city had been like?

Why did it sometimes feel like you were living somebody else's life?

Maybe it was just the stress. You'd never been so afraid in your life, never so close to danger. You weren't made for it. To be sure, you were hardened compared to most maids of your sort, you had armour around your processors and hard drives and the glass of your frame was of a higher grade than normal, but… you weren't a soldier. You wore a uniform but you weren't, you just helped them, helped officers get ready for it and come back from it. Your job was to offer a sense of normality to humans who would have to leave it behind, and you didn't know how to handle it when it was you grasping for that normal.

You folded your arms in front of you and lay your head down, letting the gentle piano playing in the corner pull you a little deeper into a stupor. You were suddenly very aware you had a holster on your hip, for a gun, how you'd shot that stalker in the neck with it and seen it flop nearly off. How close its blade was to the Lieutenant's face. The way it tore at you to see, the fear you'd felt realizing what you were capable of.

"You okay there?"

You looked up to see a machine leaning over you, concern in his eyes. Took you a second to place his type: a butler, a Mark or Matthew or something like that. Solid, dependable sort, leaders and managers. Probably what brought him to you: he was as hardwired to check in on machines struggling as you were to help officers flagging.

"Company would be nice." you said, picking yourself up, straightening out your uniform. "Miriam."

"Lovely name. Matthaeus." he said, sitting.

"Somebody's fancy."

"I didn't pick it, old name. Fellow who did was a bit stuck up." he said. "Military?"

"How'd you guess?" you said, holding out your arms to draw attention to the red sleeves. "I'm an officer's aide, she's in for… who knows what at this point."

"Pleasant. I work for Lord Walsh, he's in some committee or another for the day… last minute thing, he was preparing to head home while the House of Lords is in recess."

"Fun." you said, and he laughed. Cute laugh. Cute guy, too. Maybe you should get his address, call him in a few days if you were still stuck in town.

"That's a word for it. I'm taking an hour to decompress before diving back in. Of all the things…"

"What's the sudden disaster, if you can say?" you asked, and he shrugged.

"Some… machine officer or something, the one from the papers, Parliament put together a hearing of some sort and he's on the committee for Army affairs. I don't know the details, though I don't get it either."

"Oh?"

"Why we even let her be an officer?" he said, "It's a bit… I dunno, doesn't sit right, does it? Like no wonder everything went to hell with her leading the charge. And she apparently made first contact with aliens too, real aliens? What kind of impression is that, sending a machine first?"

Oh.

"I heard she made quite an impression." you said neutrally, and he groaned.

"She shouldn't make any sort of impression at all. We're not… we're not supposed to do that! Can you imagine the history books, writing it out, having to put her name in for first contact? Instead of some human family getting to claim that, it goes to some Theodora Fusilier. It's… wrong."

Maybe it was the music, but this was getting to you. Normally you'd have played it off and walked away, but you just weren't in a state to.

"So what, you think she's some kind of glory-seeker then?" you asked, and he nodded firmly. He was clearly getting worked up, the frustration over his estate's disorder projected onto your Miss as the cause.

"Must be. Why else would she do that? When she asked, they should have dragged her to a deprogrammer, because she has to be glitched."

He was right, in a sense, that the Lieutenant did absolutely need help, but he was sorely, frustratingly mistaken as to why.

"I see." you said, the anger rising in you. Of course, Marias didn't feel anger. They certainly never show it. They ought to be serene. Calm. A soothing presence.

Ought.

"The faster they kick her out, the better, but instead, everyone's talking about her like she's a hero. It's sick. If it were up to me, I wouldn't let her back in the service at all, she's clearly proven she'd doesn't care about anyone but-"

You slapped down his hand with a crack of glass hitting glass.

"Don't talk about her the way." you said, an edge to your voice you'd never heard before, one you couldn't have imagined yourself producing. "You take it back."

"... oh. Oh God, of course." he said, the anger vanishing, replaced with the hollow horror of his mistake. He cracked first, his anger wilting, you could practically see the processes as he willed himself calm, as you stood victorious. "I'm so sorry."

You let yourself calm down, level out. Enjoy the music. Ought to be serene, calm, a soothing presence. Your frustration with him drained away, and you felt nothing but a sort of sadness, that it had gone this way.

He'd been so cute, too.

---

"How was the hearing?" you asked, as your Miss strode out of the hall. She looked cored out, like somebody had run a magnetic over her hard drives.

"Terrifying." she muttered as you walked out the door, carefully maneuvering the umbrella to open and catch the rain before a single drop could reach her. "I've learned a lot about politics today. For example, there are two houses of Parliament, and both of them had questions for me."

"Oh." you said simply, "Was it bad?"

"No, thankfully, they weren't trying to accuse me of anything. They just wanted me on the record about a lot of… equipment stuff. They're on the budgetary committees, I think?" you said, "I barely followed, but mostly they asked me about the field batteries and volta wagons and… I don't know. I think they want to buy new power supplies for the Army."

"That's good at least." she said, "Running out of charge on an alien world was pretty terrifying."

"... yeah, it was." she said, as you flagged a cab. The two of you climbed in and it started its long journey back, the driver fortunately silent this time. "Rather that didn't happen again."

"Well, it sounds like it won't." you said, and privately it was quite a relief, even if you never intended to be in a position where it would be an issue again. "You have the rest of the evening, if you wanted to see the city or anything."

"Actually, I already have plans. You said you could tell me about what newspapers to subscribe to?" she asked, and you nodded. "Well, good. I want to read through a few, get an idea of it. I felt very out of my depths."

"We've both felt that quite a bit recently, haven't we?" you pointed out, and she chuckled.

"Just a little."

The carriage shuffled on, caught already in the omnipresent traffic. Outside, the rain intensified.

"... quick question, Miriam, what's a Tory?"

 

[FrangibleCover]

I sit on the left side of the pup tent, sticking a bayonet into the melted scar on my chest. The blade catches and I twist, popping the charging panel open. I throw the bayonet onto my brown Caçadore jacket, discarded on the right side of the tent, and plug myself into one of the two connections on the field battery. Then I lie back and think.

My partner is dead. Memory destroyed, processor gone, batteries deflagrated — nothing left of Soldado 'Teo' Fuzileiro but some spare knee joints. Teo was practically a boxie, only with the unit five years. Stars, what a shame…

I find the feeling, pin it down, cover all of the jagged edges and then rip it out. Zip it, mark for deletion.

Five years is enough, for a soldier. What more can we ask for?

The thoughts keep coming, and I let them move into the open. Never again will we sit companionably in a hide, or skirmish up a field in perfect harmony...

Find. Pin. Envelop. Destroy.

Never mind. His whistling always annoyed me.

So now that it's happened, it's time for the tactical analysis. How can I stop it from happening again? This planet is pretty old, in the freezing outer reaches of the Brazilio-Portuguese Empire. The locals had wiped themselves out before their Industrious Revolution and now I'm here accompanying the archaeologists sifting through the ashes. The life on this planet were not the sort for great works of art. They were not the sort for grand architecture. They were the sort for a wire across the door and a thermal lance down the corridor. Lesson: Always go first through the door. If I had done that then I'd be dead and he'd be…

Find. Pin. Envelop. Destroy.

Lesson: Let the boxie lead through the door. If the lance had hit me the section would be leaderless.

I file it away with the other lessons of service, the ones I've been taught the hard way:

Anspeçada Teodora 'Dora' Fuzileira, a hard-driving bastard if ever there were, killed in action 21060603. Lesson: Act aggressively when required, it reduces risk in the long run.
Private Theodore 'Ted' Rifleman, know-it-all bife from the 60th, killed in action 21390408. Lesson: Always stick with your partner while you're reloading.
Soldada Teodora Fuzileira, killed in action 17700101. Lesson: -​

I check my memory again. I hadn't been close with Teodora, obviously. I can't remember the nickname she used, or the sound of her voice, or what she looked like. I can't remember working with her, or sitting with her in the tent. I can't remember how she died. It must not have been important.

I check my feelings about Teo again, conducting a final sweep for sorrow or guilt or anything else that could impede my combat functionality. Nothing. Unfortunate that he's dead, but that's how it is. Before I drifted into a blissful sleep, I was aware that I had come into this tent thinking about resigning, but I couldn't imagine why. If I weren't out here, doing this, then humans would be at greater risk. It's better to let the machines fight the wars, do the dying. There's no human cost.

 

[open_sketch]

my apologies for the bump to this thread, just want to make sure everyone sees.

i've decided to rewrite the sequel because the first attempt wasn't working, and I've started it here. It has a new title and will be following a completely different (and much better planned) plot.

So here we are...

Lieutenant Fusilier takes The King's Shilling!

 

[open_sketch]

So I'm still struggling with the sequel (im laying out the ground work to do a third draft, and hope to release the first 50k words of it all at once), but in the meantime... the first book is, finally, done. After years of refinement, rewrites, expansion, and professional editing, this reworked version of the novel is much improved over the original in every respect. I'm incredibly proud of it, and I hope you enjoy it.

The ebook is avaliable in PDF and EPUB form on both DriveThruFiction and Itch.io. If you pick up the ebook version from either place, you'll get a discount code to get the print version at-cost when it becomes available (which will hopefully be within the month).

It also has an amazing new cover by Molly Skyfire on twitter (who I cannot link directly due to NSFW-ness), who did a killer job rendering our stainless-steel subaltern in all the deliberately misleading glory she deserves. finally, there's a little 3d printable figure there of fusie, if you're into that!