Up early, polished and dressed smart, I found myself craning my head to glance out the window of the mess, scanning the blue sky of the dome for the ships moving just outside it, my processes spiking every time I saw one.
"What has you so nervous, Dora?" Diana asked, glancing out the window with me. "You look positively shaken."
"First batch of transfers arriving today." I said, tapping my thumbs against the worn wood of the table with solid little thunks. "Soldiers, my soldiers! Means I actually have to start being an officer instead of just playing dress-up."
"Ah, relax, you'll do fine." she said, waving a fork dismissively, What's your section NCOs look like?"
"Well, I've only seen the forms, but they look like a solid lot. Senior sergeant's a Theo from the Prussians on exchange, quartermachine shuffling in from the 35th Sussex, got a corporal promoting out of the 73rd Perthshire, and get this, the one of them's a Yank." I said.
"Oh, that'll be fun."
"First machine officers, now American corporals, Army's going to the dogs." I said, putting on my best Genuine Human Officer voice, "Next they'll be making us wear brown and amalgamating regiments, mark my words."
"A nightmare." Diana said, shaking her head sadly, "Seriously though, don't you worry. Good NCOs are like a cushion for a young officer's mistakes. I mean, you ought to know that better than anyone, right?"
"I suppose. So, worked out the bugs on the new flying guns yet?"
"I wish. Bloody useless suspensor fields, burnt out two more coils yesterday. I'm halfway to bolting them to our pedrail wagons and calling it a day…"
---
When Antares Base was established for the 7th Regiment of Foot, the regiment had only consisted of three line companies and half-sized Grenadiers and Skirmishers. Additional space had been annexed over the years, but things were starting to get a little tight, which is why, while the rest of the regiment were practicing larger-scale drills on the main field, we were mustering together the first shipload of troops. Right now, that consisted of a gaggle of transfers being divided up between the two sections, four wagonloads of long crates containing the new recruits, and assorted civilian support milling about behind them doing their own thing.
Most of the transfers were just wearing their shirts and grey trousers, awaiting their new 7th Regiment of Foot coats, but about a third were dressed in a multicolour palette of uniforms from across the galaxy. A few coats in blue or green, some in red who were presumably from the Commonwealth, and two from even further afield whose uniforms didn't resemble European ones at all. Coat-switching was a bit of a ritual, some diplomatic thing so officers knew where their soldiers came from or somesuch.
Thought there were still about twenty soldiers missing, being shipped in from who knows where, for the most part this was the company. The Ensigns were already there ahead of Beckham and I, 'supervising', by which I mean they were standing and gawking at all the strange machines.
"Ensigns! Is everything shipshape?" I called, and Kelly turned and saluted sharply.
"Yes, ma'am!" he said, then his smile faded as he saw the look in my eyes.
"Then fix it, ensign! This isn't the Navy, we have standards." I said. Sumner started to laugh, and I turned to her. "Ensign, where's your gorget?"
She glanced down and winced, looking utterly mortified. Heh.
The first thing I did was find my NCOs, rattling off their serial numbers from the ledger. When I glanced back up from the clipboard, there were six machines standing in front of me, four British transfers and two blue coats as expected. One the light blue of an American, with red facings, and the other the very dark blue of a Prussian. Though something was off about… her.
"I'm sorry, I think I was expecting a Theodore Füsilier?" I said, looking her over. Good lord, they built her so straight and vertical she literally looked like a ramrod.
"That ist my name, ma'am." she snapped, her eyes not so much as twitching. Were her lights not on, I would have thought she was a statue.
"... why are you a woman?" I asked, and I could hear one of the corporals suppress a snicker.
"Theodore ist a woman's name. In German, the masculine ist Theodor." she explained. "I go by Theda usually."
"... sure. Why do you have a weapon, Sergeant?" I asked, indicating to the bizarre rifle that, for some reason, was slung over her shoulder. "And what the hell is it?"
"I was programmed to never surrender my weapon unless I was being issued another, ma'am." she replied, and I could swear there was hostility in her voice. Maybe it was just her accent, but I had been a sergeant long enough to know pissed off at someone voice. "It ist a needle rifle."
"Well, we'll get you a proper musket tomorrow and send that thing home." I said. Imagining you could just show up at a line regiment with a rifle, ridiculous.
"Yes, ma'am."
"Sergeant, you're a Theodore at least, right?" I said, turning to the junior sergeant as I rechecked my ledger. I didn't know how they did serial numbering in the 35th, but his sure had a lot of zeros in front of it.
"Last I checked, ma'am." he said.
"Good. Just... curious, how old are you?" I asked, and I could see the slightest bit of smugness in his eyes.
"Two hundred eighty-six, eighty-four days, ma'am." he replied.
"My stars, man, you're from 1882." I said, impressed. Second generation machine, first generation soldier. They didn't get older than him. "How long you've been a sergeant?"
"Took over for Sergeant Thomas in 1926, ma'am." he said, "Great man. One of the last flesh-and-blood NCOs. 'Course, I was in the 3rd back then."
"Well, it's an honour to have you." I said, mind reeling. He'd been a sergeant 18 times as long as I had, seven times longer than I'd been alive. That was humbling.
I worked my way through the corporals, a Theo and a pair of Doras from other regiments. None of them would meet my eyes, and the way the second sneered out ma'am I knew she'd be trouble. I was already frustrated and I hadn't even gotten to...
"And… the American soldier." I said, looking him over. According to my ledger, he was Theodore Rifleman, because fusilier was too old fashioned for the rebels apparently.
"Not a soldier, ma'am. A marine." he corrected instantly.
"Did you not hear me explain to the Ensign that we're not the Navy?" I said, already exasperated. "You know what, fine. Any questions?"
Nearly everyone raised a hand except Old Theo and the American.
"... alright, Sergeant Theda, you ask it."
"Vhy do we have a machine officer?" she asked.
"I won it in a card game." I snapped. "Any relevant questions?"
"It's relevant…" one of the corporals muttered quietly.
"Is this going to be a problem?" I said, looking over the line. Old Tom and the American shouted 'No, ma'am!', while everyone stood stock still and said nothing.
"... we have machine officers. We're like the French." Corporal Rifleman added.
"Thank you, Rifleman." I snapped. "I'm serious. Permission to speak freely, all of you. Just say it. I want to hear it."
"Frankly, ma'am, your uniform doesn't fit." Sergeant Theda said sternly. The corporals added affirmations, nodding along. "Officer's have to think of more than themselves."
I could feel the metal in my hands creaking as I balled them into fists a moment, before I could rationalize it. It's fine, I asked them to say it, it's what I was expecting. I had no right to be angry.
The feeling passed.
"Thank you. Sergeant Thea, get our transfers sorted and start unboxing the recruits. Get on it." I said, trying my damndest to keep my tone even, and they moved.
I stalked away, trying to suppress the twin emotions battling for control of my processors. One, the building frustration at the fucking audacity of these machines to treat an officer that way… and the other, the clawing anxiety that it was only proper. That they were right.
Why should they respect me? I was one of them, just with delusions of grandeur.
"You alright, Lieutenant?" Kelly asked, his hands fidgeting. Sumner was looking similarly nervous.
"I'm fine. It's fine." I insisted, standing to watch the machines as they were organized into teams to start carrying boxes down. "Everything's fine. Lydia, have them line the new ones out on the field in a nice line, two ranks, will you?"
Ensign Sumner nodded and strode off, getting the sergeant's attention and laying out the line in the field. The first machines were being pulled out of their boxes, limbs stiff, and lifted awkwardly into position.
At least they'd listen to her.
---
Finally, after about twenty minutes of work, the twenty-odd new machines were lined up, the transfers at attention in the row in front. They were of a design unfamiliar to me, very modern, their faces smoothly transitioning from steel to the glass of their eyes. They were tall, even taller than the last batch, but narrower, a bit slighter. I imagined they didn't have so many bulky plates. Maybe six foot one?
The last three generations of machines were trending taller after a century of them getting smaller, and most soldiers were upgrading to match. At 5'7", I was the shortest soldier machines had ever been since they started being machines. The analysis after Fomalhaut showed that making machines smaller targets, the rationale for bringing down the size (the first generation machines had once been 7'6", not that you'd know it from looking at Old Theo), was perhaps not the important factor.
Smaller machines didn't reach as far with bayonets, and they hadn't figured that'd be relevant with modern laser musketry. It was a costly mistake.
"Horace, do you know how to boot up a new machine?" I asked Ensign Kelly.
"Hmm? Oh, yes, Lieutenant." he said, suddenly coming into awareness that I was speaking. The boy was incredibly distractible: he'd probably seen a bird or something.
"Right, we're going to start flipping them on back to front, left to right, once they get them set up." I explained, handing him one of the stacks of paper on my clipboard. "Honour goes to you. When they come to, hand them a contract and tell them if they sign it, they'll be in the 7th Regiment of Foot, 9th Company, A section."
"Thank you, lieutenant." he said, beaming as he set off with the papers in his hand. This was a normal duty for an ensign, but might as well make it seem special.
As he started to go through, the first machines lighting up and snapping out an automatic salute, I glanced down at my ledger, looking up to compare it. It was about that moment, seeing them all lined up, that I noticed something of an imbalance in my section.
"Hold up. Beckham, how many Dora's you got? Just line troops, not NCOs." I called out across the field to where A section was likewise starting to boot up.
"Uhh…" he swept along the line, counting it out with a finger. "Huh. Only twelve. Bit odd, isn't it?"
"I've only twelve Theos myself. Bit off parity, isn't it?"
He put a hand to his chin, staring back and forth between the two groups, counting them again, then he suddenly smacked his own forehead and strode over to pull me aside.
"I just gave you the top half of the transfer forms when we were divvying up the line troops." he whispered, "And I'd done about a dozen, I suppose."
"And..?" I asked, not following.
"It was alphabetical. A comes before E!" he hissed.
"So what do we do? Do we swap some?"
"You want to write up all those section transfers?" he asked, then rolled his eyes before I could even get a word in, "I don't. It's fine. It'll get evened out in the shuffle soon enough."
Fine. I didn't need any more problems.
With all the machines now activated, and not a contract turned down, I took a moment to steady myself, then strode out to inspect the line. Still wasn't the full number, but this was it. My section. My command.
"My name is Lieutenant Fusilier, I'll be leading this section. If you couldn't guess, I'm something of a fan of the regulations. But if we follow them, we won't have any problems. "
Dead silence. I could see eyes wandering, the looks of bemusement and confusion among the new machines. The unease. Not all of them, but maybe half, already concluding I didn't belong.
"I know you're all thinking it, so let me explain. It was a mistake in the paperwork. If you see a human walking around in a private's uniform, let me know so we can switch back." I joked. Maybe I could seem likeable, and that'd be a start. Something I could build to respect.
The nervous energy remained in the formation. I was already exhausted by this.
"Ensign Sumner, lead the formation to the depot and get them their jackets and kit. Inspection with the Captain at 1100." I ordered, and as the formation was led away by the young officer, I found a patch of wall and leaned against it, my processors racing.
"Say, Dora, you'll never believe this." Beckham said, leaning next to me, "One of my Theos is from the Koreans, of all places. Strange little bugger, but… say, you look a little out of it. Anything I can do?"
"Get me some paint, pink or brown? I have an idea for making them respect me." I sighed.
"Oh, stars, come now. You'd look terrible. Even worse, I mean. Like one of those painted Roman statues." he said cheerily, nudging my arm playfully, "They'll get over it, it's just new is all. Nobody does well with new things, man or machine alike."
"I hope so. Just… you know, I thought I'd get more pushback from the officers, but most of them have been pretty good. Except you, why are you being so nice all of a sudden?"
"Because we're still on the same team, you know." he said, "I don't mean half of it. The other half, though, I very much mean those parts."
"Well, nice to know. Just… between this lot and the Abbys at the bloody estate they've dropped me into, I'm starting to think I misjudged who the opposition would be."
"Honestly, I think you've got it all wrong." he said, "You lot are helpful to a fault if you're anything. If they're pushing back, it's because they think something's wrong and people are at risk. You prove to them you're still a busy little worker bee like the rest of them, they'll shut up."
"I hope so." I said wearily. "Stars, I need some music."
"If that's machine for fetch me a brandy, right there with you." he said.
Out in the field, the colour sergeant was sorting out the civilian contractors and sending them off to wherever they needed to be to support the company. At least that wasn't my problem. We just stood together for a while, not really knowing what to say, and I simply stared at the grass and watched my internal clock tick by toward 1100.
"Heads up, Dora. Incoming dead ahead." Beckham whispered, and I looked up to see a slight machine striding towards me. She was dressed in a simple red coat with a corporal's stripe at the breast, and with a long black skirt and delicate white gloves. "Your aide, I think?"
She stopped before us and came to attention, saluting smartly. I returned it with as much enthusiasm as I could muster, which was not much.
"Corporal Miriam, reporting for duty ma'am."
"Good luck with that." Beckham said, and he strode off, leaving me to figure it out.
