Chapter 3 - Throwing Knives
- Location
- Ottawa
- Pronouns
- She/Her/Whatever
That afternoon, regular drills gave way to a long tactical theory meeting which even I could admit was a little tedious. Our commanders were worried that our current tactics were too inflexible and made us ill-suited for changing circumstances as technology improved, especially as energy screens became more and more practical.
The 7th was the British Army unit that had most recently engaged in a large-scale battle, so the meeting primarily gathered experiences and opinions from the assembled officers based on our action against the stalkers. I managed to get my courage together to suggest dividing the sections further into two teams, a manoeuvre section and a smaller fire section, citing my action retaking the gateway. I thought it might make it easier for units to manoeuvre under fire.
I'd never before offered any kind of word one way or another in any of these meetings. It's difficult to describe how it felt to know that everyone was listening, caring about what I had to say. That General Andromeda herself was listening! It was a uniquely intimidating circumstance; I have felt less exposed standing to receive enemy volleys than I did talking to a room of my supposed peers, feeling all their eyes on me. I realised only after I sat down that I may be the only machine in that meeting room to have given my opinion on something.
Given those circumstances, I was greatly looking forward to the chance to escape to the little informal machine officer club. Thankfully, the meeting eventually came to a close. As the officers shuffled off to the mess, I wasted little time ducking into my office. I had to finish my records for the day; it would only take a few minutes, and then I could make my way the commandeered warehouse.
I was shuffling my coat back on when there was a knock on the door. I opened it, and Sergeant Theda stepped in from the outside, coat still on and eyes glowing against her dark silhouette.
"Sergeant?" I asked, "What's the matter?"
She glanced nervously down the hall to either side before speaking.
"Nothing serious, ma'am. Did I catch you at a bad time?"
"Oh no, I was just heading for the warehouses. We can take a moment," I assured her, stepping back behind my desk. "What is it?"
"Just a few disciplinary issues I wanted to sort quietly," she said, shedding her coat and drawing a notepad from the inside pocket. "Haven't had a chance to bring it up with all the exercises. I have reason to believe that Private Theodore-131098 was involved in the theft of Army property, either directly or indirectly."
Goddamit, it was always 131098.
"When you say property, what do you mean?"
"Officer's individual medical kits model 2165, ma'am, six of them. I have no direct evidence, but he was on watch not two days before the clerks noticed it was missing, and he's been acting guilty every time I look at him."
"He's a boxie; he'll probably confess the moment we put any pressure on him," I pointed out. "We'll do it tomorrow morning, first thing."
"Very good, ma'am." I grabbed my coat and stepped out, and she followed, presumably just heading the same way. As we walked, her posture and composure changed. Sergeant Theda the emotionless Prussian disciplinarian vanished as if she were merely a magician's trick, replaced with the much less stern Theda Füsilier I'd come to know. "Looking forward to it."
"I swear, you have a screw loose or something. How have you been holding up this past week, Sergeant?"
"Well enough, all told." she said, "Things have been frustrating; morale is not great after the beating we got. Boxies are not used to losing. How about you?"
While it would be something of an understatement to say that Theda and I hadn't seen eye to eye when we first met, we'd come to an understanding since. We were far more alike than different, and neither of us had the moral high ground. Where I'd spent decades repressing everything until I was wound like a pocket watch, Theda had taken her rejection from Prussian officer school hard and turned it into a bitter, burning resentment she only barely had a handle on.
"Well enough, I suppose. The French officers have been a mixed bag. Their human officers have been awful, but their machines…"
Dropping the charges against her was the best choice I'd ever made as an officer, I think. The Theos and Doras loved her, even after everything that happened: her perfectionism, attention to detail, and demanding nature was everything a soldier could want out of an NCO.
"Oh, that the officer you fought, hmm?" she asked in a mocking tone. "Why am I not surprised?"
"Urgh, first Miles, now you,"
"No judgement, ma'am. You talked to her?" she asked.
"Yes, and the other machine officers. It's, uh, it's nice, they're very kind. It's a good change, to have a space where I'm… I'm not expected to pretend I'm not myself," I explained, and she snorted back a laugh.
"Nein. I meant to say, did you fuck her?" she asked casually.
"No. Stars, Sergeant!"
"Disappointing, she's lovely," she needled, and I sighed.
"Oh, knock it off. Though… she is," I admitted, "And incredibly forward, too. It's been driving me mad."
"What's stopping you, then? Nerves?" she asked. "Or are you still not over your Beatrice there?"
"Thin ice, sergeant," I warned. She was still infuriating; I was just growing immune to it. "No, I'm just... I feel somewhat off balance. The war games, French in the mess, the everything, all just as I was starting to feel like I had a handle on things again. I need a break, I think."
Theda fumbled around her pocket for something, coming up with a short ivory tube with an audio jack with a dial on the back.
"I have just the thing, ma'am. You sound like you need it," she said. Cautiously, I grabbed it, inspecting it closely.
"Oh, haven't seen one of these in a decade at least." After a moment of hesitation, I stuck it in the audio port at my neck. "Where did you get this?"
"A friend," she replied cryptically.
Machines don't do boredom well, but we can't always be working. Our creators, in their foresight, gave us the same solution that nature provided man: intoxication. These days it was music, different rhythms and tempos inducing various effects on our cognition. But before that, the process was rather more direct. This one felt like a sort of static buzz at the back of my skull accompanied by an instantly soothing feeling, and so much tension left my actuators so quickly it almost hurt.
"Good?" she asked, taking it back.
"Mmhm… you shouldn't have that on duty, you know," I pointed out, and she stuffed it back in her cartridge pouch with a practised motion.
"Have what, Lieutenant?" she said, doing her best to sound innocent.
Nothing sounds innocent in a German accent.
---
"Have you ever play darts, Dora?" Théa asked. "It is like playing darts."
"I have not played darts, but I'll take your word for it," I said, stepping up to the line (a power cord laid across the floor). "Just throw it?"
"Just throw it. It may take you a few tries, but perhaps not!" she assured me. I squared up against the target, the red-white-and-blue ring propped against the far wall, and threw as hard as I could.
The knife embedded itself up to the crossguard in the plywood. Unfortunately, it had hit handle first, so it still didn't count.
"Shi- ah, darn," I said, catching myself just in time. "It's trickier than it looks."
"She can't even curse," Dieudonné said, rolling his eyes and going back to shuffling his cards.
"Of course I can! I just-"
"- Have been trying to stop yourself to fit in with the humans?" Théodore asked, and I sighed and drew another knife.
"Yes. It's not done, you understand," I said. This throw hit side-on, leaving a perfectly knife-shaped indent in the plywood. "Well, fuck."
"There, see! Like that, you'll get the hang of it!" Young Théo assured me cheerfully.
"Well, except for Lieutenant Kennedy, she swears a lot. But I think that's an artillery thing," I mused, sizing up the next knife carefully. I didn't want to keep embarrassing myself in front of the frogs. "They're sort of a little culture all to their own, if you understand."
"Not particularly," Théa said. Without any sort of warning, she stepped beside me, taking the knife from my hand and showing me how she held it. "Take your gloves off; they're not helping. The pads of your fingers will give you more traction."
I spent a long, hesitant motion considering it, looking around at the machines all around me. None of them wore gloves, though I was sure the French officers wore them. I remembered them politely removing them before sitting down at the dinner table. Miriam had impressed on me just how important they were; that for a gentlewoman and an officer, they were as essential as shoes for going out in public, removed only under particular circumstances.
A bit self-consciously, I pulled off my gloves and tucked them into my sash. I took back the knife, feeling the edge against the hardened silicone pads of my fingers, resting lightly against the steel hinges.
I lined myself up, squared my shoulders, and threw. The knife embedded itself point first, so far into the wall that only the pommel was visible.
"Good throw!" Théa cheered. "Now we'll work on actually hitting the target. You think anyone will mind the wall?"
"I'll make sure they send somebody to patch it," I said, wincing a little. "I think perhaps I should watch you all a while longer, get a feeling for the technique."
Tiphaine stepped up next, almost dancing with a sort of bubbly eagerness as Théa handed her the knives. One after another, she threw them dead-centre into the target, making it look utterly effortless.
"How'd you start doing this again?" I asked.
"Oh, I can't even remember," she muttered, "Had to be before my time."
"Much before. We picked it up off the American machine officers," Thibault explained. "It was something to pass the time during dinners or formal events… medal ceremonies, balls..."
"Human things," I summarised.
"Yes, exactly!" he said, taking the knives up. "You know, I was one of the first of our machine officers, I've been where you were. A hundred and fifty years ago, so some things were different, yes, but I remember the same awkwardness. Not fitting in."
"How did you handle it?" I asked.
"We started throwing knives."
---
With the end of morning inspection, I left Sergeant Theda to manage the troops and retreated to my office, pretending to do the long-completed paperwork a few minutes until she knocked on my door. As expected, she had Private Theodore Fusilier-131098 in tow, who had a look about him less like he was facing a review of his behaviour and more like he was propped up in front of a firing squad.
"Take a seat, private," I offered, indicating to one of the chairs. Theda and I had struck upon a brilliant, innovative technique for situations like this: I would play the calm, reasonable officer the machines could appeal to; she would play the cruel, arbitrary NCO just looking to enact the harshest punishments possible. We'd never dealt with any discipline issues nearly as dire as this, but it had worked for us so far.
"Yes, ma'am," he replied stiffly, pulling out the chair and sitting down while his gaze fixed perfectly forward, somehow never turning his body in the process. He sat as though he were expecting somebody to pull the chair out from under him. I leaned back in my chair, trying to look casual, twirling my pen between my fingers with a clack-clack-clack.
"So, Sergeant Theda says she suspects you of some wrongdoing. I want to assure you that if-"
"No! I did it! I stole the medical kits!" he exclaimed instantly, breaking down and nearly doubling over in shame. "It was me! It was me. I'm so sorry!"
"Aww, I did not even get to do my bit!" Sergeant Theda complained, cuffing Theo's shoulder in frustration. "Come on; you are a soldier! You need to show more courage!"
"Sergeant, I'm not sure that's the lesson we need to impart here," I pointed out, and she just stalked to the back of the office, grumbling to herself. "In any case… Private, your previous issues have all been relatively minor. Nobody gets hurt from a spot of gambling, and if we threw the book at Fusiliers for public intoxication, we wouldn't have an Army. But what possessed you to steal the Crown's supplies?"
"Expensive supplies at that!" Theda added, clearly enjoying reminding him. He winced, pulling in on himself before seeming to remember his sergeant was right behind him and snapping back to attention, albeit still seated.
"I can explain!"
The 7th was the British Army unit that had most recently engaged in a large-scale battle, so the meeting primarily gathered experiences and opinions from the assembled officers based on our action against the stalkers. I managed to get my courage together to suggest dividing the sections further into two teams, a manoeuvre section and a smaller fire section, citing my action retaking the gateway. I thought it might make it easier for units to manoeuvre under fire.
I'd never before offered any kind of word one way or another in any of these meetings. It's difficult to describe how it felt to know that everyone was listening, caring about what I had to say. That General Andromeda herself was listening! It was a uniquely intimidating circumstance; I have felt less exposed standing to receive enemy volleys than I did talking to a room of my supposed peers, feeling all their eyes on me. I realised only after I sat down that I may be the only machine in that meeting room to have given my opinion on something.
Given those circumstances, I was greatly looking forward to the chance to escape to the little informal machine officer club. Thankfully, the meeting eventually came to a close. As the officers shuffled off to the mess, I wasted little time ducking into my office. I had to finish my records for the day; it would only take a few minutes, and then I could make my way the commandeered warehouse.
I was shuffling my coat back on when there was a knock on the door. I opened it, and Sergeant Theda stepped in from the outside, coat still on and eyes glowing against her dark silhouette.
"Sergeant?" I asked, "What's the matter?"
She glanced nervously down the hall to either side before speaking.
"Nothing serious, ma'am. Did I catch you at a bad time?"
"Oh no, I was just heading for the warehouses. We can take a moment," I assured her, stepping back behind my desk. "What is it?"
"Just a few disciplinary issues I wanted to sort quietly," she said, shedding her coat and drawing a notepad from the inside pocket. "Haven't had a chance to bring it up with all the exercises. I have reason to believe that Private Theodore-131098 was involved in the theft of Army property, either directly or indirectly."
Goddamit, it was always 131098.
"When you say property, what do you mean?"
"Officer's individual medical kits model 2165, ma'am, six of them. I have no direct evidence, but he was on watch not two days before the clerks noticed it was missing, and he's been acting guilty every time I look at him."
"He's a boxie; he'll probably confess the moment we put any pressure on him," I pointed out. "We'll do it tomorrow morning, first thing."
"Very good, ma'am." I grabbed my coat and stepped out, and she followed, presumably just heading the same way. As we walked, her posture and composure changed. Sergeant Theda the emotionless Prussian disciplinarian vanished as if she were merely a magician's trick, replaced with the much less stern Theda Füsilier I'd come to know. "Looking forward to it."
"I swear, you have a screw loose or something. How have you been holding up this past week, Sergeant?"
"Well enough, all told." she said, "Things have been frustrating; morale is not great after the beating we got. Boxies are not used to losing. How about you?"
While it would be something of an understatement to say that Theda and I hadn't seen eye to eye when we first met, we'd come to an understanding since. We were far more alike than different, and neither of us had the moral high ground. Where I'd spent decades repressing everything until I was wound like a pocket watch, Theda had taken her rejection from Prussian officer school hard and turned it into a bitter, burning resentment she only barely had a handle on.
"Well enough, I suppose. The French officers have been a mixed bag. Their human officers have been awful, but their machines…"
Dropping the charges against her was the best choice I'd ever made as an officer, I think. The Theos and Doras loved her, even after everything that happened: her perfectionism, attention to detail, and demanding nature was everything a soldier could want out of an NCO.
"Oh, that the officer you fought, hmm?" she asked in a mocking tone. "Why am I not surprised?"
"Urgh, first Miles, now you,"
"No judgement, ma'am. You talked to her?" she asked.
"Yes, and the other machine officers. It's, uh, it's nice, they're very kind. It's a good change, to have a space where I'm… I'm not expected to pretend I'm not myself," I explained, and she snorted back a laugh.
"Nein. I meant to say, did you fuck her?" she asked casually.
"No. Stars, Sergeant!"
"Disappointing, she's lovely," she needled, and I sighed.
"Oh, knock it off. Though… she is," I admitted, "And incredibly forward, too. It's been driving me mad."
"What's stopping you, then? Nerves?" she asked. "Or are you still not over your Beatrice there?"
"Thin ice, sergeant," I warned. She was still infuriating; I was just growing immune to it. "No, I'm just... I feel somewhat off balance. The war games, French in the mess, the everything, all just as I was starting to feel like I had a handle on things again. I need a break, I think."
Theda fumbled around her pocket for something, coming up with a short ivory tube with an audio jack with a dial on the back.
"I have just the thing, ma'am. You sound like you need it," she said. Cautiously, I grabbed it, inspecting it closely.
"Oh, haven't seen one of these in a decade at least." After a moment of hesitation, I stuck it in the audio port at my neck. "Where did you get this?"
"A friend," she replied cryptically.
Machines don't do boredom well, but we can't always be working. Our creators, in their foresight, gave us the same solution that nature provided man: intoxication. These days it was music, different rhythms and tempos inducing various effects on our cognition. But before that, the process was rather more direct. This one felt like a sort of static buzz at the back of my skull accompanied by an instantly soothing feeling, and so much tension left my actuators so quickly it almost hurt.
"Good?" she asked, taking it back.
"Mmhm… you shouldn't have that on duty, you know," I pointed out, and she stuffed it back in her cartridge pouch with a practised motion.
"Have what, Lieutenant?" she said, doing her best to sound innocent.
Nothing sounds innocent in a German accent.
---
"Have you ever play darts, Dora?" Théa asked. "It is like playing darts."
"I have not played darts, but I'll take your word for it," I said, stepping up to the line (a power cord laid across the floor). "Just throw it?"
"Just throw it. It may take you a few tries, but perhaps not!" she assured me. I squared up against the target, the red-white-and-blue ring propped against the far wall, and threw as hard as I could.
The knife embedded itself up to the crossguard in the plywood. Unfortunately, it had hit handle first, so it still didn't count.
"Shi- ah, darn," I said, catching myself just in time. "It's trickier than it looks."
"She can't even curse," Dieudonné said, rolling his eyes and going back to shuffling his cards.
"Of course I can! I just-"
"- Have been trying to stop yourself to fit in with the humans?" Théodore asked, and I sighed and drew another knife.
"Yes. It's not done, you understand," I said. This throw hit side-on, leaving a perfectly knife-shaped indent in the plywood. "Well, fuck."
"There, see! Like that, you'll get the hang of it!" Young Théo assured me cheerfully.
"Well, except for Lieutenant Kennedy, she swears a lot. But I think that's an artillery thing," I mused, sizing up the next knife carefully. I didn't want to keep embarrassing myself in front of the frogs. "They're sort of a little culture all to their own, if you understand."
"Not particularly," Théa said. Without any sort of warning, she stepped beside me, taking the knife from my hand and showing me how she held it. "Take your gloves off; they're not helping. The pads of your fingers will give you more traction."
I spent a long, hesitant motion considering it, looking around at the machines all around me. None of them wore gloves, though I was sure the French officers wore them. I remembered them politely removing them before sitting down at the dinner table. Miriam had impressed on me just how important they were; that for a gentlewoman and an officer, they were as essential as shoes for going out in public, removed only under particular circumstances.
A bit self-consciously, I pulled off my gloves and tucked them into my sash. I took back the knife, feeling the edge against the hardened silicone pads of my fingers, resting lightly against the steel hinges.
I lined myself up, squared my shoulders, and threw. The knife embedded itself point first, so far into the wall that only the pommel was visible.
"Good throw!" Théa cheered. "Now we'll work on actually hitting the target. You think anyone will mind the wall?"
"I'll make sure they send somebody to patch it," I said, wincing a little. "I think perhaps I should watch you all a while longer, get a feeling for the technique."
Tiphaine stepped up next, almost dancing with a sort of bubbly eagerness as Théa handed her the knives. One after another, she threw them dead-centre into the target, making it look utterly effortless.
"How'd you start doing this again?" I asked.
"Oh, I can't even remember," she muttered, "Had to be before my time."
"Much before. We picked it up off the American machine officers," Thibault explained. "It was something to pass the time during dinners or formal events… medal ceremonies, balls..."
"Human things," I summarised.
"Yes, exactly!" he said, taking the knives up. "You know, I was one of the first of our machine officers, I've been where you were. A hundred and fifty years ago, so some things were different, yes, but I remember the same awkwardness. Not fitting in."
"How did you handle it?" I asked.
"We started throwing knives."
---
With the end of morning inspection, I left Sergeant Theda to manage the troops and retreated to my office, pretending to do the long-completed paperwork a few minutes until she knocked on my door. As expected, she had Private Theodore Fusilier-131098 in tow, who had a look about him less like he was facing a review of his behaviour and more like he was propped up in front of a firing squad.
"Take a seat, private," I offered, indicating to one of the chairs. Theda and I had struck upon a brilliant, innovative technique for situations like this: I would play the calm, reasonable officer the machines could appeal to; she would play the cruel, arbitrary NCO just looking to enact the harshest punishments possible. We'd never dealt with any discipline issues nearly as dire as this, but it had worked for us so far.
"Yes, ma'am," he replied stiffly, pulling out the chair and sitting down while his gaze fixed perfectly forward, somehow never turning his body in the process. He sat as though he were expecting somebody to pull the chair out from under him. I leaned back in my chair, trying to look casual, twirling my pen between my fingers with a clack-clack-clack.
"So, Sergeant Theda says she suspects you of some wrongdoing. I want to assure you that if-"
"No! I did it! I stole the medical kits!" he exclaimed instantly, breaking down and nearly doubling over in shame. "It was me! It was me. I'm so sorry!"
"Aww, I did not even get to do my bit!" Sergeant Theda complained, cuffing Theo's shoulder in frustration. "Come on; you are a soldier! You need to show more courage!"
"Sergeant, I'm not sure that's the lesson we need to impart here," I pointed out, and she just stalked to the back of the office, grumbling to herself. "In any case… Private, your previous issues have all been relatively minor. Nobody gets hurt from a spot of gambling, and if we threw the book at Fusiliers for public intoxication, we wouldn't have an Army. But what possessed you to steal the Crown's supplies?"
"Expensive supplies at that!" Theda added, clearly enjoying reminding him. He winced, pulling in on himself before seeming to remember his sergeant was right behind him and snapping back to attention, albeit still seated.
"I can explain!"
Last edited:
at the image of a knife embedded in a dartboard pointy bit out.
