- Location
- Central Standard Time
Reread a bit, and… foreshadowing!
Lieutenant Fusilier takes The King's Shilling
- Thread starter open_sketch
- Start date
- Original Novel Sci-Fi
Chapter 15: Plans & Confessions
- Location
- Ottawa
- Pronouns
- She/Her/Whatever
We staggered in a rush down the alley and out into the deserted, icy street, leaning heavily on each other to not slip into the snowdrifts. This was the heart of the city's human-facing commercial district, lined with shops closed for the holidays, the customers spending the holidays with their families and the machines who worked them presumably fighting off the boredom in parts of the town that catered more to them. At the far end of the street there were machines shuffling to and from the party, just visible by lamplight, but that was all.
I did my best to guide Théa down to the corner in hopes of spotting a cab, and we were rewarded by a heavy ploughing through the snow not long after, riding on a cushion of air behind the grinding chain of a caterpillar horse. We flagged it down somewhat desperately and piled in, and only once the warmth of the interior sunk in did I realise how cold my bare legs were.
"You quite alright?" the couchmachine asked, leaning back to look us over with genuine concern. "You were at the party, I suppose?"
"Bit too much for us, I'm afraid," Théa slurred. I pushed my legs as close to the heating vent as I could, wishing once again I could just wear my uniform trousers. At the very least, I should have bit the bullet and tried to pull stockings over the joints of my legs, though they had a tendency to rip on the hard edges of the metal.
"I'll say. Where to, then?"
"A machine pub, if you will. Somewhere quiet, out of the way, not picky," I asked, genuinely unsure. I didn't want to return to base yet; best we take our time and give Theda time to establish our cover. "We need something relaxing after the night we had."
"Ain't much like that tonight, girl, it's everyone's day off but mine y'know," the driver scoffed, then the cab jerked into motion. "Can think of one place, if I can trust you not to blab, it'd be my head if a bunch of Army rusting up the place."
"You have our word as officers," Théa said naively. The driver stopped quite suddenly, looking back and scanning us over again. Recognition seemed to dawn in his eyes as he stared at me.
"Bugg- I, my apologies, ladies, terribly uncouth of me," he said, falling into the familiar panicked formalities of a machine presented with the incongruity of my rank and my body. "No disrespect meant, didn't know who you were out of uniform. Um, would you still like me to take you-"
"Yes, please, driver," I warned, feeling exasperated. The familiar high of combat and the edge of the music was starting to fade, and I wasn't liking what was taking its place. "Where is this, exactly?"
"Cabbie pub, we're all out driving till midnight, it'll be dead empty miss," he assured us. "A quieter place there isn't in the city. No fare for the Lieutenant and-" he indicated to Théa curiously.
"Also Lieutenant Fusilier," she replied.
"I don't mind paying," I insisted.
"Cor, wouldn't dream of it. My patriotic duty, relaying our esteemed machine officers about," he said joyfully, the cab rattling through the empty streets. Snowflakes danced into existence ahead of the windscreen, caught in the headlamps. I just tried to curl up as best as I could in my seat as the thrill of the fight drained out of me.
"Stupid sods…"
"Dora?" Théa asked, leaning over.
"They just came to pieces in my hands. Christ, I hope I didn't kill…," I said, speaking a little louder over the rattling of the cab.
"They attacked you, did they not?" Théa pointed out. They hadn't, I'd read their intent and struck first. How much of a threat were they really? They'd been housecats and I'd been a tiger.
"They did," I said anyway, barely able to hear myself. "Stupid bloody scrap metal, the lot of them. I'm a Fusilier, they're mild steel, what could they do? What were they thinking?"
I'd never struck a machine in anger before Theda, just a few months ago, and now I'd torn apart a half-a-dozen in a back alley somewhere, dashed them to pieces, and Theda would take the blame. These weren't autowars or aranchnaforms or Stalkers, these were machines. People like me, but they'd been an enemy in that moment and I'd broken them like enemies. The only way I could imagine it being worse is if they'd been human.
"Dora, you defended yourself. Please, take a moment, process things," Théa said softly. "It's going to be alright."
It wasn't the rattle of the tracks; my hands were shaking against my bare legs and it was making a racket. I couldn't seem to will them still.
"... miss, Lieutenant, I… should I take you-" the driver spoke up. Théa leaned forward menacingly, gripping the back of the driver's seat.
"You won't speak a word of this to anyone, Driver," she snarled, the metal of the chair deforming with a groan under her fingers. "She was attacked. You will not make it worse for her. You keep your eyes forward, understand?"
"Yes, miss," he gasped. "My apologies again."
"Good." Théa leaned back into the chair and watched, and I realised that I'd fallen apart too early, too easily. The old me would have suppressed the whole thing, but here was going to pieces in front of a civilian. I couldn't let this chew me apart, but if all I did was dismiss it it'd never, truly, leave me.
Come on, Dora. I assured myself, trying to steady myself. Be rational. They pointed a gun at me, hurt Theda terribly, and were taking us off to somewhere else. If not to kill, perhaps something worse. What would a good person, a good Fusilier, do in that situation?
They ought to defend themselves, and others. A Fusilier ought to stand up against bullies.
Right. I was outnumbered and unarmed. My opposition had already shown lethal intent…
But… they were just civilians, little machines. I'm a Fusilier, a war machine. I ought to have found-
Yes, I am stronger. But they had weapons, numbers, and sobriety on their side. If I were slower or stupider, I'd be the one dead. Can I really expect myself to die to spare the person trying to kill me? Could I ask a good Fusilier to die for the whims of her killer?
I ought to fight to win, if I must. Others start fights, a good Fusilier ought to end them.
They're thinking people like you, which means they thought about every moment that led up to being the stupid bastards who picked a fight with me. It is good that I worry, because it means I still care, but I can't let myself fall to pieces now. Would a good Fusilier let this stop her before the mission was done?
I ought to press on. A good Fusilier ought to press on.
Besides…
They ought to have survived. We're a tough lot, even little Clerks with stupid little knives. A good Fusilier ought to keep this in proportion.
The rattling stopped. My fans slowed. The world felt, somehow, clearer.
"O-oh…" I gasped, feeling suddenly lightheaded. "Sorry, I got… a bit overwhelmed."
"It was not an easy thing," Théa assured me. She had no idea.
---
We arrived at the cabbie pub no long after, pulling down a side road and emerging in front of a quiet building with a dark brown front, lit by just a few dancing holographic candles. The sign called it The Runaway, depicting an early steam horse racing away from a shocked-looking machine with the old dot-eyed cameras. We shuffled inside, depositing the cover fee into a grubby box by the door, grateful for the warmth and the selection of comfortable chairs which, it seemed, had been recycled from decades of old cabs. The place was deserted but for a little Abby humming to herself as she cleaned a selection of headphones behind the bar.
With the place deserted, Théa went to the jukebox and selected something soothing, then crashed down opposite and, quite boldly, took my hands.
"Dora, how are you feeling?"
"Better," I assured her. My worries about the criminal machines were not gone, but they were sufficiently out of mind to focus on the next task. There wasn't a point in worrying about it; Theda would fill me in soon enough, I was sure. "How about you?"
"Me? I am not the one who was in a fight," she said. "What about your sergeant? She looked in a bad way."
"Theda's tough," I said simply. "The worst thing we could do for her is fuss. Whatever they hit her with was awful, though."
"I have not seen a weapon like it," Théa admitted. "If you are sure, you said you had a plan?"
"I… an inkling of one, I think," I said, glancing around once more to make sure there were no curious microphones about. The Abby was swaying to the music at the far side of the pub, duster in hand, clearly in her own little world. "Whoever is running this scheme wants Fusiliers, and they aren't picky. They're taking boxies and reups indiscriminately, presumably grabbing them at some point between the factory and reaching us, right?"
"But here is the problem. The trail simply goes cold, yes?" Théa observed.
"Right, and we won't discover anything at this end. The people at the factory have no idea either, because we don't know where in the process they snatch them. We need to fix that."
"... how?" Théa asked, and just to be safe, I leaned even closer in.
"Easy, Théa. I join the Army," I revealed. She looked at me like I'd gotten my head screwed on the wrong way.
"You're already in the Army, Dora, how hard did they hit you in the head?" she asked.
"No, look. I go to the Lieutenant Colonel and tell him the plan, ask for a few weeks leave. We get him to put in a rush order for reups, damn the inspections, we need replacements, that sort of thing, and I travel to Teachport as a beat-up old Fusilier looking to get back in uniform, see?"
"You are not beat up," she corrected insistently. I stared at her. "... you are textured."
"Kind of you, but no, I look like shit. They put me on a ship back to the RMC factory for refurbishment and ship me back out, and at some point our friends drop in on the process. Difference is, I'll know they're coming, and if that lot back there is any indication I should have no trouble taking them in."
She pondered this a while, nodding slowly.
"Perhaps. It is a risky plan,"
"Do you have a better idea? They tried to kill Theda and I. If somebody doesn't put an end to this, soon, more people will get hurt. Humans might get hurt," I said, invoking the magic words. Her eyes hardened.
"No, you're right. But you shouldn't go alone. I will come with you." A bitcrunched warble of laughter escaped me involuntarily. "What?"
"You? Nobody would fall for you as a reup. You're too…"
"Too what?"
"... too damned pretty," I said simply, shrugged. Might as well get that in the open. "You look like an officer, there's no way around it. Reups are usually working as bodyguards, they want to look big and intimidating and reassuring, not beautiful."
Too much, Dora.
"... perhaps I was employed by somebody who appreciates a beautiful machine?" she offered.
"Miles can't afford you," I snapped back, and her whole face lit up with bright pink light.
"A-ah, well, you…"
"In any case, it won't work. You're right I shouldn't go alone, but I don't know who else I can trust. Theda, perhaps, if she's well…"
"What about Mister Beckham?" she asked, still stumbling over her words. Oh joy, we'd be dancing around this too? Perhaps it was the newfound confidence, but I had to say something.
"I am not particularly in a mood to trust Miles right now, if I am to be honest," I said tersely.
"Oh. Is it because-?"
"I overheard you two, yes. I don't care what happened," I lied tersely. "It's like you said, no harm in a fling if you keep it between yourselves."
She looked utterly mortified. In the background, the song ran down, leaving us in silence.
"I… Dora, I cannot believe… and you have been so civil with me, I am so sorry…" she said, taking my hand. "I hadn't know you and him-"
"Oh Christ no, that's not-" I started, then realised all at once that this had just veered into either a confession or a lie I wasn't comfortable with and I hadn't the mental energy for any of it. "It's him I'm annoyed with…"
"I can understand, he never said anything about you," she said. "If I had known I'd never have let it go as far as it did, and I'll certainly put an end to things."
Somewhere in the background, the music picked up again, faster and louder this time. I briefly caught sight of the cute little Abby dancing away from the jukebox, cameras off, clearly lost in the bold strings and rhythmic drums.
"I…" Unlike the maid, I had no more energy for dancing about. "No, there's nothing with Miles, we're friends. I'm a lesbian, Théa. I'm annoyed with him because," I stumbled a bit, but found the courage to press on. "Because I was sweet on you, and he knew, and went ahead anyway without a word. And it's stupid that I'm annoyed, because I know you don't feel the same way about me anyway."
She blinked, slowly, then sat back and shook her head.
"Well, I am flattered. You are very new to romance, yes?" she asked.
"Yes, and I'm fucking terrible at it," I confessed. She nodded, clearly still holding back laughter.
"We are all stupid in the beginning. I truly had no idea you had affection for me in that way, you never said. Why?"
"W-why?" I gasped. "Look at you! You're so… elegant, perfect, you fit in so well, you're everything I'm too stupid and poor and fucked-up to be. You're so inspiring, and pretty and…" I realised at about this moment she was actually asking why had you not said anything but I'd already made such a hash of things I couldn't stop. "... and there's nobody else."
"What do you mean?" she asked.
"Nevermind, I'm sorry, this has been horrid of me," I concluded. "Please don't break things off with Miles on my account. God knows the man needs to catch a break."
I couldn't tell her what I meant, because it was only really congealing in my brain how pathetic it was now. There was nobody else because she was the only woman I could truly say was my equal in every way, who actually knew what I was going through. How lonely and strange and wonderful this bizarre experience was, dancing on the knife-edge between two worlds.
I looked at her, and more than the beautiful face and the close-tailored uniform, I saw somebody who might actually understand. She became this lifeline I could pine over, this dream of a kind of connection which seemed impossible anywhere else, and I had said nothing because I knew deep down it was foolish of me. If I dared say anything, the mirage would be dispelled.
"Thank you for telling me," Théa said quietly, taking my hand again. "I'm sure he didn't mean to hurt you."
"I'm not. He can be a thoughtless git," I muttered, even as I knew it was unfair. Miles could be cruel, yes, but mostly to himself. "Was he at least nice?"
"Perhaps not a perfect gentleman, but he is very kind to me. Funny, too," Théa reassured me. Then, with about the same conspiratorial secrecy as I had shown sharing my daring plan, she leaned in close. "And… I suspect I am not the first machine girl he has charmed. He seems to know his way about the place."
My turn to be mortified.
"M-my God, Théa, you can't just-"
"Given his thoughtlessness to you, I have earned a bit of kiss and tell. Or be kissed and tell, in this case," she said, tapping a finger to her unmoving lips. "Should I tell you what is most funny?"
I absolutely did not care to hear. I nodded anyway.
"He liked it when I gave him orders. Yes, Lieutenant and all," she said, clearly relishing every word. "Such a strange boy. Of course, you being his friend, you would never use such information against him, no?"
"Of course not," I assured her, already thinking of the ways I would needle him. "Wouldn't dream of it."
She sighed happily and settled back, lolling her head a little against the plush ex-cab seat. She'd clearly not entirely sobered up before she got here, and the music was once again washing over us both, carrying away the tension and urgency of the evening and, I fear, loosening my sound chip.
"It's me I'm really angry at anyway," I confessed out of the blue, resting my head on my arms as I leaned against the table. "I reacted to stumbling onto you two like a complete idiot."
"How so?"
"Danced with a human girl," I said matter-of-factly, the compound scandals of the conversation having robbed it of all its impact.
"Nothing wrong with that," Théa said.
"No, what is wrong is I did it right in front of Lieutenant Kennedy," I groaned. "We…"
"Hmm?"
"I was an idiot, on the other side of the portal. She confessed her feelings to me and panicked and dismissed… everything. Everything I felt for her, all at once. Told her it couldn't be, me a machine and her human. Broke her heart on the spot. She's been trying to piece it back together and here I am, dancing with some blond…" I reached around desperately for a word that could contain all of my complex feelings about Lieutenant Howlette, recoiled from the thought of applying their misogynistic connotations to a human woman, then found it in me anyway, "... bint, right in the middle of the party."
"No, you are right, that is very bad. What did you do?" she asked.
"A runner," I confessed. "Because I'm a coward, that's what."
Théa sat bolt upright, taking my hand yet again in both of hers and nearly yanking my already damaged arm from its socket.
"No! We must make this right!" she declared. "You have no spoken to her since the portal?"
"Miriam says I'll make it worse," I said.
"Perhaps! But you have already made it as bad as it can be. You must talk to her. There is still time to fix this!"
"I think that's the waltz talking," I pointed about, but she clearly wasn't having it.
"You are about to leave on a dangerous and very stupid plan-"
"It's not stupid…"
"-From which you may not return, and so this must be taken as your last chance! You must try to make things right, if you have any honour as a Fusilier!"
"I think the honour wore out of me a decade back, haven't been able to afford a replacement," I joked weakly. "This isn't a halfpenny romance, Théa, I really hurt her."
She settled down, smoothing her dress as she sat.
"... yes. Which is why you must try to at least talk to her," she insisted. "Perhaps then it can be the end of things. Perhaps, even, if she forgives you, it can be a new beginning. In any case, when we make such a mistake, we ought to try and make things right if we can, no? "
"Ought is a dangerous word," I warned, and she gave a lazy, limp-wristed gesture of dismissal.
"Besides, my sweet Dora, you are missing out," she slurred, half-slumped against the table. "It is a wonderful thing, the human tongue…"
I did my best to guide Théa down to the corner in hopes of spotting a cab, and we were rewarded by a heavy ploughing through the snow not long after, riding on a cushion of air behind the grinding chain of a caterpillar horse. We flagged it down somewhat desperately and piled in, and only once the warmth of the interior sunk in did I realise how cold my bare legs were.
"You quite alright?" the couchmachine asked, leaning back to look us over with genuine concern. "You were at the party, I suppose?"
"Bit too much for us, I'm afraid," Théa slurred. I pushed my legs as close to the heating vent as I could, wishing once again I could just wear my uniform trousers. At the very least, I should have bit the bullet and tried to pull stockings over the joints of my legs, though they had a tendency to rip on the hard edges of the metal.
"I'll say. Where to, then?"
"A machine pub, if you will. Somewhere quiet, out of the way, not picky," I asked, genuinely unsure. I didn't want to return to base yet; best we take our time and give Theda time to establish our cover. "We need something relaxing after the night we had."
"Ain't much like that tonight, girl, it's everyone's day off but mine y'know," the driver scoffed, then the cab jerked into motion. "Can think of one place, if I can trust you not to blab, it'd be my head if a bunch of Army rusting up the place."
"You have our word as officers," Théa said naively. The driver stopped quite suddenly, looking back and scanning us over again. Recognition seemed to dawn in his eyes as he stared at me.
"Bugg- I, my apologies, ladies, terribly uncouth of me," he said, falling into the familiar panicked formalities of a machine presented with the incongruity of my rank and my body. "No disrespect meant, didn't know who you were out of uniform. Um, would you still like me to take you-"
"Yes, please, driver," I warned, feeling exasperated. The familiar high of combat and the edge of the music was starting to fade, and I wasn't liking what was taking its place. "Where is this, exactly?"
"Cabbie pub, we're all out driving till midnight, it'll be dead empty miss," he assured us. "A quieter place there isn't in the city. No fare for the Lieutenant and-" he indicated to Théa curiously.
"Also Lieutenant Fusilier," she replied.
"I don't mind paying," I insisted.
"Cor, wouldn't dream of it. My patriotic duty, relaying our esteemed machine officers about," he said joyfully, the cab rattling through the empty streets. Snowflakes danced into existence ahead of the windscreen, caught in the headlamps. I just tried to curl up as best as I could in my seat as the thrill of the fight drained out of me.
"Stupid sods…"
"Dora?" Théa asked, leaning over.
"They just came to pieces in my hands. Christ, I hope I didn't kill…," I said, speaking a little louder over the rattling of the cab.
"They attacked you, did they not?" Théa pointed out. They hadn't, I'd read their intent and struck first. How much of a threat were they really? They'd been housecats and I'd been a tiger.
"They did," I said anyway, barely able to hear myself. "Stupid bloody scrap metal, the lot of them. I'm a Fusilier, they're mild steel, what could they do? What were they thinking?"
I'd never struck a machine in anger before Theda, just a few months ago, and now I'd torn apart a half-a-dozen in a back alley somewhere, dashed them to pieces, and Theda would take the blame. These weren't autowars or aranchnaforms or Stalkers, these were machines. People like me, but they'd been an enemy in that moment and I'd broken them like enemies. The only way I could imagine it being worse is if they'd been human.
"Dora, you defended yourself. Please, take a moment, process things," Théa said softly. "It's going to be alright."
It wasn't the rattle of the tracks; my hands were shaking against my bare legs and it was making a racket. I couldn't seem to will them still.
"... miss, Lieutenant, I… should I take you-" the driver spoke up. Théa leaned forward menacingly, gripping the back of the driver's seat.
"You won't speak a word of this to anyone, Driver," she snarled, the metal of the chair deforming with a groan under her fingers. "She was attacked. You will not make it worse for her. You keep your eyes forward, understand?"
"Yes, miss," he gasped. "My apologies again."
"Good." Théa leaned back into the chair and watched, and I realised that I'd fallen apart too early, too easily. The old me would have suppressed the whole thing, but here was going to pieces in front of a civilian. I couldn't let this chew me apart, but if all I did was dismiss it it'd never, truly, leave me.
Come on, Dora. I assured myself, trying to steady myself. Be rational. They pointed a gun at me, hurt Theda terribly, and were taking us off to somewhere else. If not to kill, perhaps something worse. What would a good person, a good Fusilier, do in that situation?
They ought to defend themselves, and others. A Fusilier ought to stand up against bullies.
Right. I was outnumbered and unarmed. My opposition had already shown lethal intent…
But… they were just civilians, little machines. I'm a Fusilier, a war machine. I ought to have found-
Yes, I am stronger. But they had weapons, numbers, and sobriety on their side. If I were slower or stupider, I'd be the one dead. Can I really expect myself to die to spare the person trying to kill me? Could I ask a good Fusilier to die for the whims of her killer?
I ought to fight to win, if I must. Others start fights, a good Fusilier ought to end them.
They're thinking people like you, which means they thought about every moment that led up to being the stupid bastards who picked a fight with me. It is good that I worry, because it means I still care, but I can't let myself fall to pieces now. Would a good Fusilier let this stop her before the mission was done?
I ought to press on. A good Fusilier ought to press on.
Besides…
They ought to have survived. We're a tough lot, even little Clerks with stupid little knives. A good Fusilier ought to keep this in proportion.
The rattling stopped. My fans slowed. The world felt, somehow, clearer.
"O-oh…" I gasped, feeling suddenly lightheaded. "Sorry, I got… a bit overwhelmed."
"It was not an easy thing," Théa assured me. She had no idea.
---
We arrived at the cabbie pub no long after, pulling down a side road and emerging in front of a quiet building with a dark brown front, lit by just a few dancing holographic candles. The sign called it The Runaway, depicting an early steam horse racing away from a shocked-looking machine with the old dot-eyed cameras. We shuffled inside, depositing the cover fee into a grubby box by the door, grateful for the warmth and the selection of comfortable chairs which, it seemed, had been recycled from decades of old cabs. The place was deserted but for a little Abby humming to herself as she cleaned a selection of headphones behind the bar.
With the place deserted, Théa went to the jukebox and selected something soothing, then crashed down opposite and, quite boldly, took my hands.
"Dora, how are you feeling?"
"Better," I assured her. My worries about the criminal machines were not gone, but they were sufficiently out of mind to focus on the next task. There wasn't a point in worrying about it; Theda would fill me in soon enough, I was sure. "How about you?"
"Me? I am not the one who was in a fight," she said. "What about your sergeant? She looked in a bad way."
"Theda's tough," I said simply. "The worst thing we could do for her is fuss. Whatever they hit her with was awful, though."
"I have not seen a weapon like it," Théa admitted. "If you are sure, you said you had a plan?"
"I… an inkling of one, I think," I said, glancing around once more to make sure there were no curious microphones about. The Abby was swaying to the music at the far side of the pub, duster in hand, clearly in her own little world. "Whoever is running this scheme wants Fusiliers, and they aren't picky. They're taking boxies and reups indiscriminately, presumably grabbing them at some point between the factory and reaching us, right?"
"But here is the problem. The trail simply goes cold, yes?" Théa observed.
"Right, and we won't discover anything at this end. The people at the factory have no idea either, because we don't know where in the process they snatch them. We need to fix that."
"... how?" Théa asked, and just to be safe, I leaned even closer in.
"Easy, Théa. I join the Army," I revealed. She looked at me like I'd gotten my head screwed on the wrong way.
"You're already in the Army, Dora, how hard did they hit you in the head?" she asked.
"No, look. I go to the Lieutenant Colonel and tell him the plan, ask for a few weeks leave. We get him to put in a rush order for reups, damn the inspections, we need replacements, that sort of thing, and I travel to Teachport as a beat-up old Fusilier looking to get back in uniform, see?"
"You are not beat up," she corrected insistently. I stared at her. "... you are textured."
"Kind of you, but no, I look like shit. They put me on a ship back to the RMC factory for refurbishment and ship me back out, and at some point our friends drop in on the process. Difference is, I'll know they're coming, and if that lot back there is any indication I should have no trouble taking them in."
She pondered this a while, nodding slowly.
"Perhaps. It is a risky plan,"
"Do you have a better idea? They tried to kill Theda and I. If somebody doesn't put an end to this, soon, more people will get hurt. Humans might get hurt," I said, invoking the magic words. Her eyes hardened.
"No, you're right. But you shouldn't go alone. I will come with you." A bitcrunched warble of laughter escaped me involuntarily. "What?"
"You? Nobody would fall for you as a reup. You're too…"
"Too what?"
"... too damned pretty," I said simply, shrugged. Might as well get that in the open. "You look like an officer, there's no way around it. Reups are usually working as bodyguards, they want to look big and intimidating and reassuring, not beautiful."
Too much, Dora.
"... perhaps I was employed by somebody who appreciates a beautiful machine?" she offered.
"Miles can't afford you," I snapped back, and her whole face lit up with bright pink light.
"A-ah, well, you…"
"In any case, it won't work. You're right I shouldn't go alone, but I don't know who else I can trust. Theda, perhaps, if she's well…"
"What about Mister Beckham?" she asked, still stumbling over her words. Oh joy, we'd be dancing around this too? Perhaps it was the newfound confidence, but I had to say something.
"I am not particularly in a mood to trust Miles right now, if I am to be honest," I said tersely.
"Oh. Is it because-?"
"I overheard you two, yes. I don't care what happened," I lied tersely. "It's like you said, no harm in a fling if you keep it between yourselves."
She looked utterly mortified. In the background, the song ran down, leaving us in silence.
"I… Dora, I cannot believe… and you have been so civil with me, I am so sorry…" she said, taking my hand. "I hadn't know you and him-"
"Oh Christ no, that's not-" I started, then realised all at once that this had just veered into either a confession or a lie I wasn't comfortable with and I hadn't the mental energy for any of it. "It's him I'm annoyed with…"
"I can understand, he never said anything about you," she said. "If I had known I'd never have let it go as far as it did, and I'll certainly put an end to things."
Somewhere in the background, the music picked up again, faster and louder this time. I briefly caught sight of the cute little Abby dancing away from the jukebox, cameras off, clearly lost in the bold strings and rhythmic drums.
"I…" Unlike the maid, I had no more energy for dancing about. "No, there's nothing with Miles, we're friends. I'm a lesbian, Théa. I'm annoyed with him because," I stumbled a bit, but found the courage to press on. "Because I was sweet on you, and he knew, and went ahead anyway without a word. And it's stupid that I'm annoyed, because I know you don't feel the same way about me anyway."
She blinked, slowly, then sat back and shook her head.
"Well, I am flattered. You are very new to romance, yes?" she asked.
"Yes, and I'm fucking terrible at it," I confessed. She nodded, clearly still holding back laughter.
"We are all stupid in the beginning. I truly had no idea you had affection for me in that way, you never said. Why?"
"W-why?" I gasped. "Look at you! You're so… elegant, perfect, you fit in so well, you're everything I'm too stupid and poor and fucked-up to be. You're so inspiring, and pretty and…" I realised at about this moment she was actually asking why had you not said anything but I'd already made such a hash of things I couldn't stop. "... and there's nobody else."
"What do you mean?" she asked.
"Nevermind, I'm sorry, this has been horrid of me," I concluded. "Please don't break things off with Miles on my account. God knows the man needs to catch a break."
I couldn't tell her what I meant, because it was only really congealing in my brain how pathetic it was now. There was nobody else because she was the only woman I could truly say was my equal in every way, who actually knew what I was going through. How lonely and strange and wonderful this bizarre experience was, dancing on the knife-edge between two worlds.
I looked at her, and more than the beautiful face and the close-tailored uniform, I saw somebody who might actually understand. She became this lifeline I could pine over, this dream of a kind of connection which seemed impossible anywhere else, and I had said nothing because I knew deep down it was foolish of me. If I dared say anything, the mirage would be dispelled.
"Thank you for telling me," Théa said quietly, taking my hand again. "I'm sure he didn't mean to hurt you."
"I'm not. He can be a thoughtless git," I muttered, even as I knew it was unfair. Miles could be cruel, yes, but mostly to himself. "Was he at least nice?"
"Perhaps not a perfect gentleman, but he is very kind to me. Funny, too," Théa reassured me. Then, with about the same conspiratorial secrecy as I had shown sharing my daring plan, she leaned in close. "And… I suspect I am not the first machine girl he has charmed. He seems to know his way about the place."
My turn to be mortified.
"M-my God, Théa, you can't just-"
"Given his thoughtlessness to you, I have earned a bit of kiss and tell. Or be kissed and tell, in this case," she said, tapping a finger to her unmoving lips. "Should I tell you what is most funny?"
I absolutely did not care to hear. I nodded anyway.
"He liked it when I gave him orders. Yes, Lieutenant and all," she said, clearly relishing every word. "Such a strange boy. Of course, you being his friend, you would never use such information against him, no?"
"Of course not," I assured her, already thinking of the ways I would needle him. "Wouldn't dream of it."
She sighed happily and settled back, lolling her head a little against the plush ex-cab seat. She'd clearly not entirely sobered up before she got here, and the music was once again washing over us both, carrying away the tension and urgency of the evening and, I fear, loosening my sound chip.
"It's me I'm really angry at anyway," I confessed out of the blue, resting my head on my arms as I leaned against the table. "I reacted to stumbling onto you two like a complete idiot."
"How so?"
"Danced with a human girl," I said matter-of-factly, the compound scandals of the conversation having robbed it of all its impact.
"Nothing wrong with that," Théa said.
"No, what is wrong is I did it right in front of Lieutenant Kennedy," I groaned. "We…"
"Hmm?"
"I was an idiot, on the other side of the portal. She confessed her feelings to me and panicked and dismissed… everything. Everything I felt for her, all at once. Told her it couldn't be, me a machine and her human. Broke her heart on the spot. She's been trying to piece it back together and here I am, dancing with some blond…" I reached around desperately for a word that could contain all of my complex feelings about Lieutenant Howlette, recoiled from the thought of applying their misogynistic connotations to a human woman, then found it in me anyway, "... bint, right in the middle of the party."
"No, you are right, that is very bad. What did you do?" she asked.
"A runner," I confessed. "Because I'm a coward, that's what."
Théa sat bolt upright, taking my hand yet again in both of hers and nearly yanking my already damaged arm from its socket.
"No! We must make this right!" she declared. "You have no spoken to her since the portal?"
"Miriam says I'll make it worse," I said.
"Perhaps! But you have already made it as bad as it can be. You must talk to her. There is still time to fix this!"
"I think that's the waltz talking," I pointed about, but she clearly wasn't having it.
"You are about to leave on a dangerous and very stupid plan-"
"It's not stupid…"
"-From which you may not return, and so this must be taken as your last chance! You must try to make things right, if you have any honour as a Fusilier!"
"I think the honour wore out of me a decade back, haven't been able to afford a replacement," I joked weakly. "This isn't a halfpenny romance, Théa, I really hurt her."
She settled down, smoothing her dress as she sat.
"... yes. Which is why you must try to at least talk to her," she insisted. "Perhaps then it can be the end of things. Perhaps, even, if she forgives you, it can be a new beginning. In any case, when we make such a mistake, we ought to try and make things right if we can, no? "
"Ought is a dangerous word," I warned, and she gave a lazy, limp-wristed gesture of dismissal.
"Besides, my sweet Dora, you are missing out," she slurred, half-slumped against the table. "It is a wonderful thing, the human tongue…"
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- Location
- Minnesota
- Pronouns
- She/Her
Really lovely update! It's such a hard turn away from the last chapter in a way that's very cathartic. Wonderful to see Dora's efforts in the reprogramming department bear fruit. And having things out with Théa too! It's neat to get a better sense of her character from this.
It's really neat to see Dora get a handle on her traumas. Looks like those reprogramming sessions are helpful!
- Location
- Soviet Canuckistan
Oh, it's so delightful to see this back. Fusie's plan isn't completly terrible but there's so delightfully many ways for it to go wrong. And hopefully she'll be able to have a helpful talk with Kennedy.
Also that poor Cabbie. He had no idea what mess he was picking up...
Also that poor Cabbie. He had no idea what mess he was picking up...
- Pronouns
- She/Her
Oh no.
finishes chapter
Oh no I am in this picture and I do not like it one bit. Well done, really good character writing, you absolutely nailed it.
- Pronouns
- He/Him
Haha yes!
I hope she does work it out with Kennedy, OR ELSE (I know where you live erika)
I hope she does work it out with Kennedy, OR ELSE (I know where you live erika)
- Location
- Under a cat
- Pronouns
- She/Her
It's nice to see Dora and Thea really getting along together. I thinks she's a good influence on our dear Dora. Miles is still a prick (who I agree with far more than I like).
I was wondering how Dora would 'Take the King's Shilling' given that she has been a soldier for some time. As zany schemes go, this plan is fairly reasonable. I would like Dora to get some backup. It can't be /that/ hard to find another beat up machine willing to take the mission.
I was wondering how Dora would 'Take the King's Shilling' given that she has been a soldier for some time. As zany schemes go, this plan is fairly reasonable. I would like Dora to get some backup. It can't be /that/ hard to find another beat up machine willing to take the mission.
- Pronouns
- She/Her
Hee, more layers upon layers to enjoy once again!
"You're exceptional, and I'm not."
[i am in this image and i don't like it.jpg]
I get that Dora's not that self-aware, to recognise that's part of what she was doing there, but it's a nice touch nonetheless. Especially because it's also revealing of why any relationship couldn't work; you can consciously claim to think and feel that you're equals all you want, that you understand each other in a way only you could, and that last part may even be true, but ... when you've got someone so firmly affixed to a pedestal, and yourself rather lower, you're never going to have an equal, balanced relationship. And that's no good for anybody involved.
I wonder how much Dora's processing that she still feels that way about Diana, at least on some level; after all, she was just reflecting (about a different thing, true, but still) about how dismissing events & emotions means they never truly leave her ... and it's hard to notice Dora observing a girl's complexion and the "beautiful waves" in her hair and then think "Yeah, you're definitely over her. Nothing going on there at all."
On the other hand, I know better than to hope or expect we (or Dora) will lightly or easily get off the hook here, not least because "confrontation/confession of feelings right before departing for Certain Danger/Doom" is such a romance trope that I'd be very surprised indeed if Erika doesn't play with or subvert it in some way (particularly in a way that makes it hurt). But also because for that conversation to go well it would involve two hurting and damaged people, both with established track records for not handling Feelings conversations well, to be too kind and mature and emotionally self-aware to be honest and narratively satisfying ... even if I don't personally want 'honest and narratively satisfying' right now, I want the idiots to stop being idiots and kiss each other better dammit.
I'm very glad that Dora's not totally suppressing her baggage, or refusing to process it ... though I am a little worried about what could take the place of that initial cope; "what do good soldiers do?" can lead into some concerning places if one isn't careful, and Dora doesn't have the greatest track record when it comes to being careful.
See, I dunno about anyone else, but to me that definitely also reads as an answer, albeit unintended, to why had you not said anything:
"You're exceptional, and I'm not."
[i am in this image and i don't like it.jpg]
I get that Dora's not that self-aware, to recognise that's part of what she was doing there, but it's a nice touch nonetheless. Especially because it's also revealing of why any relationship couldn't work; you can consciously claim to think and feel that you're equals all you want, that you understand each other in a way only you could, and that last part may even be true, but ... when you've got someone so firmly affixed to a pedestal, and yourself rather lower, you're never going to have an equal, balanced relationship. And that's no good for anybody involved.
i mean speaking only for me i'm ok with it dora; she's an obnoxious straight girl who danced with you explicitly in the hopes of causing a stir, 'bint' is among the kinder words you could reasonably use.
I wonder how much Dora's processing that she still feels that way about Diana, at least on some level; after all, she was just reflecting (about a different thing, true, but still) about how dismissing events & emotions means they never truly leave her ... and it's hard to notice Dora observing a girl's complexion and the "beautiful waves" in her hair and then think "Yeah, you're definitely over her. Nothing going on there at all."
I am fully looking forward to an ironic chuckle at this line when this gets published with its pulp-y cover and (fingers crossed every which-way) positively-resolved romantic arc.
On the other hand, I know better than to hope or expect we (or Dora) will lightly or easily get off the hook here, not least because "confrontation/confession of feelings right before departing for Certain Danger/Doom" is such a romance trope that I'd be very surprised indeed if Erika doesn't play with or subvert it in some way (particularly in a way that makes it hurt). But also because for that conversation to go well it would involve two hurting and damaged people, both with established track records for not handling Feelings conversations well, to be too kind and mature and emotionally self-aware to be honest and narratively satisfying ... even if I don't personally want 'honest and narratively satisfying' right now, I want the idiots to stop being idiots and kiss each other better dammit.
If this is the bad cop approach, does it count as the good cop approach to offer cookies and coffee in exchange for them working it out? I am not above offering cookies and coffee to get happy fictional lesbians.
slybrarian
Creature of Fable
- Location
- A Far and Sunless Land
- Pronouns
- He/Him
What a wonderful surprise to see an update!
- Location
- Yes
Ought ought ought again, she's handling it better but she's not 'cured'. Of course, who is?
I'm always impressed by your ability to write in British in these novels. I know this isn't how you talk and I'm pretty sure it's not how you think, so you're putting the effort in to get the little things right and that's greatly appreciated.
NEW CHAPTER! NEW CHAPTER! NEW CHAPTER!
My favourite fic has a new chapter!
❤️❤️❤️
My favourite fic has a new chapter!
❤️❤️❤️
- Location
- Ottawa
- Pronouns
- She/Her/Whatever
i act out scenes as i write them, saying characters lines and imitating their body language to try and find natural constructions. i spent much of the writing of this update half-turned in my chair as i wrote the driver, talking over his shoulder. this helps immensely with the britishing, because i can ask myself if the words would sound natural simply by acting out scenes and then comparing them to friends and media, and stop to rewrite and research where they don't match up
to help with this, i mentally cast actors, youtubers, or my friends as various characters. i double-check their dialog by trying to imagine those people saying the lines, and rewriting them if don't seem like they would fit. for an obvious example, ensign sumner is played by a young emma watson in my head, so if i can't picture hermione delivering the line i need to work on it. a lot of the major characters talk in the voices of various friends; that helps a lot simply with establishing cadence.
except for dora. dora's voice is really complicated and took a long time to find, but basically, it's those awkward scenes where Sharpe has to pretend to be respectable spun into an entire characterization. it's okay that it's not always consistent, because at this point Dora is on her third or fourth level of self-conscious speech monitoring.
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Chapter 16 - Refurbishment
- Location
- Ottawa
- Pronouns
- She/Her/Whatever
We left soon after, procuring the services of one of the returning cabbies dropping by who was eager for one last run in the snow. Wary of the ice, Théa and the driver helped me to the door, dragging my damaged foot behind me even as I protested that I could walk just fine.
After a brief wait the door swung open to reveal a shocked Miriam.
"Miss, your dress!" she exclaimed, horrified. "Your leg!"
"She was assaulted, Corporeal," Théa explained hastily. "She has trouble walking. Can you fetch an engineer?"
"Our staff are off tonight," she said, taking my other arm from the driver. "Once she's settled in-"
"If you'll show me the way, I'll fetch somebody from the base," our driver announced. Once she was sure Miriam had me, Théa turned and stepped out, the driver doffing his cap and following her back out into the cold.
Miriam led me to the sitting room and the overstuffed chair there, sitting me down carefully and snapping on the fireplace before beginning an inspection of the damage. She seemed to know what she was doing, more than I'd thought.
"You are a mechanic too, atop everything else?" I asked, as she lifted my leg gingerly to inspect the deformed metal.
"My duty is to your comfort and health, Miss. I was programmed with medical knowledge for my usual clients, it would have been remiss of me not to invest in basic mechanics." She paused, her glowing eyes wincing. "She said you were assaulted? By the smugglers you were after, I suppose."
I did not question how she knew; she always seemed to know.
"Yes. Theda is going to explain to the police. Things are far more serious, but I have a plan. I'll need to talk to the Lieutenant Colonel as soon as I am able."
"I have a feeling I won't much care for your plan, but it can wait until a mechanic has seen you," she said, shaking her head and sighing. "This will not be the last time, and the longer you wait the more expensive it will be, you know?"
"I can't afford-" I began to protest, and she silenced me with a stern glance.
"How long have you known that and done nothing, miss?" she asked sternly. "What, were you just going to do nothing until a solution fell into your lap, until you loot another alien sword to pawn?"
I didn't know what to say to that. I just shrugged.
"I understand the desire to put it off, but you cannot run forever. Especially not on a leg like this," she said. "So you cannot afford it, that merely means we need to start thinking proactively. What can you do to make up the money, or lessen the burden?"
"I don't know," I said, but she fixed me with a stare that made it clear this was not an acceptable answer. I racked my brain. "I haven't the time to take on another job, but perhaps I could find something informal. Perhaps I could sell an interview to the newspaper, I know some still want one. I could pawn my pistol, it's not strictly required for an officer… are any of these good?"
"A start. Can you think of anything which does not place yet more burden on a machine already falling apart?" Miriam prompted. Right. Don't imagine this was me; this is a Good Fusilier in distress.
"Well.. I could mention it to the Lieutenant Colonel so he could raise the issue with Headquarters to have my repairs covered like a line soldier, though that would take time and might not work. I need a backup plan," I offered, continuing as she nodded in encouragement. If the command structure couldn't do it, well, when Fusiliers had an issue they needed help with they raised collection with their peers. "I… I suppose I could mention it to the other officers, try to get a l-loan. But I'd pay it back, of course, with interest-"
"Miss, stop," she said, nodding. "You should not be so mortified, this is what officers do. When their accounts run dry, and it happens to the best of them, if they cannot turn to family they turn to friends."
"Miles can't lend me anything. Hell, I lend him money," I pointed out, then slow horror dawned. "What if he's hurt?"
"You think Lieutenant Turner would hesitate a moment to cover his expenses?" she asked. "Do you think he'd hesitate a moment for yours?"
"It's not the same," I said lamely, but I knew I was defeated. "Would he really?"
"You could, at the very least, ask. If not him, your Captain, or perhaps your old Lieutenant? We all know you would be a very reliable debtor, and in any case friends do not lend money to friends to turn a profit. I doubt they'd let you pay them back, to be honest. So what is your hesitation?"
It was obvious; I wasn't worth it. But, remembering my earlier thought, I imagined, what if Théa needed the money? Would I judge her if she asked? Would I think she didn't deserve it?
"Nothing, if I think on it," I concluded, sinking into the chair and glancing for the window, hoping for the lamps of the cab bringing a mechanic. "Let me explain while we wait. My plan is to take leave and rejoin the Army as a private soldier. They'd send me back for refurbishing and send me off with the new boxies, see? So I can intercept them."
Miriam raised a pixilated eyebrow, but her eyes were sparkling with joy.
"That's clever of you, Miss. getting the Army to cover your repairs the way they should," she exclaimed. "You should have led with that, it's brilliant! Not sustainable, of course, but the Colonel would certainly sign off on it once-"
"T-that's not why!" I protested. When I'd thought of it, I vaguely imagined to myself I simply wouldn't get refurbished; I'd maybe show them the letter or something so as not to take advantage of the deception. Now that I was actually thinking about doing it, however, it seemed absurd I'd not even consider it. "Wouldn't that be defrauding the crown?"
"Hardly. You'd need the Lieutenant Colonel's backing anyway, I'm certain he can work something with the money people while you're doing the hard work. Just work it out with him when you ask, and be honest about how it would be helpful."
"Wouldn't that make him suspect this whole thing is a scheme to get repairs?" I asked. The door knocked, and Miriam stood to move toward it.
"Certainly, but all that means is that when he shoots down your foolish plan, he may instead offer to just pay for it," she concluded, pulling open the door to reveal a contract mechanic with a toolbag in hand. "Ah! Do come in."
---
"I could just pay for it, you know?"
"I appreciate the offer, but showing up worn will be helpful to the plan," I explained to the Lieutenant Colonel, pacing unsteadily around his office. "Fusiliers sign back up in two states; either downgraded to civilian parts or worn to pieces, you see?"
I hadn't been in the office of the Lieutenant Colonel since I had taken my commission; it was just as overflowing with paperwork as when I'd last seen it, but this time I was better able to take a look around the space, not so consumed with the singular moment that my entire life had been building to. He'd filled it in equal parts with memorability from his campaigns and his civilian life; a thirty-year old officer's coat pressed into a frame next to a painting of a world from orbit I imagined must be the Harrison family estate. It was a beautiful jewel of a world, of shallow cyan seas and green spreading from the equator as Earth life colonised the once-dead planet. A small, carefully painted family portrait sat behind the man, depicting a slightly younger-looking Lieutenant Colonel, a raven-haired woman bedecked in green jewellery, and a pair of young children.
"Do they? I thought the private sector paid well and that's why you jump ship. For something better than a shilling a day," he asked, leaning back in his chair and regarding my nervous movements. "A bodyguard fetches a damn good salary, as I understand it, especially for frontier explorers."
"It's not for the money. If you've had a rough ten years, some bad battles, maybe lost some friends, one might seek some calmer duties," I explained. I'd briefly contemplated it myself, at the worst times. "In any case, a few more shillings can still not be enough to keep a Fusilier going; you know our operating costs better than most humans, I think."
He chuckled.
"Too right! I'm glad they don't make it pay for that as well, reimbursement or no," he declared. "I would have to cover your costs as a re-up anyway, if you do want to go through with it, and that of your Sergeant. She's agreed to this caper?"
"Yes, Lieutenant Colonel." I'd asked her this morning, and honestly, eager was underselling her desire to get her hands on the ringleaders of this little gang. It had been three days and she still twitched spasmodically, her head jerking from some hidden electrical damage the regimental engineer had still not managed to fix in the time since the police had released her.
"And you're sure we can't simply get more information from the machines you… I mean, your Sergeant disabled?" he asked, regarding me carefully. "Should we not at least wait?"
"The one most likely to know anything more than the others is the Eve, who is still at large, and their Clerk, who needs weeks of repair at least," I pointed out. "And the longer we wait, the more likely it is the gang will have moved on."
"Why would they not have moved on already? Surely they know better than to hit the same place twice, or perhaps they have all the Fusiliers they need?"
"In that case I turn up in the barracks in a few weeks somewhat embarrassed," I admitted. "But setting up a smuggling job like this wouldn't be easy, or cheap. If we don't seem to have a lead on them, I imagine they'd want to keep using it as long as they could to save on costs and risk."
The Lieutenant-Colonel nodded slowly. He stood and opened a cabinet, glass clinking inside.
"Would you like- oh, my apologies, it's reflex at this point," Harrison said, pouring himself a small amount of amber liquid. "I'll admit, I think it's a foolish plan, but I haven't got a better one and I've learned well enough that if you wait for the Army to act, you'll go grey. Or rust? In any case, I can't hardly give my approval."
I had suspected as much for the last several minutes. I was already trying to think of another plan.
"That said, I do approve of your indefinite leave, of course. You stayed on-duty through the holidays, which I of course appreciate, how could I not?" he continued. "Starting tomorrow, of course. And once you're on leave, I can hardly stop you from doing whatever strikes your fancy, but just in case, I'll write you a letter to show anyone who might give you trouble. I wont have one of my officers held up because some bureaucrat thinks she's a common Fusilier, you understand?"
It was a shamefully long pause before the implications all fully set in.
"Of course. Thank you, sir."
After a brief wait the door swung open to reveal a shocked Miriam.
"Miss, your dress!" she exclaimed, horrified. "Your leg!"
"She was assaulted, Corporeal," Théa explained hastily. "She has trouble walking. Can you fetch an engineer?"
"Our staff are off tonight," she said, taking my other arm from the driver. "Once she's settled in-"
"If you'll show me the way, I'll fetch somebody from the base," our driver announced. Once she was sure Miriam had me, Théa turned and stepped out, the driver doffing his cap and following her back out into the cold.
Miriam led me to the sitting room and the overstuffed chair there, sitting me down carefully and snapping on the fireplace before beginning an inspection of the damage. She seemed to know what she was doing, more than I'd thought.
"You are a mechanic too, atop everything else?" I asked, as she lifted my leg gingerly to inspect the deformed metal.
"My duty is to your comfort and health, Miss. I was programmed with medical knowledge for my usual clients, it would have been remiss of me not to invest in basic mechanics." She paused, her glowing eyes wincing. "She said you were assaulted? By the smugglers you were after, I suppose."
I did not question how she knew; she always seemed to know.
"Yes. Theda is going to explain to the police. Things are far more serious, but I have a plan. I'll need to talk to the Lieutenant Colonel as soon as I am able."
"I have a feeling I won't much care for your plan, but it can wait until a mechanic has seen you," she said, shaking her head and sighing. "This will not be the last time, and the longer you wait the more expensive it will be, you know?"
"I can't afford-" I began to protest, and she silenced me with a stern glance.
"How long have you known that and done nothing, miss?" she asked sternly. "What, were you just going to do nothing until a solution fell into your lap, until you loot another alien sword to pawn?"
I didn't know what to say to that. I just shrugged.
"I understand the desire to put it off, but you cannot run forever. Especially not on a leg like this," she said. "So you cannot afford it, that merely means we need to start thinking proactively. What can you do to make up the money, or lessen the burden?"
"I don't know," I said, but she fixed me with a stare that made it clear this was not an acceptable answer. I racked my brain. "I haven't the time to take on another job, but perhaps I could find something informal. Perhaps I could sell an interview to the newspaper, I know some still want one. I could pawn my pistol, it's not strictly required for an officer… are any of these good?"
"A start. Can you think of anything which does not place yet more burden on a machine already falling apart?" Miriam prompted. Right. Don't imagine this was me; this is a Good Fusilier in distress.
"Well.. I could mention it to the Lieutenant Colonel so he could raise the issue with Headquarters to have my repairs covered like a line soldier, though that would take time and might not work. I need a backup plan," I offered, continuing as she nodded in encouragement. If the command structure couldn't do it, well, when Fusiliers had an issue they needed help with they raised collection with their peers. "I… I suppose I could mention it to the other officers, try to get a l-loan. But I'd pay it back, of course, with interest-"
"Miss, stop," she said, nodding. "You should not be so mortified, this is what officers do. When their accounts run dry, and it happens to the best of them, if they cannot turn to family they turn to friends."
"Miles can't lend me anything. Hell, I lend him money," I pointed out, then slow horror dawned. "What if he's hurt?"
"You think Lieutenant Turner would hesitate a moment to cover his expenses?" she asked. "Do you think he'd hesitate a moment for yours?"
"It's not the same," I said lamely, but I knew I was defeated. "Would he really?"
"You could, at the very least, ask. If not him, your Captain, or perhaps your old Lieutenant? We all know you would be a very reliable debtor, and in any case friends do not lend money to friends to turn a profit. I doubt they'd let you pay them back, to be honest. So what is your hesitation?"
It was obvious; I wasn't worth it. But, remembering my earlier thought, I imagined, what if Théa needed the money? Would I judge her if she asked? Would I think she didn't deserve it?
"Nothing, if I think on it," I concluded, sinking into the chair and glancing for the window, hoping for the lamps of the cab bringing a mechanic. "Let me explain while we wait. My plan is to take leave and rejoin the Army as a private soldier. They'd send me back for refurbishing and send me off with the new boxies, see? So I can intercept them."
Miriam raised a pixilated eyebrow, but her eyes were sparkling with joy.
"That's clever of you, Miss. getting the Army to cover your repairs the way they should," she exclaimed. "You should have led with that, it's brilliant! Not sustainable, of course, but the Colonel would certainly sign off on it once-"
"T-that's not why!" I protested. When I'd thought of it, I vaguely imagined to myself I simply wouldn't get refurbished; I'd maybe show them the letter or something so as not to take advantage of the deception. Now that I was actually thinking about doing it, however, it seemed absurd I'd not even consider it. "Wouldn't that be defrauding the crown?"
"Hardly. You'd need the Lieutenant Colonel's backing anyway, I'm certain he can work something with the money people while you're doing the hard work. Just work it out with him when you ask, and be honest about how it would be helpful."
"Wouldn't that make him suspect this whole thing is a scheme to get repairs?" I asked. The door knocked, and Miriam stood to move toward it.
"Certainly, but all that means is that when he shoots down your foolish plan, he may instead offer to just pay for it," she concluded, pulling open the door to reveal a contract mechanic with a toolbag in hand. "Ah! Do come in."
---
"I could just pay for it, you know?"
"I appreciate the offer, but showing up worn will be helpful to the plan," I explained to the Lieutenant Colonel, pacing unsteadily around his office. "Fusiliers sign back up in two states; either downgraded to civilian parts or worn to pieces, you see?"
I hadn't been in the office of the Lieutenant Colonel since I had taken my commission; it was just as overflowing with paperwork as when I'd last seen it, but this time I was better able to take a look around the space, not so consumed with the singular moment that my entire life had been building to. He'd filled it in equal parts with memorability from his campaigns and his civilian life; a thirty-year old officer's coat pressed into a frame next to a painting of a world from orbit I imagined must be the Harrison family estate. It was a beautiful jewel of a world, of shallow cyan seas and green spreading from the equator as Earth life colonised the once-dead planet. A small, carefully painted family portrait sat behind the man, depicting a slightly younger-looking Lieutenant Colonel, a raven-haired woman bedecked in green jewellery, and a pair of young children.
"Do they? I thought the private sector paid well and that's why you jump ship. For something better than a shilling a day," he asked, leaning back in his chair and regarding my nervous movements. "A bodyguard fetches a damn good salary, as I understand it, especially for frontier explorers."
"It's not for the money. If you've had a rough ten years, some bad battles, maybe lost some friends, one might seek some calmer duties," I explained. I'd briefly contemplated it myself, at the worst times. "In any case, a few more shillings can still not be enough to keep a Fusilier going; you know our operating costs better than most humans, I think."
He chuckled.
"Too right! I'm glad they don't make it pay for that as well, reimbursement or no," he declared. "I would have to cover your costs as a re-up anyway, if you do want to go through with it, and that of your Sergeant. She's agreed to this caper?"
"Yes, Lieutenant Colonel." I'd asked her this morning, and honestly, eager was underselling her desire to get her hands on the ringleaders of this little gang. It had been three days and she still twitched spasmodically, her head jerking from some hidden electrical damage the regimental engineer had still not managed to fix in the time since the police had released her.
"And you're sure we can't simply get more information from the machines you… I mean, your Sergeant disabled?" he asked, regarding me carefully. "Should we not at least wait?"
"The one most likely to know anything more than the others is the Eve, who is still at large, and their Clerk, who needs weeks of repair at least," I pointed out. "And the longer we wait, the more likely it is the gang will have moved on."
"Why would they not have moved on already? Surely they know better than to hit the same place twice, or perhaps they have all the Fusiliers they need?"
"In that case I turn up in the barracks in a few weeks somewhat embarrassed," I admitted. "But setting up a smuggling job like this wouldn't be easy, or cheap. If we don't seem to have a lead on them, I imagine they'd want to keep using it as long as they could to save on costs and risk."
The Lieutenant-Colonel nodded slowly. He stood and opened a cabinet, glass clinking inside.
"Would you like- oh, my apologies, it's reflex at this point," Harrison said, pouring himself a small amount of amber liquid. "I'll admit, I think it's a foolish plan, but I haven't got a better one and I've learned well enough that if you wait for the Army to act, you'll go grey. Or rust? In any case, I can't hardly give my approval."
I had suspected as much for the last several minutes. I was already trying to think of another plan.
"That said, I do approve of your indefinite leave, of course. You stayed on-duty through the holidays, which I of course appreciate, how could I not?" he continued. "Starting tomorrow, of course. And once you're on leave, I can hardly stop you from doing whatever strikes your fancy, but just in case, I'll write you a letter to show anyone who might give you trouble. I wont have one of my officers held up because some bureaucrat thinks she's a common Fusilier, you understand?"
It was a shamefully long pause before the implications all fully set in.
"Of course. Thank you, sir."
- Location
- Soviet Canuckistan
I do hope Fusie mentioned the whole "by the way, repairs are covered for line troops, can they be covered for me?" thing as well as her and Theda's Zany Scheme. EIther way, this looks like it's going to be shenanniganariffic.
- Location
- Yes
...
...
Oh my God, sketch, you can't do that. Theda is a merger Sergeant Harper and Sergeant Hakeswill? She's the outward 'good soldier' who hates the main character specifically (until the Harperesque fight), and now she has a twitch.
- Location
- Ottawa
- Pronouns
- She/Her/Whatever
just try and stop me!!!!!
I look forward to seeing the absolute mess things are going to become!!
Yeah, she can, it's written in the scriptures.
- Location
- Under a cat
- Pronouns
- She/Her
I'm surprised she hasn't done this already. I might be basing assumptions on the wrong Victorian novels, but I keep expecting a Watson type character to show up and write up Fusie's adventures in-universe.
Heh. This bit is kinda dark, but it made me laugh. It's a roundabout approach to self-compassion, but whatever works.
bookwyrm
Doom of Public Libraries
- Location
- Wichita, Kansas
I do wonder what's the point for this whole smuggling scheme, like any wannabe crank who wants to carve out their own private empire reliving the days of the warrior nobility and declare themselves high admiral of the corsair Quasars or whatever can probably just pick up a bunch of Fusilier burn-outs that go into security or like the rare decommissioned Fusilier drummed out of service or even do some real shenaniganry with a shady contract for Fusiliers ordered directly from the factory under like some distorted surviving elements of the old EIC private armies or the Dey of neo-Algiers or something. If you really wanted to, you could just, pick a direction and head out into the black. The fact that here no one has speaks I think to people that can't be exposed publicly sponsoring such militaristic enterprises without some hard questions being asked, both in regards to suddenly becoming major merchants of death while still hoping to enjoy the fruits of Concert society, and also I think, to whatever the actual purpose is that they must steal the army's Fusies for.
In what's probably a lot of inspiration for this story, there's a big plotline where Sharpe find all the new recruits that the South Essex was supposed to have somehow disappeared and only existed on paper, leading him and Harper down the trail to what is eventually revealed to be a gigantic grift and conspiracy between several officers to recruit men on the good name of the South Essex and then pocket the money while turning them into ghost soldiers on the regimental rolls, diverting them to like the Regency equivalent to a black site were they can be trained up off the books and then auctioned out to officers of other regiments who need to pad their numbers, so that they in turn can find new victims to sentence in hellish malarial posts or so that they can hide their own grafts and present all the warm bodies they'd been collecting the pay stubs for all this time.
I think in the world of Lieutenant Fusilier, what this would be is the smuggling conspiracy covertly press-ganging all these machines so that they have the facsimile of lawful authority and military service while trafficking these Fusiliers for like underground gladiatorial bloodsport, the sick thrills of like fighting other Fusiliers to the death or like hunting the most dangerous game as overshadowed thirdborn failsons "prove" their human worth in "hunts" carefully designed for them to win, things like that. At least, that's my guess.
In what's probably a lot of inspiration for this story, there's a big plotline where Sharpe find all the new recruits that the South Essex was supposed to have somehow disappeared and only existed on paper, leading him and Harper down the trail to what is eventually revealed to be a gigantic grift and conspiracy between several officers to recruit men on the good name of the South Essex and then pocket the money while turning them into ghost soldiers on the regimental rolls, diverting them to like the Regency equivalent to a black site were they can be trained up off the books and then auctioned out to officers of other regiments who need to pad their numbers, so that they in turn can find new victims to sentence in hellish malarial posts or so that they can hide their own grafts and present all the warm bodies they'd been collecting the pay stubs for all this time.
I think in the world of Lieutenant Fusilier, what this would be is the smuggling conspiracy covertly press-ganging all these machines so that they have the facsimile of lawful authority and military service while trafficking these Fusiliers for like underground gladiatorial bloodsport, the sick thrills of like fighting other Fusiliers to the death or like hunting the most dangerous game as overshadowed thirdborn failsons "prove" their human worth in "hunts" carefully designed for them to win, things like that. At least, that's my guess.
- Location
- Yes
I think blood sports (oil sports?) are a bit darker than where this is going. My guess is that it's not empire building out in the black, it's 'subduing' planets within known space that have been bypassed as garden worlds but have significant plants or animals that could be exploited. The Concert has functionally limitless resources, but only because they can extract those resources from functionally limitless space. Everything still has to come from somewhere.
Fusiliers are brilliant for combat, but they're probably also one of the most suitable machine types for long duration independent operations: Exploring, hunting, prospecting, generally setting up austere, hard to spot bases on planets they shouldn't be on.
Fusiliers are brilliant for combat, but they're probably also one of the most suitable machine types for long duration independent operations: Exploring, hunting, prospecting, generally setting up austere, hard to spot bases on planets they shouldn't be on.