- Location
- Mid-Atlantic
Beep boop.
That... is a very effective way to hit a boxie over the head.
Lieutenant Fusilier takes The King's Shilling
- Thread starter open_sketch
- Start date
- Original Novel Sci-Fi
I do think Fusie makes a good point when she identifies that this probably doesn't really matter. The French machine officers are almost entirely so junior that they aren't expected to do any thinking anyway; Fusie's tactical experience here isn't because she's an officer but because she's a mustang.
JennyDracos
Eccentric Hugging Lady
- Location
- Chicago
Eh, not really - it's her experience as a line officer, rather than her experience as a sergeant. Granted, she's been in the Army for a while, but most of that was 'stand in a line, and keep one eye on the line to slide them around if necessary so someone is in front of the ensigns.'
Vebyast
Nascent Transhuman
Theda and Fusie do a great good-cop-bad-cop, lol. The way they illustrated the problem with stealing medical supplies was inspired.
The impression I'm getting of the french machine officers is that they're in a kind of... parallel hierarchy. I remember some discussion in the original Maid story about how politics worked and how the machines originally gained leverage to effect improvements, how the personal attendants of influential figures slowly steered their charges by curating their news, social circles, and conversations. I wouldn't be surprised if something similar is happening here, with the machine "officers" really just being extensions of the noncommissioned ranks. I actually wonder if the machine officers even... give any orders at all? Like, I'm sure they can execute maneuvers, but I wonder if they have even as much operational flexibility as Fusie does. Are there human lieutenants under machine captains?
The impression I'm getting of the french machine officers is that they're in a kind of... parallel hierarchy. I remember some discussion in the original Maid story about how politics worked and how the machines originally gained leverage to effect improvements, how the personal attendants of influential figures slowly steered their charges by curating their news, social circles, and conversations. I wouldn't be surprised if something similar is happening here, with the machine "officers" really just being extensions of the noncommissioned ranks. I actually wonder if the machine officers even... give any orders at all? Like, I'm sure they can execute maneuvers, but I wonder if they have even as much operational flexibility as Fusie does. Are there human lieutenants under machine captains?
- Location
- British Columbia, Canada
- Pronouns
- She/Her
are there like machines that are meant to be big brain thinkers and scientists? If so does the protestant work ethic that gets programmed into them make any designed brainy machine into engineers more often then not?
- Location
- Yes
I have absolutely no idea why you would think that an engineer is the product of the combination of intelligence and desire to work. Engineering comes from intelligence and the desire to make something else do all the work.
I think some or all of the frogs have jumped up, so they'd definitely have significant tactical experience. Furthermore, they live for hundreds of years, these aren't freshly minted dumbass lieutenants.
I suppose there's actually an interesting question here about the quality and depth of the French NCO corps. If they're keen to promote machines from the ranks, do they have the same sort of three hundred year senior sergeants that the British have?
Machinists & Scientific Progress
- Location
- Ottawa
- Pronouns
- She/Her/Whatever
There are such machines (Machinists, they get given names starting with C) and they are typically various sorts of engineers. Specifically and most commonly, they are often engineers for working on other machines, and are as likely to be programmers instead of or in addition to engineering disciplines. They are the second rarest kind of machine after Fusiliers, and unique in that they are rarely commissioned to work for somebody else: manufacturers instead make a number of them per year to supplement the rest of the population, and they form an engineer's guild whose dues pay to get new Machinists set up.
To machines, they are like specialist doctors (whereas the common Tom Smith, "utility machines", are more like if your handyman was also your family doctor, or unit's medic in the Army). They do upgrades, craft new parts, diagnose and fix glitches, etc. Some work for machine companies designing the next generation or crafting system updates, or for the Concert's OS standards bureau. Fusie's deprogrammer is a Machinist.
also this. "invent stuff" and "write sciencey paper" are a pretty common human pastimes, atop the formal human academics in universities and such, and with the range of education, lifespans, and free time of the population they aren't half bad at it. you know those machines taking university courses in Maid to Love You? a lot of them are doing that to make themselves more hireable as assistants for that sort of thing.
finally, machines do informally contribute to the scientific research of the Concert, and it's mostly done by the same machines who make most of the fine art made by machine: personal servants. As sort of got touched on last time, things are kind of rough for them, when their human dies after over a century together. a lot of scientific breakthroughs are James and Maria's finishing or publishing a life's work, or taking up research after losing a client. Others take up poetry or writing or painting.
A lot of valets and lady's maids never take a second client.
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- Pronouns
- She/Her
I kinda feel bad for Theo that he was in that situation to begin with? Like, its more the fault of whoever put someone that trusting and naive on guard duty then his own.
- Location
- British Columbia, Canada
- Pronouns
- She/Her
It's based on a joke that scientists do nothing but sit on their asses making pie in the sky theories based off of hypothetical conditions. Where-as Engineers Work hard to make those pie in the sky ideas actually functional reality. it's not terribly true but amusing and isn't that how things go?
- Location
- Infraspace
This reminds me of a scene from a French series (Au Service de la France) where some CIA spooks are telling their French counterparts that they can discredit JFK so he won't be elected. Paraphrasing:
"He like women."
"Yes, and?"
"He sleeps around a lot."
*blank stare*
"It's not a good look for a politician!"
"...Why not?"
Edit: found a video
"Yes, and?"
"He sleeps around a lot."
*blank stare*
"It's not a good look for a politician!"
"...Why not?"
Edit: found a video
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- Location
- Washington DC
Now that we're a couple chapters in, and the differences between the original story and this rewrite are becoming clear, I'm enjoying this one a lot. Version 1 seemed like it was in a bit of a rush, and tore poor Fusie away from the French before she (and we!) really got to know them. Now we're getting the focus I've been wanting on the differences between England and France - and Fusie's getting her chance for romance! I'm looking forward to a good bit more. Great work, open_sketch!
- Location
- Ottawa
- Pronouns
- She/Her/Whatever
thank you so much! i'm really excited about this because i'm not going to have to compress the character arc stuff anymore!
- Location
- Washington DC
Mmm, yes, yuri robot slice-of-life with a side of military action and a heaping dose of speculative sci-fi. Inject directly into my eyeballs, as soon as possible.
- Location
- Mid-Atlantic
You're absolutely right, but it's vitally important that the poor boxie learn to not do that again. You can't just keep him away from public-facing responsibilities for twenty years or however long it would take him to learn an acceptable level of cynicism.
- Location
- New Mexico, USA
- Pronouns
- He/They
Your character writing is incredibly strong, so more time to focus on it means more time to enjoy the fruits of it!
- Location
- The Holiest of Cities
Wow. Wow. I have to say, I'm going to be a bit vehement here.
Besides the absolutely horrendous professional standards of the French, there's something very fishy and hypocritical the French here are doing, which was driven home by this:
Furthermore, I can't believe what Thea is saying. Professional relationships require equality, but not emotional relationships? If anything, it is the other way around! As an officer, I'm a peer of my fellow officers, I'm their equal, but not in their professions - the officer in charge of artillery obviously is my superior if I need to use artillery, and of course the officer who ranks higher than me is also my superior and thus we're not equals, just as those soldiers and officers under my command are not my equals, because they have to do what I say. But if I'm in a relationship with someone who isn't my equal? That's so problematic, it's rife for abuse. It's just as Fusie said, that the machines give too willingly and the humans take too easily. I'm not saying it has to be like that or that there can't be relationships between people of a different class, but this is exactly why there are rules and laws and regulations that prevent commanding officers and bosses from relationships with their subordinates!
Tl;dr: The French are absolutely wrong in terms of professional relationships, and I feel the take Thea espouses in regards to personal relationships is also incorrect. Additionally, the two approaches combined make the French seem like hypocrites - it's okay to hurt humans in personal relationships, as long as you don't do it in professional relationships.
EDIT: Reading what I just wrote, and putting it together... maybe this makes sense? If machines are built with a 'serving/helping' humans mentality, then perhaps impeding them/hurting them in the course of work is seen a much worse than doing so while in a relationship? It's very twisted logic, though.
I am sorry. As an officer, the French are completely and utterly wrong. That's... I just have no words for this. A commander conference, especially one like this, is exactly the place to say everything you have to say. That's the whole point of these meetings. As an officer, this was drummed into my head every time - when you're at this kind of meeting, you raise every point and problem you think you see, even if you're not an expert, because things need to be done properly. Obviously in quick conference in the middle of battle, if the captain of the skirmishers advocates for one thing and you lead the artillery and think they're wrong you won't say it because what do you know about skirmishing? But in these kinds of meeting, even the chaplain gets a say, becuase you never know what might be the best idea or the correct course of action, and you don't know what any person might contribute. Again, as a staff officer, I was always told: "Say whatever you have to say, make any objections you have, up until the moment the order is give, at which point, execute without delay".
Besides the absolutely horrendous professional standards of the French, there's something very fishy and hypocritical the French here are doing, which was driven home by this:
The French seemed to be concerned about Fusie embarrassing another officer. Putting aside how this was all professional and should be taken as such (and as such, offense isn't relevant), the concern seems to be about hurting a human emotionally. But then they turn around and explain to Fusie that 'some hurt is okay'? That 'An experience can be painful, but we come out better for it'? That's exactly what Fusie was doing! She might have hurt Lieutenant Howlette's feelings professionally, but it's a learning experience that Lieutenant Howlette will come out better for!
Furthermore, I can't believe what Thea is saying. Professional relationships require equality, but not emotional relationships? If anything, it is the other way around! As an officer, I'm a peer of my fellow officers, I'm their equal, but not in their professions - the officer in charge of artillery obviously is my superior if I need to use artillery, and of course the officer who ranks higher than me is also my superior and thus we're not equals, just as those soldiers and officers under my command are not my equals, because they have to do what I say. But if I'm in a relationship with someone who isn't my equal? That's so problematic, it's rife for abuse. It's just as Fusie said, that the machines give too willingly and the humans take too easily. I'm not saying it has to be like that or that there can't be relationships between people of a different class, but this is exactly why there are rules and laws and regulations that prevent commanding officers and bosses from relationships with their subordinates!
Tl;dr: The French are absolutely wrong in terms of professional relationships, and I feel the take Thea espouses in regards to personal relationships is also incorrect. Additionally, the two approaches combined make the French seem like hypocrites - it's okay to hurt humans in personal relationships, as long as you don't do it in professional relationships.
EDIT: Reading what I just wrote, and putting it together... maybe this makes sense? If machines are built with a 'serving/helping' humans mentality, then perhaps impeding them/hurting them in the course of work is seen a much worse than doing so while in a relationship? It's very twisted logic, though.
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- Location
- Ottawa
- Pronouns
- She/Her/Whatever
You sort of got it. Um, i'm gonna be going into this in the next scene, but in the shortest form, the French machines have taken a path of least resistance which has led to this outcome and mindset.
That whole bit with the boxie was just priceless. I really needed those laughs and now I think the rewrite was worth it if only for that scene alone.
Chapter 5: A Night on the Town
- Location
- Ottawa
- Pronouns
- She/Her/Whatever
The next evening, I arrived back at Number 18 early. I hadn't returned to the French officer's club, but I'd skipped the officer's mess as well. I didn't quite feel like I belonged in either. Miriam met me at the door, looking quite concerned.
"Miss? Are you alright?" she asked.
"I'm fine, thank you," I said, collapsing behind my desk and hunting for something to do. There was nothing but the half-finished memo about our missing replacements I'd scrapped, sure that everyone involved was already well aware of the problem. For lack of anything else, I grabbed the regulation handbook off my shelves: never hurt to reread it.
"Rereading that old thing again? You have it memorized, miss."
"You're right, but I can't think what else to do."
"Is this going to be your new routine, then?" she asked, and I paused to consider it.
"I think so long as the French are here, at least. I know really ought to be socializing with our allies, but…"
"I always get worried when you start saying the word ought, you know," Miriam said simply. Conceding the point, I pushed my chair back and stood up, wincing a moment as a pain shot through my shoulder.
"Damned actuators…"
"Freezing up again?" she asked, and I nodded.
"Got to get them looked at; weather like this, I feel like I'm coming to pieces," I grumbled.
I felt a brief and powerful jealousy of the French officers getting their repairs covered, which was quickly transmitted into frustration at myself for not going in and getting fixed up before I went in for my commission. Then I remembered I ought not be so hard on myself, and that got very close to dismissal, and…
I stopped. This was a cycle. I had to break the cycle. I had to do something to break it, to stop etching these toxic thoughts deeper and deeper into my circuits. Something positive.
"I need a break," I said. Miriam clapped her hands, and her eyes filled with proud excitement.
"She's learning! Miss, that's the smartest thing you've ever said! What would you like to do?" she asked. I'll admit her enthusiasm perked me up, before I got caught up on the next hurdle.
"I… don't really know. I'm not sure," I said. The only activity I could think of were dance halls, I knew of a few places in the city where machines of my persuasion frequented, but I was hardly in the mood for that. "I've not got a lot of experience… taking breaks."
"Hmm. I would ordinarily suggest a walk about the town to see what might catch your eye, but I can't recommend it so long as the weather remains this atrocious. The young Lord Antares has given our weather controllers quite the schedule."
"Why's he gone and done a thing like that?" I complained, and she chuckled.
"There's an upcoming guest for his Christmas party who is quite taken with winter. A girl he'd like to impress, as rumour has it," she said, laughing a little.
From what I remembered, Lord Antares was a tiny human child; younger than the Ensigns, if such a thing were possible. It seemed a bit much to impose on a whole city for what I could only presume was a childish crush. But then again, courtship was extremely important for humans.
"Right. So something indoors, on short notice… a gaming club, perhaps?" Miriam suggested.
"I haven't exactly got the spare coin for gambling-" I started, and she shook her head.
"No, not gambling. Games of skill, no money at stake. Backgammon, hare games, conspirateurs, agon…" she listed, clearly thinking a moment as she went.
"Chess?" I asked. "I play chess against some of the officer's in the mess, and-"
"We can't play chess, miss," Miriam said, looking at me aghast.
"Why not? Is there a rule?" I asked, "I'm quite good at it, you know, I've won every game I've-"
"... oh stars, you don't know?" Her tone of one of complete exasperation. "No, miss, we can't play chess because chess-playing was used as a benchmark when we were first designed. The game's solved; we're all as good as one can possibly be at it. We'll always beat a human, and if two machines play chess, it's always a draw."
"... oh," I felt rather guilty, not to mention a bit sour at having my victories invalidated. "That would explain why it was so easy; I felt like I knew what he'd do before he'd done it…"
"In a matter of speaking, you did," Miriam said plainly. "That said, there are chess variations we haven't got solved, and a lot of gaming clubs have those."
"Alright. That does sound nice." I said. "If it's alright, I think I'd like to change into civvies, then. I'm not particularly feeling like going about as Lieutenant Fusilier right now."
"Completely understandable, Miss, and very adaptive. If I can suggest the light blue dress, I'll be up in a moment to help you with the ties," Miriam said, disappearing around the corner toward the servant's area, presumably to get directions to the club.
I made my way up the stairs and pushed open the frankly ludicrous closet adjoining my room, and hanging neatly within were five outfits. My well-worn sergeant's uniform, for old time's sake, my second-hand brown dress, which Miriam said I ought to keep in case I took up painting, and four new dresses. I was ill-suited for dresses, but they had their utility. My uniform got me treated differently in a way I was fairly self-conscious of, especially once they realized I was that Lieutenant Fusilier. In a dress, I could be anonymous.
The process of getting the dresses had impressed on me the differences between machine fashion and human. At Miriam's direction, I'd gotten two cheaper dresses in the machine style, all thick heavy fabric and volume, and one more along human lines. I understood the logic; there might well be a formal occasion where a military uniform would be inappropriate, such as if I ever got posted with Americans.
Still, it was by far the worst of the dresses. Human fashion showed skin; the arms were bare, and if the collar was any deeper you could see that I didn't have anything to see. The fabric was so sheer that you could see the edges of my armour plating, as if to call attention to the fact it wasn't made with my body in mind, and the in-season pastel colours looked wrong contrasted against steel.
Thankfully, the light blue dress was in a machine style. Heavy fabrics, long sleeves. Not my preference, but better than the alternative. Miriam hummed happily to herself while she did up the ties, and I just tried not to look too uncomfortable in the mirror.
Stars, I wish I could wear trousers everywhere.
I got my coat back with directions from Miriam and stepped back out into the cold, debating with myself if I should walk or take advantage of the relatively cheap service of the base's carriage park. I very nearly walked into the Miles coming around the edge of the fence at the end of the path, and we both went slipping a moment on the icy ground. I got the worst of it by far, crashing rather heavily to the ground and cracking quite a bit of ice in the process.
"Fusie! I was just coming to see you!" he said, extending a hand to help me up automatically. Equally unthinkingly, I took it, and we had a brief awkward moment before I managed to get myself to my feet. "Thought you were spending time with the mechanical frogs, then I saw you slink off-"
"Yes, I'm taking a bit of a break," I said, feeling a bit embarrassed. "I was just heading out to a gaming club, take my mind off things."
"Oh, capital! Can I come along?" he asked. "Henry's off with his missus-to-be and all, haven't anything else to do."
"Well… it's a machine club, as I understand-" I began, but he cut me off.
"Perfect then, you can smuggle me in. It can be a nice reversal of the officer's mess," he said, laughing. "If you're alright with that."
"Of course." I couldn't determine what would possibly interest him, but...
"Maybe they'll have chess; I still have to get you back for the last few times you've thrashed me," he added, and I winced inwardly.
"Y-yes, you do…"
The gaming hall Miriam had directed me to was a cosy little space, somewhat smaller than I'd expected. I'd pictured something more like a dance hall. The machine at the desk up front, where we'd buy admission, paused for a moment on seeing Miles.
"Sorry, sir, are you lost?" he asked, and Miles smiled and shook his head.
"Not at all, just accompanying my friend," he replied, and the machine shrugged and went back to reading whatever he was reading. We paid and shed our hats and coats at the door, grateful for the heater nearby to warm them while we wanted.
"Oh no, that's not right," Miles said.
"Hmm?" I looked over to see him looking at me funny.
"Never seen you in a dress, Fusie," he said, shaking his head. "I honestly thought the uniform was welded on."
"Not anymore," I responded, chuckling. "Thanks to liberal use of a prybar. No, I just wanted to, um..."
"You just want be Dora for a bit. I get it," he said, pulling a flask from his belt and nodding. "Right, so what's the minimum buy-in for machine games, a penny?"
"It's not a gambling hall. Games of skill," I said, and he frowned.
"Well, that's not fair," he remarked. "Favours the fellow who's good at it."
Unsure exactly of the protocol, we decided to hover about the edge and watch games for a bit, and it seemed machines just set up the games they wanted to play and waited for other players to file in. I selected a game at random off the shelf and sat down. Miles sat opposite of me, grinning.
"What've we got here?" he asked, and I shrugged as I opened the box.
"Not a clue, I didn't even look," I said, flipping the cover of the board over. "Waterloo, a game of strategy. Up our alley, isn't it?"
"It means one of us has to play the French, though," he said, and instantly I reached over and started grabbing blue pieces. "Well, that makes that easy."
We laid out the setup and started reading the instructions, laying out the green grid field we'd play on. Our 'units' were clever little red and blue pieces; cubes, pyramids, and arches, representing infantry, artillery, and calvary. They all stuck to the grid with a satisfying clunk. Every time we advanced the turn, they'd across the board on little magnets to perform the last order we gave them, which were limited to simple acts like turning, stopping, moving, and forming square. The set was well-worn but in good condition, though there were a few dead pixels on the edge nearest me.
We cycled the board through a few of the scenarios before deciding on the Battle of Talavera, if simply because the previous board was La Haye Sainte and all the terrain and buildings were somewhat intimidating. Miles was muttering as he placed his troops, carefully nudging them into proper position.
"Right, so this little cube is 24th Foot, and this little cube is 5th Line of the German Legion, which I guess makes this lot the South Es-"
"Who goes first?" I asked, and he grabbed for the instruction booklet and started fingering through, staring.
"Attackers. That's me," he said, dropping his last troops in place. "Right. My go."
Miles started tapping his pieces, cycling the little holograms above them to orders, and then pressed the red 'end turn' space at the edge of the board. Accompanied by little sounds of marching feet and the rolling thunder of a phantom cannon barrage, the pieces started sliding forward. Amid the dancing motes of light for smoke and shot, one of the cubes in the centre of my line grew darker and greyer, as though the colour was being sucked out of it.
"Neat. Your turn, Fusie. Try to keep hold of the eagle this time."
"Those bloody eagles," I complained, setting my troops on the assault. Struggling to remember the particulars of how the French lost Talavera, I concentrated a force on one flank, directing my cannon fire and shuffling a few of my columns to the side. Maybe I could open a hole for my horse. "My main hope in all this is they don't saddle us with a screen in our line companies too. I don't think I could stand it. Firepower, that's the key; it always has been."
"I agree. I think that fire section scheme you dreamt up is solid," Miles agreed, as his turn began. "Though what if we had a third section dedicated to it? Have a tiny little battery of eight rapid-fire lasers at the edge of every company that can focus their fire together, and we could roast the central elements of assault groups."
"Sure, but if sections have to go off alone in dense terrain, it's going to be harder to move our support guns up," I said, "You might be onto something, though."
"Well, alright then, who says A and B section needs to be symmetrical? Take the guns out of A, give them to B, even out the count of machines. B's still got the bulk to stand up on their own, but A's now free to move full-speed." Miles mused.
"A and B section, assault and battery," I joked, and that got a real, genuine laugh out of him.
"Exactly! Also, I'm so very sorry." I winced as one of my cubes turned black as it walked directly into grapeshot. "Your turn."
"Seriously, you should bring that up at the next meeting," I suggested, and he waved a dismissive hand.
"I'm sure they've already shot holes in it. Can't be good; I thought of it," he responded.
"Miles, firstly, give yourself some credit, and second… I've been in the army thirty-three years, and I've known machines in for centuries," I explained, "They threw a fit integrating small-crew guns into infantry; they wanted them in their own regiments. Even if they've thought of it, it can't hurt to bring it up again."
"I'm telling you, we've been resting on our laurels since Napoleon, and it shows," he said, "You sure you want to make that move?"
"... yes?" I said, shifting my infantry up the flank, "I'm sure."
"Fair enough, on both counts," he said. I was started to notice some of the machines without games were looking at us a bit strangely: it seemed normal to watch other people's games, but they were a bit reticent with us. Probably because of Miles, who was noticing at the same time.
"Oh, come watch if you like!" he said, looking up from the game a moment, before muttering to me. "Rather have people staring where I can see them."
"Now you know how I feel all the time," I muttered.
"Not likely; everyone just gets all deferential whenever a human barges in, which I get. Gotta keep up appearances," he said, "I do feel a bit guilty coming in and spoiling everyone's fun, though…"
"You're not spoiling anyone's fun except mine," I muttered as my front two columns were roundly obliterated in a spray of holographic musket smoke. "I could really use that energy screen."
"I'll bet. And no, I just… should have thought of it. Places like this is where you lot go to get away from humans, right?"
"I don't know if that's true," I said, but then reconsidered. "Not always true, at least."
"Oh?"
"The machine officer club is that, I think. A place to get away from humans," I explained. Miles listened patiently while I filled him in oneverything that had happened; why I had left yesterday and not gone back today. He looked utterly bewildered.
"I must say, that seems rather… not just sad, but hypocritical of them," he said, looking distinctly uncomfortable. "Like, I think people are uptight about, well, a lot of things. But the fact they're willing to entertain a fling with a human but can't imagine being friends, or even disagreeing... "
He shivered in pure revulsion.
"It's not them being hypocrites," I replied. Seeing his confusion, I continued. "Well, I don't think they consider it hypocrisy, at least. If… if their humans don't see a problem with it, if it won't hurt their reputation, they can probably… I can see how they could justify… involvement…"
I'd done that calculus not long ago, even if I'd arrived at a different answer.
"You okay, Fusie?"
"Um, Miles, you've talked with them, or at least been around them. What do their officers think of the machines among them?"
"From what I've heard, the frogs are quite proud of them. Equality and brotherhood and whatever," Miles said, with his opinion of their assessment clear from his tone.
"That might be it then," I said, the pieces all fitting together. "The French have machine officers because their humans wanted them, wanted a sense that things were fair. So a few of their machines like me who feel they might be useful stand for elections, and the machines vote for them when they don't feel it'll deny a human a spot, right?"
"Right..?"
"But then they run into the same things I did. Going to the mess, attending events, servants, officer's quarters, repair bills, disagreeing with your newfound peers, making friends with your coworkers…" I trailed off, feeling overwhelmed. "It's hard."
"It's not just hard. It's something you're doing for yourself and not somebody else," Miles pointed out. "You lot aren't good at that."
"Yeah… so they formed a little club. Got out of the way. Stopped disagreeing, stopped attending the mess, stopped trying to make friends. They just filled a spot on the roster so the humans would feel things were fair," I concluded. "They started throwing knives."
Miles nodded in slow understanding, looking more than a little distraught. It seemed a relief to him when he remembered we were playing a game together. He ended his turn, and I watched as my advance utterly crumbled and white flags started popping up over my cubes. I still had some units left, but I couldn't possibly see a path to victory anymore.
"I think we should stick to chess," I muttered, and Miles plucked his pieces back.
"Fusie, this is funny, but you did exactly what the French did at the real thing." he said, laughing, "So next time, try thinking less like a frog. Want to go again?"
"I definitely want to avoid thinking like that," I said, and we started scrolling through the maps again. "How'd you know?"
"The Battle of Talavera? My father hired a very strict governess machine." Miles said, "I was bound for the Coldstream Guards, remember? I could draw you a map of any battle in the Peninsular War by memory."
"Wow," I said simply. Given how much Miles talked himself down, it was always shocking when he showed off how much he knew.
"All bloody useless, of course, and awful as well. The grass caught fire at Talavera from all the musket wadding and wounded men in the field burnt to death, but they don't exactly show that with the cubes," he said darkly, as we settled on Salamanca. "You be the Brits this time."
We set up and got started, and this time things seemed a little more even. Machines were crowded a little closer, and our conversation had somewhat dried up as we realized how many people were watching, conscious of how personal and controversial our topics tended to get. I very nearly had him near the end, but he managed to wheel a unit about just in time to put a volley into my flank, and my tiny cube-men broke a mere grid-square from victory.
"Still need to practice, I think."
Miles reset the board. This time, the Battle of the Nive.
"Well, I don't see why we can't do one more."
We played quite a bit more than one more, the games going quickly as we talked, rambling on about nothing. Finally, I won two in a row, as I started to get a hang of thinking about not merely achieving results, but forcing action out of my opponent. We then decided to move onto one of the days of Waterloo proper, and Miles roundly thrashed me as the French, citing the three centuries of analysis his governess had him reading about the battle as he rolled up my line.
As my last line of defences fell and he casually boxed in the retreating survivors, I pulled out my watch and looked with a start.
"Christ, Miles, it's quarter past nine. We should probably think about heading back."
"Has Miriam got you a curfew, then?" he said, and I stumbled a minute on that idea before responding.
"No, we just have an early day tomorrow. I'd like to be well-rested-" I stopped, seeing the look of disappointment on his face. "What?"
"Dora, this is the first time I've seen you do something that wasn't work-related since I've known you." he said, "And I'm halfway expecting you to say that Miriam convinced you that playing board games is an important part of an officer's development."
"... that does sound like me, doesn't it." I admitted, "What's your point?"
"My point is, what if instead of going home and getting a full night's recharging or whatever you do, you think like a human officer? Stay out a while longer and let tomorrow's Fusie handle it? Just for once?" he said, "Have you ever played billiards?"
"No? You know I haven't done things."
"My God, you'd love it," he said cheerfully. "It's got everything you like: taking careful aim and hitting things with sticks. I need something to eat, and I know a place with billard's tables and food. You game?"
"Sure, could do," I announced, starting to pack up the game. "Better than letting you starve to death, and I'm sure things will be alright."
"There we go! We'll get you having fun yet."
"Miss? Are you alright?" she asked.
"I'm fine, thank you," I said, collapsing behind my desk and hunting for something to do. There was nothing but the half-finished memo about our missing replacements I'd scrapped, sure that everyone involved was already well aware of the problem. For lack of anything else, I grabbed the regulation handbook off my shelves: never hurt to reread it.
"Rereading that old thing again? You have it memorized, miss."
"You're right, but I can't think what else to do."
"Is this going to be your new routine, then?" she asked, and I paused to consider it.
"I think so long as the French are here, at least. I know really ought to be socializing with our allies, but…"
"I always get worried when you start saying the word ought, you know," Miriam said simply. Conceding the point, I pushed my chair back and stood up, wincing a moment as a pain shot through my shoulder.
"Damned actuators…"
"Freezing up again?" she asked, and I nodded.
"Got to get them looked at; weather like this, I feel like I'm coming to pieces," I grumbled.
I felt a brief and powerful jealousy of the French officers getting their repairs covered, which was quickly transmitted into frustration at myself for not going in and getting fixed up before I went in for my commission. Then I remembered I ought not be so hard on myself, and that got very close to dismissal, and…
I stopped. This was a cycle. I had to break the cycle. I had to do something to break it, to stop etching these toxic thoughts deeper and deeper into my circuits. Something positive.
"I need a break," I said. Miriam clapped her hands, and her eyes filled with proud excitement.
"She's learning! Miss, that's the smartest thing you've ever said! What would you like to do?" she asked. I'll admit her enthusiasm perked me up, before I got caught up on the next hurdle.
"I… don't really know. I'm not sure," I said. The only activity I could think of were dance halls, I knew of a few places in the city where machines of my persuasion frequented, but I was hardly in the mood for that. "I've not got a lot of experience… taking breaks."
"Hmm. I would ordinarily suggest a walk about the town to see what might catch your eye, but I can't recommend it so long as the weather remains this atrocious. The young Lord Antares has given our weather controllers quite the schedule."
"Why's he gone and done a thing like that?" I complained, and she chuckled.
"There's an upcoming guest for his Christmas party who is quite taken with winter. A girl he'd like to impress, as rumour has it," she said, laughing a little.
From what I remembered, Lord Antares was a tiny human child; younger than the Ensigns, if such a thing were possible. It seemed a bit much to impose on a whole city for what I could only presume was a childish crush. But then again, courtship was extremely important for humans.
"Right. So something indoors, on short notice… a gaming club, perhaps?" Miriam suggested.
"I haven't exactly got the spare coin for gambling-" I started, and she shook her head.
"No, not gambling. Games of skill, no money at stake. Backgammon, hare games, conspirateurs, agon…" she listed, clearly thinking a moment as she went.
"Chess?" I asked. "I play chess against some of the officer's in the mess, and-"
"We can't play chess, miss," Miriam said, looking at me aghast.
"Why not? Is there a rule?" I asked, "I'm quite good at it, you know, I've won every game I've-"
"... oh stars, you don't know?" Her tone of one of complete exasperation. "No, miss, we can't play chess because chess-playing was used as a benchmark when we were first designed. The game's solved; we're all as good as one can possibly be at it. We'll always beat a human, and if two machines play chess, it's always a draw."
"... oh," I felt rather guilty, not to mention a bit sour at having my victories invalidated. "That would explain why it was so easy; I felt like I knew what he'd do before he'd done it…"
"In a matter of speaking, you did," Miriam said plainly. "That said, there are chess variations we haven't got solved, and a lot of gaming clubs have those."
"Alright. That does sound nice." I said. "If it's alright, I think I'd like to change into civvies, then. I'm not particularly feeling like going about as Lieutenant Fusilier right now."
"Completely understandable, Miss, and very adaptive. If I can suggest the light blue dress, I'll be up in a moment to help you with the ties," Miriam said, disappearing around the corner toward the servant's area, presumably to get directions to the club.
I made my way up the stairs and pushed open the frankly ludicrous closet adjoining my room, and hanging neatly within were five outfits. My well-worn sergeant's uniform, for old time's sake, my second-hand brown dress, which Miriam said I ought to keep in case I took up painting, and four new dresses. I was ill-suited for dresses, but they had their utility. My uniform got me treated differently in a way I was fairly self-conscious of, especially once they realized I was that Lieutenant Fusilier. In a dress, I could be anonymous.
The process of getting the dresses had impressed on me the differences between machine fashion and human. At Miriam's direction, I'd gotten two cheaper dresses in the machine style, all thick heavy fabric and volume, and one more along human lines. I understood the logic; there might well be a formal occasion where a military uniform would be inappropriate, such as if I ever got posted with Americans.
Still, it was by far the worst of the dresses. Human fashion showed skin; the arms were bare, and if the collar was any deeper you could see that I didn't have anything to see. The fabric was so sheer that you could see the edges of my armour plating, as if to call attention to the fact it wasn't made with my body in mind, and the in-season pastel colours looked wrong contrasted against steel.
Thankfully, the light blue dress was in a machine style. Heavy fabrics, long sleeves. Not my preference, but better than the alternative. Miriam hummed happily to herself while she did up the ties, and I just tried not to look too uncomfortable in the mirror.
Stars, I wish I could wear trousers everywhere.
I got my coat back with directions from Miriam and stepped back out into the cold, debating with myself if I should walk or take advantage of the relatively cheap service of the base's carriage park. I very nearly walked into the Miles coming around the edge of the fence at the end of the path, and we both went slipping a moment on the icy ground. I got the worst of it by far, crashing rather heavily to the ground and cracking quite a bit of ice in the process.
"Fusie! I was just coming to see you!" he said, extending a hand to help me up automatically. Equally unthinkingly, I took it, and we had a brief awkward moment before I managed to get myself to my feet. "Thought you were spending time with the mechanical frogs, then I saw you slink off-"
"Yes, I'm taking a bit of a break," I said, feeling a bit embarrassed. "I was just heading out to a gaming club, take my mind off things."
"Oh, capital! Can I come along?" he asked. "Henry's off with his missus-to-be and all, haven't anything else to do."
"Well… it's a machine club, as I understand-" I began, but he cut me off.
"Perfect then, you can smuggle me in. It can be a nice reversal of the officer's mess," he said, laughing. "If you're alright with that."
"Of course." I couldn't determine what would possibly interest him, but...
"Maybe they'll have chess; I still have to get you back for the last few times you've thrashed me," he added, and I winced inwardly.
"Y-yes, you do…"
The gaming hall Miriam had directed me to was a cosy little space, somewhat smaller than I'd expected. I'd pictured something more like a dance hall. The machine at the desk up front, where we'd buy admission, paused for a moment on seeing Miles.
"Sorry, sir, are you lost?" he asked, and Miles smiled and shook his head.
"Not at all, just accompanying my friend," he replied, and the machine shrugged and went back to reading whatever he was reading. We paid and shed our hats and coats at the door, grateful for the heater nearby to warm them while we wanted.
"Oh no, that's not right," Miles said.
"Hmm?" I looked over to see him looking at me funny.
"Never seen you in a dress, Fusie," he said, shaking his head. "I honestly thought the uniform was welded on."
"Not anymore," I responded, chuckling. "Thanks to liberal use of a prybar. No, I just wanted to, um..."
"You just want be Dora for a bit. I get it," he said, pulling a flask from his belt and nodding. "Right, so what's the minimum buy-in for machine games, a penny?"
"It's not a gambling hall. Games of skill," I said, and he frowned.
"Well, that's not fair," he remarked. "Favours the fellow who's good at it."
Unsure exactly of the protocol, we decided to hover about the edge and watch games for a bit, and it seemed machines just set up the games they wanted to play and waited for other players to file in. I selected a game at random off the shelf and sat down. Miles sat opposite of me, grinning.
"What've we got here?" he asked, and I shrugged as I opened the box.
"Not a clue, I didn't even look," I said, flipping the cover of the board over. "Waterloo, a game of strategy. Up our alley, isn't it?"
"It means one of us has to play the French, though," he said, and instantly I reached over and started grabbing blue pieces. "Well, that makes that easy."
We laid out the setup and started reading the instructions, laying out the green grid field we'd play on. Our 'units' were clever little red and blue pieces; cubes, pyramids, and arches, representing infantry, artillery, and calvary. They all stuck to the grid with a satisfying clunk. Every time we advanced the turn, they'd across the board on little magnets to perform the last order we gave them, which were limited to simple acts like turning, stopping, moving, and forming square. The set was well-worn but in good condition, though there were a few dead pixels on the edge nearest me.
We cycled the board through a few of the scenarios before deciding on the Battle of Talavera, if simply because the previous board was La Haye Sainte and all the terrain and buildings were somewhat intimidating. Miles was muttering as he placed his troops, carefully nudging them into proper position.
"Right, so this little cube is 24th Foot, and this little cube is 5th Line of the German Legion, which I guess makes this lot the South Es-"
"Who goes first?" I asked, and he grabbed for the instruction booklet and started fingering through, staring.
"Attackers. That's me," he said, dropping his last troops in place. "Right. My go."
Miles started tapping his pieces, cycling the little holograms above them to orders, and then pressed the red 'end turn' space at the edge of the board. Accompanied by little sounds of marching feet and the rolling thunder of a phantom cannon barrage, the pieces started sliding forward. Amid the dancing motes of light for smoke and shot, one of the cubes in the centre of my line grew darker and greyer, as though the colour was being sucked out of it.
"Neat. Your turn, Fusie. Try to keep hold of the eagle this time."
"Those bloody eagles," I complained, setting my troops on the assault. Struggling to remember the particulars of how the French lost Talavera, I concentrated a force on one flank, directing my cannon fire and shuffling a few of my columns to the side. Maybe I could open a hole for my horse. "My main hope in all this is they don't saddle us with a screen in our line companies too. I don't think I could stand it. Firepower, that's the key; it always has been."
"I agree. I think that fire section scheme you dreamt up is solid," Miles agreed, as his turn began. "Though what if we had a third section dedicated to it? Have a tiny little battery of eight rapid-fire lasers at the edge of every company that can focus their fire together, and we could roast the central elements of assault groups."
"Sure, but if sections have to go off alone in dense terrain, it's going to be harder to move our support guns up," I said, "You might be onto something, though."
"Well, alright then, who says A and B section needs to be symmetrical? Take the guns out of A, give them to B, even out the count of machines. B's still got the bulk to stand up on their own, but A's now free to move full-speed." Miles mused.
"A and B section, assault and battery," I joked, and that got a real, genuine laugh out of him.
"Exactly! Also, I'm so very sorry." I winced as one of my cubes turned black as it walked directly into grapeshot. "Your turn."
"Seriously, you should bring that up at the next meeting," I suggested, and he waved a dismissive hand.
"I'm sure they've already shot holes in it. Can't be good; I thought of it," he responded.
"Miles, firstly, give yourself some credit, and second… I've been in the army thirty-three years, and I've known machines in for centuries," I explained, "They threw a fit integrating small-crew guns into infantry; they wanted them in their own regiments. Even if they've thought of it, it can't hurt to bring it up again."
"I'm telling you, we've been resting on our laurels since Napoleon, and it shows," he said, "You sure you want to make that move?"
"... yes?" I said, shifting my infantry up the flank, "I'm sure."
"Fair enough, on both counts," he said. I was started to notice some of the machines without games were looking at us a bit strangely: it seemed normal to watch other people's games, but they were a bit reticent with us. Probably because of Miles, who was noticing at the same time.
"Oh, come watch if you like!" he said, looking up from the game a moment, before muttering to me. "Rather have people staring where I can see them."
"Now you know how I feel all the time," I muttered.
"Not likely; everyone just gets all deferential whenever a human barges in, which I get. Gotta keep up appearances," he said, "I do feel a bit guilty coming in and spoiling everyone's fun, though…"
"You're not spoiling anyone's fun except mine," I muttered as my front two columns were roundly obliterated in a spray of holographic musket smoke. "I could really use that energy screen."
"I'll bet. And no, I just… should have thought of it. Places like this is where you lot go to get away from humans, right?"
"I don't know if that's true," I said, but then reconsidered. "Not always true, at least."
"Oh?"
"The machine officer club is that, I think. A place to get away from humans," I explained. Miles listened patiently while I filled him in oneverything that had happened; why I had left yesterday and not gone back today. He looked utterly bewildered.
"I must say, that seems rather… not just sad, but hypocritical of them," he said, looking distinctly uncomfortable. "Like, I think people are uptight about, well, a lot of things. But the fact they're willing to entertain a fling with a human but can't imagine being friends, or even disagreeing... "
He shivered in pure revulsion.
"It's not them being hypocrites," I replied. Seeing his confusion, I continued. "Well, I don't think they consider it hypocrisy, at least. If… if their humans don't see a problem with it, if it won't hurt their reputation, they can probably… I can see how they could justify… involvement…"
I'd done that calculus not long ago, even if I'd arrived at a different answer.
"You okay, Fusie?"
"Um, Miles, you've talked with them, or at least been around them. What do their officers think of the machines among them?"
"From what I've heard, the frogs are quite proud of them. Equality and brotherhood and whatever," Miles said, with his opinion of their assessment clear from his tone.
"That might be it then," I said, the pieces all fitting together. "The French have machine officers because their humans wanted them, wanted a sense that things were fair. So a few of their machines like me who feel they might be useful stand for elections, and the machines vote for them when they don't feel it'll deny a human a spot, right?"
"Right..?"
"But then they run into the same things I did. Going to the mess, attending events, servants, officer's quarters, repair bills, disagreeing with your newfound peers, making friends with your coworkers…" I trailed off, feeling overwhelmed. "It's hard."
"It's not just hard. It's something you're doing for yourself and not somebody else," Miles pointed out. "You lot aren't good at that."
"Yeah… so they formed a little club. Got out of the way. Stopped disagreeing, stopped attending the mess, stopped trying to make friends. They just filled a spot on the roster so the humans would feel things were fair," I concluded. "They started throwing knives."
Miles nodded in slow understanding, looking more than a little distraught. It seemed a relief to him when he remembered we were playing a game together. He ended his turn, and I watched as my advance utterly crumbled and white flags started popping up over my cubes. I still had some units left, but I couldn't possibly see a path to victory anymore.
"I think we should stick to chess," I muttered, and Miles plucked his pieces back.
"Fusie, this is funny, but you did exactly what the French did at the real thing." he said, laughing, "So next time, try thinking less like a frog. Want to go again?"
"I definitely want to avoid thinking like that," I said, and we started scrolling through the maps again. "How'd you know?"
"The Battle of Talavera? My father hired a very strict governess machine." Miles said, "I was bound for the Coldstream Guards, remember? I could draw you a map of any battle in the Peninsular War by memory."
"Wow," I said simply. Given how much Miles talked himself down, it was always shocking when he showed off how much he knew.
"All bloody useless, of course, and awful as well. The grass caught fire at Talavera from all the musket wadding and wounded men in the field burnt to death, but they don't exactly show that with the cubes," he said darkly, as we settled on Salamanca. "You be the Brits this time."
We set up and got started, and this time things seemed a little more even. Machines were crowded a little closer, and our conversation had somewhat dried up as we realized how many people were watching, conscious of how personal and controversial our topics tended to get. I very nearly had him near the end, but he managed to wheel a unit about just in time to put a volley into my flank, and my tiny cube-men broke a mere grid-square from victory.
"Still need to practice, I think."
Miles reset the board. This time, the Battle of the Nive.
"Well, I don't see why we can't do one more."
We played quite a bit more than one more, the games going quickly as we talked, rambling on about nothing. Finally, I won two in a row, as I started to get a hang of thinking about not merely achieving results, but forcing action out of my opponent. We then decided to move onto one of the days of Waterloo proper, and Miles roundly thrashed me as the French, citing the three centuries of analysis his governess had him reading about the battle as he rolled up my line.
As my last line of defences fell and he casually boxed in the retreating survivors, I pulled out my watch and looked with a start.
"Christ, Miles, it's quarter past nine. We should probably think about heading back."
"Has Miriam got you a curfew, then?" he said, and I stumbled a minute on that idea before responding.
"No, we just have an early day tomorrow. I'd like to be well-rested-" I stopped, seeing the look of disappointment on his face. "What?"
"Dora, this is the first time I've seen you do something that wasn't work-related since I've known you." he said, "And I'm halfway expecting you to say that Miriam convinced you that playing board games is an important part of an officer's development."
"... that does sound like me, doesn't it." I admitted, "What's your point?"
"My point is, what if instead of going home and getting a full night's recharging or whatever you do, you think like a human officer? Stay out a while longer and let tomorrow's Fusie handle it? Just for once?" he said, "Have you ever played billiards?"
"No? You know I haven't done things."
"My God, you'd love it," he said cheerfully. "It's got everything you like: taking careful aim and hitting things with sticks. I need something to eat, and I know a place with billard's tables and food. You game?"
"Sure, could do," I announced, starting to pack up the game. "Better than letting you starve to death, and I'm sure things will be alright."
"There we go! We'll get you having fun yet."
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- Location
- Germany
Thinking back, I do wonder, do the Machines have different programming? Did someone in France look at all the little bits making Machines a perfectly humane workforce and decided to switch these up? Are all machines programmed with the same values or just very similar ones because they are all, in the end, made to work and fight for the society that created them and keeps creating them in that image?
Standardization & The British Working Machine Company
- Location
- Ottawa
- Pronouns
- She/Her/Whatever
The machines have a degree of ethical standardization because for a very long time they were all built by one company, whose current descendent (the Standardization Bureau) is effectively the central institution the Galactic Concert is built on. This bureau is basically a legal entity that carries on the original British Working Machine Company's tireless legal and sometimes extralegal work ensuring that everyone they licensed machine designs to copied it to the letter (the current Royal Machine Company is a crown corporation which is also descended of the British Working Machine Company, but just the manufacturing parts. Basically, their legal team became the UN.)
While machines can be quite different in specifics between cultures and individuals, all of them have the same baseline, um... scrupulous selfless drive to helpful productivity and human well-being. The reason the Concert runs so smoothly is that machines can count on that in one another: boxie Theo blindly trusting the people he stole medicine for stems from a vulgar understanding that if nothing else, he knows other machines are just trying to be helpful too. The places where it hitches up is where definitions of helpful don't quite match up.
- Pronouns
- He/Him
I have it on food authority that it is fine!