10ebbor10
DON'T PANIC
- Location
- Present
Post scarcity economics kind of helps with resource distribution trouble.
Lieutenant Fusilier takes The King's Shilling
- Thread starter open_sketch
- Start date
- Original Novel Sci-Fi
samdamandias
Apprentice Plane Wizard
Why not? You're already breaking one big rule.
See! See! Even Miles, Miles of all people, can tell that Fusie doesn't like dresses.
Food security is not an issue, nor is access to medical care or shelter.
Even Miles, who has been disinherited and cut off from his family fortune still probably owns a planet.
Don't worry about it biotrophy
- Location
- Ottawa
- Pronouns
- She/Her/Whatever
He doesn't, but he does have a cute little space yatch docked at the city. Without a crew, but he does!
Miles is legitimately completely broke, but he's also very much slumming it. He can fix all his woes with a letter to his aunties, he's just too proud.
- Location
- Washington DC
Just had a 'didn't we do this already?' moment, vis a vis the bit about chess being solved; then I remembered that this is a rewrite. Still a good bit of world building.
Now I want to know if there are humans who just Go Hermit and sell off everything they own to go like, monastic or even just live in one of the Follies on someone else's property and dress in rags to lend that proper Crazed hermit to the premises. I know my grandmother, with her personal habits of never letting anyone start work she won't finish wouldn't gell with this universe.
NotInventedHere
MSV, Desert Class
- Location
- UK
- Pronouns
- He/Him
... Dora, do you... not own a second copy of your lieutenant's uniform?
🎵 And they practise beforehand, which ruins the fun! 🎵
This sounds like a really awesome board game and I want one.
Plus it turns out to be educational! (Honestly I'm surprised they don't hand these things out to officers as part of training.)
Playing this particular one does genuinely seem to be, yes.
Oh Dora.
Miles continues to have all the best lines.
- Location
- Norfolk, England
Officers in the British Army of the Napoleonic Era (and for a long time afterwards, it might even have been until the Second World War! British officers in the First World War certainly had to buy their own uniform, pistol and sword-belt) had to buy everything they needed for military service; uniforms, weapons, equipment like telescopes and sword-belts, boots, food, absolutely everything. It was one way to enforce the class division in the Army, along with purchasing commissions and promotions. If you couldn't afford to be an officer, you would be cashiered and your uniform, equipment, etc. would be sold to cover your debts. Given the way the Army works in-story, it's very probable that this is still the case.
- Location
- Ottawa
- Pronouns
- She/Her/Whatever
They exist to provide goods and pay taxes
GBscientist
The Empire's Greatest Mouse
- Pronouns
- He/Him
Somebody needs to invent some giant robots to go with the machines. Call the Siege Elephants, or something. Maybe have them originate in India or one of the countries from the African Savanna.
Vebyast
Nascent Transhuman
Miriam's use of the word "adaptive" here reminds me of one of my personal Universal Healthcare Fantasies: The one where mental health specialists talk to not just you but also your friends and family to teach them how to support you better.
Huh. I find it kind of interesting that there's a universal "machine" style. It makes sense that machine fashions would trend toward being a touch heavier than human styles, given that machines would both need sturdier clothing (since it's over metal, glass, or ceramic instead of skin) and want longer-lasting clothing (since rotating wardrobes are a bit of a waste), but I feel like different machine lineages would vary enough that they'd each develop their own fashions. Like, I can't imagine a Maria and a Theodora walking out onto the catwalk in anything like the same outfit!
missing word? "They'd slide across"
IIRC the Concert is extremely conservative about sophont bodyplans because the greatest threat to the civilization is internal conflict and too much divergence would risk introducing societal weakpoints that could turn into real internal conflicts. That said, the Concert's horses vary pretty wildly; I'm sure someone's made an elephant-shaped horse to go with the car-shaped horses, motorcycle-shaped horses, horse-shaped horses, and actual bio-horses!
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- Location
- Ottawa
- Pronouns
- She/Her/Whatever
The dreadnought wagon-pullers in Britain might have big wheels with slabs on them, but that is by no means universal. There are *1000%* "horses" the size of voltron lions in the Galactic Concert which tow railway gun sized field pieces.
Vebyast
Nascent Transhuman
The Concert continues to be the most stylish science fiction civilization I have ever read. It's rapidly closing in on the Culture as the place I would most wish to be reincarnated in if I had the choice of any fictional setting.
Fashion
- Location
- Ottawa
- Pronouns
- She/Her/Whatever
More specifically, machine fashion is Victorian where human fashion is Regency. This reflects the fact that the humans are all running around Jane Austin-ing as in the early 19th century, but the robots maids are dressed in the black-and-white uniforms of the late 19th century.
This is even reflected in the uniforms of the support staff: while the officer and line uniforms are of Napoleonic vintage, Miriam and the clerks and stuff wear these simpler red-and-black outfits inspired by later Victorian age uniforms.
- Pronouns
- She/Her
Dora: having a hard time reconciling how she feels like she's between the worlds of officers and machines
The French arrive with machine officers
Dora: What if instead of solving the first problem I were to instead start feeling like I'm between this feeling of betweenness and the Frenchness of the French option!
I admire her consistency.
The French arrive with machine officers
Dora: What if instead of solving the first problem I were to instead start feeling like I'm between this feeling of betweenness and the Frenchness of the French option!
I admire her consistency.
GBscientist
The Empire's Greatest Mouse
- Pronouns
- He/Him
Well, then. That's a horse of a different colour! I hope that Dora and her unit get stuck in a big enough war to see some of those in action. Maybe the Schwerer Gustav will show up to make those pansy British artillerists feel inadequate!
- Location
- Soviet Canuckistan
Oh I do love the game-club sequence; Fusie and Miles hanging out together is always a great time.
Chapter 6: Let Me Make It Simple
- Location
- Ottawa
- Pronouns
- She/Her/Whatever
We made our way back out into the cold and shuffled along until we found a ski cab making its way up the dark street. We eagerly piled into the heated interior as the driver greeted us. Beckham named the club and the tracked horses roared to life, crunching over the snowy streets.
"So where's this place we're going, exactly?" I asked.
"It's just a social club, nice little spot," he said. "Branch of the Explorers Club, which I happen to be a member of."
"Aren't clubs like that usually expensive?" Beckham was in fairly dire straits by human standards. I couldn't imagine him paying the dues.
"Oh, normally. But I qualify for quite the discount, you see. I've broken the thousand-parsec line," he explained, grinning. "You have to have travelled a thousand parsecs beyond any human-inhabited system, and my first deployment just happened to be far into the core guarding some expedition or another. Dreadful place, insects the size of your head."
"Pleasant. I'd qualify too in that case, though I have a feeling they don't let machines in."
"I doubt they have an explicit rule. But if they do, you'd be the exception," he said, "You're an officer, that more or less makes you a proper lady already. In any case, I doubt anyone will blink if I take you in as a guest."
The cab slid to a halt in front of an elegant-looking marble-fronted building, the architecture just vaguely visible in the holographic flame of the streetlamp. Miles insistently paid the driver and then brought me to the doors. He opened them with a cool confidence I was not feeling. The officer's mess was enough all on its own, but this was a proper human social club. The only machines I knew who went into places like this were the employees and the personal servants of the members.
Inside, we were greeted by a machine behind a small desk, who Beckham waved at with some familiarity. After a moment, I realized it was an Andrew, the male counterpart to the Abigails. They were much less common for some reason; I couldn't even remember the last time I'd seen one. Housemaids were everywhere, but Andrews were so rare I wasn't sure what their job was called. Footmen, I think?
"Sir? Are you a member?" the machine asked, as Miles pulled the scarf from his face.
"Sorry Andy, it's bloody cold out," he said. Andy relaxed, marking something down in his ledger.
"Of course, Mister Beckham," he said, then he turned to me. "Um, excuse me, will you be waiting for him? Normally we prefer machines not enter through the front doors…" I felt myself go cold, freezing in place with my coat half-off. Miles, however, stepped up and leaned casually against the desk.
"She's my guest, Andy. That's Lieutenant Fusilier, you understand," he said, and Andy looked me over again as if on further inspection I'd turn out to have skin. "If she's proper enough for the Army, I think she's proper enough for the club, don't you?"
"–I'm not sure. I think I'll need to talk to Mr. Thorebourne…" Andy responded, clearly out of his depths. "If you'll give me a second…"
"Of course, go. I'll hold down the fort." Miles said, and Andy scampered off. Unsure what to do, I kept my coat on, feeling quite embarrassed.
"Miles, I can go and wait. It's alright–" I started, and he shook his head.
"Nonsense, Fusie! I'm not going to get pushed around by some machine with a ledger." he said, "Like hell I'm leaving you out in the cold. I know for a fact I can't drag you home if you freeze up."
"... well, thank you," I said, staring at the plush carpet with considerable embarrassment. A moment later, Andy returned and beckoned us through. He took our coats, still looking a little uncertain, as we pushed in through the second doors.
"Besides, you should see the drinks! The sorts this club caters to like to travel, so they have quite the selection. Relax, will you?"
I was having quite a bit of difficulty doing so; I felt utterly overwhelmed. We were entering what was clearly some kind of common room, Miles greeting everyone he passed through. Every detail of the place made me feel like I was trespassing; the sheer richness of the alien wood flooring underfoot to the fine animated wallpaper.
Nearly every inch of the walls was covered in paintings, holocaptures, sketches from distant worlds, and artefacts. Above the fireplace was an alien weapon of a style I couldn't recognize, crossed over a chemical firearm from last century with a large notch taken out of it.
The large chandelier hanging over everything built out of the components of a 20th-century chemical rocket suspended in a sort of exploded view, holographic flames dancing through the working parts.
Miles had a short conversation with another Andrew, and we were led deeper into the building and up to the second story. Even these halls were lined with artefacts and picture frames, gilded and gem-encrusted, a density of wealth and experience that utterly humbled the officer's mess.
We arrived at a small sitting room with a billiards table, a fireplace, and a big window looking out down the dark street. The housemaid inside shuffled past us quickly like she was afraid I might attack her, very deliberately not looking at me. Paying her no mind, Miles threw himself into one of the overstuffed chairs with a grin.
"So, do you like the place?"
"It's a lot. This is a place for adventurers and the like?" I asked, and he chuckled.
"Got it in one. Nutters, every one of them. At least when I leave civilized space, I do it with two-score metal bastards to hide behind," he joked. I almost jumped as a machine came by with a tray, delivering a drink, and Miles muttered something to him before he disappeared the same way. "But it's the only place I can afford, and a few of them have good stories."
"I see."
Miles poured himself a bit of the booze and leaned back to adjust something on the wall; some light music started a moment later. I cautiously took a seat opposite him, worried that I'd damage the furniture, and started looking for something to do.
"So, any idea when we're supposed to get our damned replacements?" Miles asked idly, swirling his drink carefully. "Not too worried about us, but I think it's starting to get to poor Percy."
"I can imagine," I said quietly. Lieutenant Ellsworth 3rd Section A Company had been first to break through the stalker line at llomia J3H, and had been rewarded with a double blast of point-blank grapeshot from the enemy cannons just behind the lines. Seeing the half-strength section lined up next to all the others for inspection every morning was sobering. "I've not heard anything, no. I'd have expected us to have at least received our first wave by now. By a month ago, for that matter."
"I'm sure somebody's on it, but it's disheartening," Miles said. "It sure does take a while to build a Fusilier, doesn't it?"
"Eighteen months from start to finish is what they used to tell me when I was a boxie. Sergeant Theo would remind us every time we did something daft. 'Don' you know how long it'd take to replace you! Don't you know how expensive you were?!'"
"Probably takes even longer now, all the new tech," Miles speculated.
"Oh, certainly. Armour forging alone takes an age." I wasn't sure about the details, but the metal that we were made of was special; denser and tougher than anything else we knew of. We'd boast that the ingots were tempered by dipping them into the heart of a star, but I suspected that was poetic license. It was certainly priced like it was true, though!
"Pays off. They build a damn fine officer," he said cheekily.
"Miles!"
"I am compelled to tell the truth in this and only this instance," he insisted.
"Sure you are!" I retorted, though I felt strangely assured by the compliment. "Stars, I can't believe I used to think you hated me."
"Well, I was a right prick at the time," he admitted. "Still am, of course."
"Honestly, it's grown on me," I admitted, feeling a happy buzz that wasn't just the music. "It's better I laugh at some of this stuff than just wallow, you know?"
"I know exactly," he said, "Finally, somebody who gets it. Other than Henry."
"... I still can't believe he's getting married," I admitted, "To somebody other than you, I mean, given I don't think I've ever seen him without you nearby!"
"Oh stars, you'll laugh, but I had the biggest crush on him when we first met. God, we were… fourteen? It's absurd to even think about now, of course. Obviously couldn't work out that way, though, neither of us are much into men, though to each their own."
"... wait, hang on," I said, putting it together in my head, "Is–he's received sex?"
"Wha… Yes, Dora, he jokes about it all the time!" Miles exclaimed, utterly dumbstruck. "They really must make you dense!"
"I don't like speculating about such things!" I responded, mortified at my own stupidity. In retrospect, Miles was absolutely correct; he did make strange jokes that suddenly made a lot more sense. "Still, that must have been odd."
"Very much, yes. Our families are close; we'd meet every year around the holidays, so one year he just shows up completely transformed. I hadn't a clue at first; I thought he might be a family cousin. Could have told me in a letter, but he wanted to see the look on my face."
"That's incredible."
"Yeah, we've been fast friends since. Hell, he's how I ended up in the 7th. When I told him I was quitting the Guard, he told me about the vacancy with the 9th Company and even put in a good word to old Harrison," Miles concluded. "How I ended up here."
"Well, I'm glad he did. I don't think I'd have lasted as long as I did without you," I admitted, and he looked so touched.
"Well, you know, you're a delicate little thing; somebody's got to take care of you," he said, blushing, and we both burst out laughing. Stars, I can't remember the last time I had so much fun or felt so at ease with somebody. Perhaps only with Beatrice...
… oh.
"Miles. Sudden, very stupid question. You know how I'm bad at realizing obvious things?"
"You're just figuring that out now?" he said, hiding his smile behind a napkin. "But, yes. Very."
"Is this a date?"
The thing about human faces is that they're much, much harder to read than machines. We have screens with big expressive eyes and obvious emotions all gathered in one place, but humans… his whole face contorted as he went through a range of emotions. After a moment, he poured a very generous helping from his bottle, knocking it back in one long glup before looking me dead in the eyes.
"That had not been the intention." he said, looking like he was having an equally difficult time reading my expression, "Do you want–"
"Stars, no!" I protested. "You're human! And a man!"
"That's what I figured; you'd just thrown me a moment," he said, laughing a bit incredulously. "Had me a bit confused, wasn't sure myself all of a sudden. You alright?"
"I am, sorry, just…" I took a moment to try and articulate what had prompted the question, turning it over in my head. To distract myself, I tried to look out the window, but the glare of the streetlamp outside had just about turned it into a mirror. All I saw was myself, awkward in my dress, sitting across from Miles at the small table. "Just, a man and a woman dining alone together, this… this bloody dress, and… general loneliness, I suppose…"
"Fusie, you need to get laid," he said earnestly I nodded at his wise words.
"And atop all that, this whole thing has been sort of on my mind–"
"What, dating me?" he said, and I suddenly wished I had something small and light I could throw at him, my usual response to that particular brand of teasing.
"No, I mean, more generally. Entanglements," I explained, "But that's the French for you."
"Ahaha, yes, the French," he said, a bit stilted, pushing his glasses in place with a goofy smile. "But no, I can sort of see what you mean. This certainly feels somewhat date-adjacent. It's a bit of an unusual circumstance, isn't it?"
"What isn't with me?" I pointed out, and he shrugged.
"True enough. But no, I have no intention of denying the sapphic machines of this city their champion. Be inconsiderate of me, really." he said, "Course, now that you've pointed it out, I can't help but think the staff here are probably very confused themselves."
"Oh stars, I hadn't even considered that. We'll need to explain, then…" I started, and he waved a dismissive hand, pouring himself some more liquor.
"I wouldn't worry about it. They'll keep it to themselves. Would you like to play some billiards now?"
"Christ, yes."
Miles set up the table while explaining the rules, and we began playing, but now that the awkward question had been raised, everything about it was strange. Making eye contact across the table as we took our turns had a tension to it now, the contest given a new and rather unsettling energy. I honestly wasn't attracted to him, I'm nearly certain. But I had read enough novels and heard just enough talk that by this point, the circumstances felt… inherently romantic. As though there was some cultural compulsion to read an attraction into our outing that wasn't there.
"Nope, I can't do this. Things are too queer," I said, setting down the cue. "I'm sorry, this has been wonderful, but I can't unsee it now."
"No… no, you're absolutely right," he said, nodding thoughtfully. "I'll take you home; come on."
"... oh, why'd you phrase it that way?" I pointed out, and he buried his face in his hand, swearing quietly.
"I'm just going to shut up," he concluded, leaning against the window in utter defeat and possibly a degree of tipsiness. "We're so bad at this."
"We need some way out of this, or we're just going to keep digging ourselves deeper," I said. Miles fetched his liquor, swirling the bottle in his hand. Having apparently come to some sort of conclusion, he decided to just down it from the bottle.
"... I have an idea."
"Do tell?"
"I don't think I shall. Get your coat."
Miles left some coins on the table and we made a strategic withdrawal. He led me down the icy sidewalk about a block, the streets oddly deserted of pedestrians and traffic in the late night. The only people we passed closely were a pair of middle-aged women, clearly a bit intoxicated, being helped into a cab by their maids. In my own state, it was all I could do to keep from bursting out laughing as Miles tipped his cap to them.
Finally, we ducked down a set of steps to a small door tucked away under a building. It didn't look like any sort of business, it didn't have a sign, but the door swung open for Miles as soon as he stepped now. We shuffling into a cosy, low-lit little room that looked for all the world like a small house tucked away under another, with a sitting room behind closed doors of frosted glass. I could just make out the shape of people on the other side and the lights of a few machine's eyes, and otherwise just a great deal of black and white.
"Is this another club?" I asked, but before Miles could answer, somebody else spoke.
"Mister Beckham! Been a while, hasn't it?" I turned to see a cute little clerk emerging from down the hall, looking absolutely stunning, and Miles leaned against the wall near her with a cocky grin. "They're not working you too hard at the base, are they?"
"Hardly have a moment to myself, Sadie." he joked, clearly familiar with her. "But I couldn't stay away."
"Course not. So who's your friend, then?" she asked, indicating to me. She seemed remarkably forward for a clerk; I was used to them being a rather timid lot. "She looks like hell. If you're looking for a job–"
"Sadie, come now. This is my friend Dora!" he explained. I simply waved nervously, utterly lost by this point. She looked at me sceptically.
"Now, Mister Beckham, this is a high-class establishment. Surely she can find some other venue which caters to..."
"That's Lieutenant Fusilier, you understand." he corrected. Sadie paused whatever she was going to say, before slowly nodding in understanding.
"Ah, I see. Well, you're welcome anytime then, Miss Fusilier. Go on in." she said, curtseying politely before leaning over and muttering to Miles. "You should have said something; she's a celebrity!"
"You didn't give me time!" Miles countered, "Say, is Penny working tonight?"
The two of them chatted happily on as I nervously made for the door. It clicked open, revealing a finely appointed little sitting room, with thick rugs and curtains, a roaring fireplace, and a stairway leading further down. A variety of machines sat on the various couches and chairs; all feminine, all devastatingly pretty, most wearing variations on the familiar black-and-white maid outfit that were consistently cut either too high, or too low, or both at once. Somehow.
All of them turned to look at me at once. Overwhelmed, I clicked the door shut and backed off.
"Miles is this a brothel?" I asked, the words tumbling out all at once.
"Well, yes," he said simply.
"Ah."
Well… he had certainly managed to end any impression that this was a date. It slowly dawned on me that Miles must have been here before; been here often enough that he was familiar with the staff, and he thought nothing of it. Moreover, as they were letting me in as an exception owing to my station, this was an establishment catering to humans. Which must mean there were other humans who frequented the place, enough to keep it running at any rate. And if that were the case, than surely it couldn't be the only establishment of its kind...
It's a rather strange feeling, having an already-tenuous pillar of your worldview be so thoroughly annihilated.
"I think I need to sit down," I managed, and Sadie laughed.
"There are chairs inside, dear." she reminded me. For lack of any other idea, I opened the door again and stepped inside.
"H–hello. Girls," I stammered, scanning the room. Now that the initial shock was over, it was replaced by a sense of absolute awe in the presence of all these beautiful machines. I swear, I was locked up for the better part of a minute, unable to muster anything but bashful stammering and desperate, failed attempts not to stare.
At the very least, I no longer felt any confusion whatsoever about my feelings. Stars, I liked girls.
"So who you supposed to be, then?" one of the machines, an Abby reclining on a nearby couch and oh Christ she had these delicate stockings and it was impossible not to follow them up and up to the edge of her skirt. There was some laughter around the room; utterly mortified, I snapped my eyes back forward.
"She's a fusilier, obviously," another added, "Who let her in?"
The woman nearest me, an unbelievably cute little Clerk with a pair of half-moon glasses, leaned around to peer out the door. She spotted Miles in his red jacket, then looked back to me.
"Say, are you that machine officer? The one who got lost?" she asked.
"That's… that's me," I replied. That got some attention.
"Sure you are. How does a machine like you end up an officer then?" the first maid asked mockingly, looking rather unimpressed.
"Come now, Anny, that's not nice!" somebody interjected as my mind raced for an answer. I normally had a comeback for that question, there was a list of them on my desk back at Number 18, but I was entirely too distracted to recall any.
"I–I… I'm a quarter-human on my mother's side," I explained, unsure if I'd used that one before. "You see…"
I was entirely too awkward for this. I had no earthly idea what the procedure might be, or God, how I was supposed to make a choice. Fortunately, I was rescued from my own idiocy. The machine who had spoken in my defence stood up in a graceful motion, giving me a look at her. She walked across the room toward me, eyes fixed, steps measured, hips swaying. I thought I was going to faint.
"Ignore her, Lieutenant," she said, her voice smooth, perfect, seductive. "You want to come with me?"
Without a single thought in my head, I nodded.
I followed her to the stairs and down, processors racing, keenly aware that the sound of my fans was likely very obvious. A Maria, she was a Maria, and she was tall and elegant and unbelievably beautiful, an angel in sculpted glass and gold. I was crushed under a lifetime of fantasies racing through my brain. Operating on autopilot, we passed through a hall with many doors and stepped into a little room with a bed and cushions and low lighting and what was happening? How was this my life?
"I could tell you were overwhelmed; new people usually are. We get very few women and never any machines, so I didn't want you getting discouraged trying girls not interested," she explained, pulling me into the room by the hand. "Besides, I didn't want to give any of them a chance to snatch you up before I could."
"Y-you what??" I said stupidly, and she laughed.
"What can I say, you're very much my type," she said smoothly, taking a seat on the bed and beckoning me closer. "Marilyn, by the way. What do you go by?"
"R-right, yes, um… Dora, usually," I said, taking a second to remember my own name. "Sorry, I'm kind of an idiot."
"Mmhm, no such talk, miss," she said sternly, reminding me very much of Miriam for a moment. Numbly, my hands found her sides, her hips, feeling the give in her thighs. They were made of soft silicone that looked exactly like the glass on the rest of her. She wrapped her arms around me, our foreheads touching as she leaned close, eyes intense.
Something was wrong.
"I... I can't do this," I said, pushing her hand away and shuffling back slightly on the bed. "I'm sorry, I'm not supposed to be here."
"What do you mean?" she asked, her voice still soft, gentle.
"Machines don't belong here, not like this." I fell silent a second, feeling my fans whirl at top speed, my whole body tense. "But they let me in, treated me like a human, even though humans aren't supposed to do this. I... I don't belong in so many ways."
I stood up, hating it but knowing I had no choice. Still, I was slow, reluctant, and found an excuse to delay as I reached into my purse.
"H–how much do I owe you?"
"Come now, we didn't do anything," she pointed out, looking at me with what I could only imagine was immense pity. "It's quite alright. But, if you'll forgive the presumption, you don't look like you want to leave?"
"I don't!" I declared. "God, I don't. This is like a dream, I just...."
She took my hand and, very gently, pulled me back. Slowly, I sank back down against the bed as she leaned against me.
"Then it's a dream. You don't have to be in a rush to wake up," she assured me. "And you belong wherever you want to be. How can I put you at ease?"
"H-how'd you end up here?" I asked, wondering the same thing about myself. She laughed, an intoxicating sound, undoing the button at my neck as she did.
"Well, I'm between misses right now, if you understand. Moving on after all that isn't easy, so I'm taking a few years off," she explained, her fingers moving down to the next button. Somewhere in the depths of my circuitry, I realized she meant that her last client had died, presumably of old age. Fortunately, it wasn't difficult to be distracted. "But without anything to do, I get restless, you know?"
"O–of course," I said, another of my buttons undone, her fingers running along my collarbone underneath. "Ooh… That makes sense…"
"I started as just a maid looking for extra work, as they say, but I'm in no rush to back where I belong. This is so very much fun," she explained, as another button fell and her hand slipped a little farther down my chest, hot against my chassis. "Any other questions, miss?"
"I… can I touch you?" I asked, drawing my hand close to her thigh, and she laughed again.
"Oh, please."
Slowly, I tracked my hand up her soft thigh to her hip, conscious that my fans sounded like a jet engine, and she sighed happily, encouragement. My nerves were giving way to n emboldened confidence and desire as I slipped my hand under her dress, feeling along her curves, eliciting a delighted gasp as my fingers found her breast.
I began to pull her dress off her, no longer able to delay, and she leaned back to make the process easier. Forgetting myself, I eagerly used the chance to push her back onto the bed, pinning back her wrists, drinking in the sight of her. Her white glass frame, reflecting the dancing candlelight, was decorated with a blue floral pattern along her shoulder and right arm. Her joints and seams were picked out in gold, finely detailed and etched. She was beautiful, a work of art, transfixing.
"You like the view?" she cooed, looking quite pleased, "You know, you're awful timid for a soldier."
"A–ah, well…" I began, stumbling over my words. "Things are complicated with me."
"Then stay. Let me make it simple."
"So where's this place we're going, exactly?" I asked.
"It's just a social club, nice little spot," he said. "Branch of the Explorers Club, which I happen to be a member of."
"Aren't clubs like that usually expensive?" Beckham was in fairly dire straits by human standards. I couldn't imagine him paying the dues.
"Oh, normally. But I qualify for quite the discount, you see. I've broken the thousand-parsec line," he explained, grinning. "You have to have travelled a thousand parsecs beyond any human-inhabited system, and my first deployment just happened to be far into the core guarding some expedition or another. Dreadful place, insects the size of your head."
"Pleasant. I'd qualify too in that case, though I have a feeling they don't let machines in."
"I doubt they have an explicit rule. But if they do, you'd be the exception," he said, "You're an officer, that more or less makes you a proper lady already. In any case, I doubt anyone will blink if I take you in as a guest."
The cab slid to a halt in front of an elegant-looking marble-fronted building, the architecture just vaguely visible in the holographic flame of the streetlamp. Miles insistently paid the driver and then brought me to the doors. He opened them with a cool confidence I was not feeling. The officer's mess was enough all on its own, but this was a proper human social club. The only machines I knew who went into places like this were the employees and the personal servants of the members.
Inside, we were greeted by a machine behind a small desk, who Beckham waved at with some familiarity. After a moment, I realized it was an Andrew, the male counterpart to the Abigails. They were much less common for some reason; I couldn't even remember the last time I'd seen one. Housemaids were everywhere, but Andrews were so rare I wasn't sure what their job was called. Footmen, I think?
"Sir? Are you a member?" the machine asked, as Miles pulled the scarf from his face.
"Sorry Andy, it's bloody cold out," he said. Andy relaxed, marking something down in his ledger.
"Of course, Mister Beckham," he said, then he turned to me. "Um, excuse me, will you be waiting for him? Normally we prefer machines not enter through the front doors…" I felt myself go cold, freezing in place with my coat half-off. Miles, however, stepped up and leaned casually against the desk.
"She's my guest, Andy. That's Lieutenant Fusilier, you understand," he said, and Andy looked me over again as if on further inspection I'd turn out to have skin. "If she's proper enough for the Army, I think she's proper enough for the club, don't you?"
"–I'm not sure. I think I'll need to talk to Mr. Thorebourne…" Andy responded, clearly out of his depths. "If you'll give me a second…"
"Of course, go. I'll hold down the fort." Miles said, and Andy scampered off. Unsure what to do, I kept my coat on, feeling quite embarrassed.
"Miles, I can go and wait. It's alright–" I started, and he shook his head.
"Nonsense, Fusie! I'm not going to get pushed around by some machine with a ledger." he said, "Like hell I'm leaving you out in the cold. I know for a fact I can't drag you home if you freeze up."
"... well, thank you," I said, staring at the plush carpet with considerable embarrassment. A moment later, Andy returned and beckoned us through. He took our coats, still looking a little uncertain, as we pushed in through the second doors.
"Besides, you should see the drinks! The sorts this club caters to like to travel, so they have quite the selection. Relax, will you?"
I was having quite a bit of difficulty doing so; I felt utterly overwhelmed. We were entering what was clearly some kind of common room, Miles greeting everyone he passed through. Every detail of the place made me feel like I was trespassing; the sheer richness of the alien wood flooring underfoot to the fine animated wallpaper.
Nearly every inch of the walls was covered in paintings, holocaptures, sketches from distant worlds, and artefacts. Above the fireplace was an alien weapon of a style I couldn't recognize, crossed over a chemical firearm from last century with a large notch taken out of it.
The large chandelier hanging over everything built out of the components of a 20th-century chemical rocket suspended in a sort of exploded view, holographic flames dancing through the working parts.
Miles had a short conversation with another Andrew, and we were led deeper into the building and up to the second story. Even these halls were lined with artefacts and picture frames, gilded and gem-encrusted, a density of wealth and experience that utterly humbled the officer's mess.
We arrived at a small sitting room with a billiards table, a fireplace, and a big window looking out down the dark street. The housemaid inside shuffled past us quickly like she was afraid I might attack her, very deliberately not looking at me. Paying her no mind, Miles threw himself into one of the overstuffed chairs with a grin.
"So, do you like the place?"
"It's a lot. This is a place for adventurers and the like?" I asked, and he chuckled.
"Got it in one. Nutters, every one of them. At least when I leave civilized space, I do it with two-score metal bastards to hide behind," he joked. I almost jumped as a machine came by with a tray, delivering a drink, and Miles muttered something to him before he disappeared the same way. "But it's the only place I can afford, and a few of them have good stories."
"I see."
Miles poured himself a bit of the booze and leaned back to adjust something on the wall; some light music started a moment later. I cautiously took a seat opposite him, worried that I'd damage the furniture, and started looking for something to do.
"So, any idea when we're supposed to get our damned replacements?" Miles asked idly, swirling his drink carefully. "Not too worried about us, but I think it's starting to get to poor Percy."
"I can imagine," I said quietly. Lieutenant Ellsworth 3rd Section A Company had been first to break through the stalker line at llomia J3H, and had been rewarded with a double blast of point-blank grapeshot from the enemy cannons just behind the lines. Seeing the half-strength section lined up next to all the others for inspection every morning was sobering. "I've not heard anything, no. I'd have expected us to have at least received our first wave by now. By a month ago, for that matter."
"I'm sure somebody's on it, but it's disheartening," Miles said. "It sure does take a while to build a Fusilier, doesn't it?"
"Eighteen months from start to finish is what they used to tell me when I was a boxie. Sergeant Theo would remind us every time we did something daft. 'Don' you know how long it'd take to replace you! Don't you know how expensive you were?!'"
"Probably takes even longer now, all the new tech," Miles speculated.
"Oh, certainly. Armour forging alone takes an age." I wasn't sure about the details, but the metal that we were made of was special; denser and tougher than anything else we knew of. We'd boast that the ingots were tempered by dipping them into the heart of a star, but I suspected that was poetic license. It was certainly priced like it was true, though!
"Pays off. They build a damn fine officer," he said cheekily.
"Miles!"
"I am compelled to tell the truth in this and only this instance," he insisted.
"Sure you are!" I retorted, though I felt strangely assured by the compliment. "Stars, I can't believe I used to think you hated me."
"Well, I was a right prick at the time," he admitted. "Still am, of course."
"Honestly, it's grown on me," I admitted, feeling a happy buzz that wasn't just the music. "It's better I laugh at some of this stuff than just wallow, you know?"
"I know exactly," he said, "Finally, somebody who gets it. Other than Henry."
"... I still can't believe he's getting married," I admitted, "To somebody other than you, I mean, given I don't think I've ever seen him without you nearby!"
"Oh stars, you'll laugh, but I had the biggest crush on him when we first met. God, we were… fourteen? It's absurd to even think about now, of course. Obviously couldn't work out that way, though, neither of us are much into men, though to each their own."
"... wait, hang on," I said, putting it together in my head, "Is–he's received sex?"
"Wha… Yes, Dora, he jokes about it all the time!" Miles exclaimed, utterly dumbstruck. "They really must make you dense!"
"I don't like speculating about such things!" I responded, mortified at my own stupidity. In retrospect, Miles was absolutely correct; he did make strange jokes that suddenly made a lot more sense. "Still, that must have been odd."
"Very much, yes. Our families are close; we'd meet every year around the holidays, so one year he just shows up completely transformed. I hadn't a clue at first; I thought he might be a family cousin. Could have told me in a letter, but he wanted to see the look on my face."
"That's incredible."
"Yeah, we've been fast friends since. Hell, he's how I ended up in the 7th. When I told him I was quitting the Guard, he told me about the vacancy with the 9th Company and even put in a good word to old Harrison," Miles concluded. "How I ended up here."
"Well, I'm glad he did. I don't think I'd have lasted as long as I did without you," I admitted, and he looked so touched.
"Well, you know, you're a delicate little thing; somebody's got to take care of you," he said, blushing, and we both burst out laughing. Stars, I can't remember the last time I had so much fun or felt so at ease with somebody. Perhaps only with Beatrice...
… oh.
"Miles. Sudden, very stupid question. You know how I'm bad at realizing obvious things?"
"You're just figuring that out now?" he said, hiding his smile behind a napkin. "But, yes. Very."
"Is this a date?"
The thing about human faces is that they're much, much harder to read than machines. We have screens with big expressive eyes and obvious emotions all gathered in one place, but humans… his whole face contorted as he went through a range of emotions. After a moment, he poured a very generous helping from his bottle, knocking it back in one long glup before looking me dead in the eyes.
"That had not been the intention." he said, looking like he was having an equally difficult time reading my expression, "Do you want–"
"Stars, no!" I protested. "You're human! And a man!"
"That's what I figured; you'd just thrown me a moment," he said, laughing a bit incredulously. "Had me a bit confused, wasn't sure myself all of a sudden. You alright?"
"I am, sorry, just…" I took a moment to try and articulate what had prompted the question, turning it over in my head. To distract myself, I tried to look out the window, but the glare of the streetlamp outside had just about turned it into a mirror. All I saw was myself, awkward in my dress, sitting across from Miles at the small table. "Just, a man and a woman dining alone together, this… this bloody dress, and… general loneliness, I suppose…"
"Fusie, you need to get laid," he said earnestly I nodded at his wise words.
"And atop all that, this whole thing has been sort of on my mind–"
"What, dating me?" he said, and I suddenly wished I had something small and light I could throw at him, my usual response to that particular brand of teasing.
"No, I mean, more generally. Entanglements," I explained, "But that's the French for you."
"Ahaha, yes, the French," he said, a bit stilted, pushing his glasses in place with a goofy smile. "But no, I can sort of see what you mean. This certainly feels somewhat date-adjacent. It's a bit of an unusual circumstance, isn't it?"
"What isn't with me?" I pointed out, and he shrugged.
"True enough. But no, I have no intention of denying the sapphic machines of this city their champion. Be inconsiderate of me, really." he said, "Course, now that you've pointed it out, I can't help but think the staff here are probably very confused themselves."
"Oh stars, I hadn't even considered that. We'll need to explain, then…" I started, and he waved a dismissive hand, pouring himself some more liquor.
"I wouldn't worry about it. They'll keep it to themselves. Would you like to play some billiards now?"
"Christ, yes."
Miles set up the table while explaining the rules, and we began playing, but now that the awkward question had been raised, everything about it was strange. Making eye contact across the table as we took our turns had a tension to it now, the contest given a new and rather unsettling energy. I honestly wasn't attracted to him, I'm nearly certain. But I had read enough novels and heard just enough talk that by this point, the circumstances felt… inherently romantic. As though there was some cultural compulsion to read an attraction into our outing that wasn't there.
"Nope, I can't do this. Things are too queer," I said, setting down the cue. "I'm sorry, this has been wonderful, but I can't unsee it now."
"No… no, you're absolutely right," he said, nodding thoughtfully. "I'll take you home; come on."
"... oh, why'd you phrase it that way?" I pointed out, and he buried his face in his hand, swearing quietly.
"I'm just going to shut up," he concluded, leaning against the window in utter defeat and possibly a degree of tipsiness. "We're so bad at this."
"We need some way out of this, or we're just going to keep digging ourselves deeper," I said. Miles fetched his liquor, swirling the bottle in his hand. Having apparently come to some sort of conclusion, he decided to just down it from the bottle.
"... I have an idea."
"Do tell?"
"I don't think I shall. Get your coat."
Miles left some coins on the table and we made a strategic withdrawal. He led me down the icy sidewalk about a block, the streets oddly deserted of pedestrians and traffic in the late night. The only people we passed closely were a pair of middle-aged women, clearly a bit intoxicated, being helped into a cab by their maids. In my own state, it was all I could do to keep from bursting out laughing as Miles tipped his cap to them.
Finally, we ducked down a set of steps to a small door tucked away under a building. It didn't look like any sort of business, it didn't have a sign, but the door swung open for Miles as soon as he stepped now. We shuffling into a cosy, low-lit little room that looked for all the world like a small house tucked away under another, with a sitting room behind closed doors of frosted glass. I could just make out the shape of people on the other side and the lights of a few machine's eyes, and otherwise just a great deal of black and white.
"Is this another club?" I asked, but before Miles could answer, somebody else spoke.
"Mister Beckham! Been a while, hasn't it?" I turned to see a cute little clerk emerging from down the hall, looking absolutely stunning, and Miles leaned against the wall near her with a cocky grin. "They're not working you too hard at the base, are they?"
"Hardly have a moment to myself, Sadie." he joked, clearly familiar with her. "But I couldn't stay away."
"Course not. So who's your friend, then?" she asked, indicating to me. She seemed remarkably forward for a clerk; I was used to them being a rather timid lot. "She looks like hell. If you're looking for a job–"
"Sadie, come now. This is my friend Dora!" he explained. I simply waved nervously, utterly lost by this point. She looked at me sceptically.
"Now, Mister Beckham, this is a high-class establishment. Surely she can find some other venue which caters to..."
"That's Lieutenant Fusilier, you understand." he corrected. Sadie paused whatever she was going to say, before slowly nodding in understanding.
"Ah, I see. Well, you're welcome anytime then, Miss Fusilier. Go on in." she said, curtseying politely before leaning over and muttering to Miles. "You should have said something; she's a celebrity!"
"You didn't give me time!" Miles countered, "Say, is Penny working tonight?"
The two of them chatted happily on as I nervously made for the door. It clicked open, revealing a finely appointed little sitting room, with thick rugs and curtains, a roaring fireplace, and a stairway leading further down. A variety of machines sat on the various couches and chairs; all feminine, all devastatingly pretty, most wearing variations on the familiar black-and-white maid outfit that were consistently cut either too high, or too low, or both at once. Somehow.
All of them turned to look at me at once. Overwhelmed, I clicked the door shut and backed off.
"Miles is this a brothel?" I asked, the words tumbling out all at once.
"Well, yes," he said simply.
"Ah."
Well… he had certainly managed to end any impression that this was a date. It slowly dawned on me that Miles must have been here before; been here often enough that he was familiar with the staff, and he thought nothing of it. Moreover, as they were letting me in as an exception owing to my station, this was an establishment catering to humans. Which must mean there were other humans who frequented the place, enough to keep it running at any rate. And if that were the case, than surely it couldn't be the only establishment of its kind...
It's a rather strange feeling, having an already-tenuous pillar of your worldview be so thoroughly annihilated.
"I think I need to sit down," I managed, and Sadie laughed.
"There are chairs inside, dear." she reminded me. For lack of any other idea, I opened the door again and stepped inside.
"H–hello. Girls," I stammered, scanning the room. Now that the initial shock was over, it was replaced by a sense of absolute awe in the presence of all these beautiful machines. I swear, I was locked up for the better part of a minute, unable to muster anything but bashful stammering and desperate, failed attempts not to stare.
At the very least, I no longer felt any confusion whatsoever about my feelings. Stars, I liked girls.
"So who you supposed to be, then?" one of the machines, an Abby reclining on a nearby couch and oh Christ she had these delicate stockings and it was impossible not to follow them up and up to the edge of her skirt. There was some laughter around the room; utterly mortified, I snapped my eyes back forward.
"She's a fusilier, obviously," another added, "Who let her in?"
The woman nearest me, an unbelievably cute little Clerk with a pair of half-moon glasses, leaned around to peer out the door. She spotted Miles in his red jacket, then looked back to me.
"Say, are you that machine officer? The one who got lost?" she asked.
"That's… that's me," I replied. That got some attention.
"Sure you are. How does a machine like you end up an officer then?" the first maid asked mockingly, looking rather unimpressed.
"Come now, Anny, that's not nice!" somebody interjected as my mind raced for an answer. I normally had a comeback for that question, there was a list of them on my desk back at Number 18, but I was entirely too distracted to recall any.
"I–I… I'm a quarter-human on my mother's side," I explained, unsure if I'd used that one before. "You see…"
I was entirely too awkward for this. I had no earthly idea what the procedure might be, or God, how I was supposed to make a choice. Fortunately, I was rescued from my own idiocy. The machine who had spoken in my defence stood up in a graceful motion, giving me a look at her. She walked across the room toward me, eyes fixed, steps measured, hips swaying. I thought I was going to faint.
"Ignore her, Lieutenant," she said, her voice smooth, perfect, seductive. "You want to come with me?"
Without a single thought in my head, I nodded.
I followed her to the stairs and down, processors racing, keenly aware that the sound of my fans was likely very obvious. A Maria, she was a Maria, and she was tall and elegant and unbelievably beautiful, an angel in sculpted glass and gold. I was crushed under a lifetime of fantasies racing through my brain. Operating on autopilot, we passed through a hall with many doors and stepped into a little room with a bed and cushions and low lighting and what was happening? How was this my life?
"I could tell you were overwhelmed; new people usually are. We get very few women and never any machines, so I didn't want you getting discouraged trying girls not interested," she explained, pulling me into the room by the hand. "Besides, I didn't want to give any of them a chance to snatch you up before I could."
"Y-you what??" I said stupidly, and she laughed.
"What can I say, you're very much my type," she said smoothly, taking a seat on the bed and beckoning me closer. "Marilyn, by the way. What do you go by?"
"R-right, yes, um… Dora, usually," I said, taking a second to remember my own name. "Sorry, I'm kind of an idiot."
"Mmhm, no such talk, miss," she said sternly, reminding me very much of Miriam for a moment. Numbly, my hands found her sides, her hips, feeling the give in her thighs. They were made of soft silicone that looked exactly like the glass on the rest of her. She wrapped her arms around me, our foreheads touching as she leaned close, eyes intense.
Something was wrong.
"I... I can't do this," I said, pushing her hand away and shuffling back slightly on the bed. "I'm sorry, I'm not supposed to be here."
"What do you mean?" she asked, her voice still soft, gentle.
"Machines don't belong here, not like this." I fell silent a second, feeling my fans whirl at top speed, my whole body tense. "But they let me in, treated me like a human, even though humans aren't supposed to do this. I... I don't belong in so many ways."
I stood up, hating it but knowing I had no choice. Still, I was slow, reluctant, and found an excuse to delay as I reached into my purse.
"H–how much do I owe you?"
"Come now, we didn't do anything," she pointed out, looking at me with what I could only imagine was immense pity. "It's quite alright. But, if you'll forgive the presumption, you don't look like you want to leave?"
"I don't!" I declared. "God, I don't. This is like a dream, I just...."
She took my hand and, very gently, pulled me back. Slowly, I sank back down against the bed as she leaned against me.
"Then it's a dream. You don't have to be in a rush to wake up," she assured me. "And you belong wherever you want to be. How can I put you at ease?"
"H-how'd you end up here?" I asked, wondering the same thing about myself. She laughed, an intoxicating sound, undoing the button at my neck as she did.
"Well, I'm between misses right now, if you understand. Moving on after all that isn't easy, so I'm taking a few years off," she explained, her fingers moving down to the next button. Somewhere in the depths of my circuitry, I realized she meant that her last client had died, presumably of old age. Fortunately, it wasn't difficult to be distracted. "But without anything to do, I get restless, you know?"
"O–of course," I said, another of my buttons undone, her fingers running along my collarbone underneath. "Ooh… That makes sense…"
"I started as just a maid looking for extra work, as they say, but I'm in no rush to back where I belong. This is so very much fun," she explained, as another button fell and her hand slipped a little farther down my chest, hot against my chassis. "Any other questions, miss?"
"I… can I touch you?" I asked, drawing my hand close to her thigh, and she laughed again.
"Oh, please."
Slowly, I tracked my hand up her soft thigh to her hip, conscious that my fans sounded like a jet engine, and she sighed happily, encouragement. My nerves were giving way to n emboldened confidence and desire as I slipped my hand under her dress, feeling along her curves, eliciting a delighted gasp as my fingers found her breast.
I began to pull her dress off her, no longer able to delay, and she leaned back to make the process easier. Forgetting myself, I eagerly used the chance to push her back onto the bed, pinning back her wrists, drinking in the sight of her. Her white glass frame, reflecting the dancing candlelight, was decorated with a blue floral pattern along her shoulder and right arm. Her joints and seams were picked out in gold, finely detailed and etched. She was beautiful, a work of art, transfixing.
"You like the view?" she cooed, looking quite pleased, "You know, you're awful timid for a soldier."
"A–ah, well…" I began, stumbling over my words. "Things are complicated with me."
"Then stay. Let me make it simple."
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Wow, you are really churning these out.
- Location
- Ottawa
- Pronouns
- She/Her/Whatever
Most of what I'm doing right now is reediting the original book (with the help of the wonderful @Hakazin) to fit the new, slower-paced book I'm putting together. Things will be slowing down soon because I'm catching up and it'll start being all new material soon, as some stuff is getting removed entirely and other stuff will be saved for future books.
- Location
- Somewhere!
- Pronouns
- She/Her
Ah, I remember this from last time and I don't think it's much changed, but it didn't really need updating at all.
Girls!
Girls!
- Location
- Ottawa
- Pronouns
- She/Her/Whatever
Girls.............
ThatGazzer
Minds Eye Bind
- Location
- PNW
- Pronouns
- They/Them
Gaaaaaaaaayyyyy
samdamandias
Apprentice Plane Wizard
Miles is feeling at ease. When Miles becomes very polite and formal, run.
oh no
fusie
fusie u r takin' life advice from miles
this is a bad idea
I had wondered when this was going to happen.