by Isaac Hooke
Rade waited for Skullcracker to say more, but when his friend wasn’t forthcoming, he added: “I don’t believe that. You inked your face because you wanted to strike fear into the hearts of your enemies. You—”
“That’s bullshit,” Skullcracker said. “The same bullshit I’ve been feeding you all my entire life. Enemies never see my face. Not when I’m inside a jumpsuit. Or a mech. Sure, maybe it was useful in training, or the few Earth deployments we had, but again, even then, my opponents rarely saw my face. Most of the boots on the ground combat was never face to face. I was a heavy gunner, not a knifer, or a swordsman. So yeah, it’s bullshit. I covered my face to hide my ugliness. And my emotions. And to convince everyone who knew me that I was bad as fuck. And it was all a lie. You didn’t see me cry, man, when I read that message from home. You didn’t see me bawl my eyes out. You don’t know how much of a pussy I am.”
“You’re not a pussy,” Rade said. “You’re the toughest man I ever knew. You’re—”
“No I’m not!” Skullcracker said. “Don’t you dare say that, don’t you dare. I could have dropped everything. Bailed out to go home, and spent my last few days with the person most important to me. But I didn’t. I stayed here. Like a coward. Hiding in my role. Telling myself it was duty. Well, I got news for you, there’s no such thing as duty. That’s some bullshit invented by the military to make us feel guilty. They tell us our friends will die if we don’t watch their backs. Well shit. The reason they die is because the Brass fuckers put us into the line of fire in the first place.
“It’s all fake anyway. All of it. They design their whole training to make us bond with our team mates, to make us become the closest of friends, closer than family even, so that when it comes time to put our lives at stake, they know we won’t disobey. They make it seem like it’s going to be just some ordinary job. Kill a few grunts, go home for dinner. But it’s not ordinary. They order us to undertake scenarios that no sane man would ever entertain on his own, but it’s the friendships and sense of competition they’ve engineered among us that causes us to obey, for fear of disappointing our brothers, or letting them die.
“Duty. I’ve lived my whole life reverent of duty. And what has it gotten me? Only sorrow. All of this was for nothing. Everything. What’s the point? In this, or in life itself? We’re all going to die anyway. It doesn’t matter. Nothing does. We might as well just give up now. Disconnect our oxygen pumps. Why bother to fight? Never give up. Never give in. The mantras of the Teams. And yet, even that is bullshit. It doesn’t matter if you never give up, because someday you’ll be forced to anyway. Death will come. Without a doubt. A laser shot to the head that you don’t even see coming. Or it could be long and tortuous, your days spent in agony, waiting for the end. Fuck, fuck, fuck.”
“Death could come anytime, this is true,” Rade said, considering his words carefully. “But we have to try, Skullcracker. That’s the point of life. We have to try. No matter what happens. We have to get up each morning. We have to rise, go to the window, and peer out at the sun, or into the stars, wherever we might be. We have to fight.”
“Yeah sure,” Skullcracker said. “But someday, you won’t be able to get up in the morning. Someday, that window will be forever out of reach, mocking you, taunting you. And you’ll want to live, yearning for it, and yet death will still come for you. And there’s nothing you or anyone else can do. When that happens to you, trust me, you’ll understand, that there really is no point in anything.” He shook his head. “I just… I tell you, Chief, I feel like quitting every day. I realize now I was doing this for all the wrong reasons. Fighting as a MOTH. I told myself I was protecting the family I left behind, doing my part to ensure Earth was always the land of the free. But in reality, I was doing it for her. To impress her. To make her proud. And now that she’s gone, I feel like I have no reason to continue doing this. Yes, I’m a member of one of the most elite teams in the galaxy. But who really cares now?”
“I’m not sure what to tell you,” Rade said. “I’d hate to see you go, of course, but if you want to leave, I won’t force you to stay. If we were back home, I’d recommend you take a few months of bereavement leave. Unfortunately, I can’t do that at the moment, given our current situation. All I can say is, and I know this is going to sound cliché, but I need you to man up. I’m sorry to have to tell you that now, of all times, but it’s true. We all need you, Skullcracker. Your guns. Your skills. You control the darkness that has gripped your heart. You do. Not me, not anyone else. If you let it consume you, it will. It’s up to you to fend it off.”
Rade paused, then: “You told me the military invented duty to make us feel guilty, to remind us that our friends would die if we didn’t watch their backs and protect them? That’s partially true. And yet, you’re wrong when you imply that we didn’t know what this job entailed. We all knew we’d be stepping into the line of fire when we signed up for this. We knew we wouldn’t be going home for dinner each and every night. The friendships might be by design, but the love and protectiveness we feel for each other is not. Because we all know that if we let one of our friends die out here, as painful as that thought is, we could very well be next.
“We’re all going to die, you’re right about that. And while I can’t promise you the meaning of life, I can swear to you I’ll do everything in my power to ensure that when death does come, it won’t be here on this world. Not while you serve under my command.”
Skullcracker remained silent for several seconds. Then: “It must be hard, losing those serving under you.”
“Just as hard as losing a brother, a feeling you know very well,” Rade said. “And just as hard as losing a family member.”
“Sorry for my rant, Chief,” Skullcracker told him. “I think… I just need to get back into battle. When we were inside the geodesic dome, in the colony, I forgot everything. I was able to focus fully on the threat. I need that again. Something to distract me. It’s the downtimes like now that are bad for me. In the meantime, I’ll schedule a few therapy sessions with my mech AI. I promise not to rant like that again. It was very unprofessional of me.”
“No, Skullcracker,” Rade said. “I’m the one who has to apologize. For not being able to do more. And opening up to me, sharing your deepest and darkest thoughts and feelings, that was hardly unprofessional. It was needed. I want you to come to me if ever you need someone to talk to. In fact, I’d prefer you talked to me over your AI.”
“Thanks, boss,” Skullcracker said. “I’ll consider it. But I have to admit, there’s something appealing about talking to a soulless, faceless AI.”
“I can understand and respect that,” Rade said. “But I’d still prefer you came to me. We can communicate in voice-only mode, if it helps. No avatars.”
“All right, we’ll see,” Skullcracker told him.
“Okay, good,” Rade said. He wasn’t going to force Skullcracker to commit to something he didn’t want to do. But he was glad to at least leave the door open to his friend.
Rade watched Cynthia work for a few minutes. It wasn’t obvious what she was doing—she sat hunched over that table, and occasionally tweaked a few wires or applied a metal probe into the AI core facsimile or the alien object in turn, but otherwise she didn’t perform any obvious physical actions: she was probably programming the device via the augmented reality interface of either her helmet faceplate or her brain Implant, if she had one.
He bid Skullcracker farewell, and then left him behind to retrace his steps to the main tunnel.
6
Rade followed the tunnel to the main entrance, where the Brigands of Kicker and Pyro stood guard. The two were gazing out onto the rocky plains beyond, watching for tangos through the scopes of their cobra lasers.
Rade joined them, and looped the two of them into a private conversation channel. “Greetings, cadets.” That was a running joke among them: he always referred to the pair as cadets rather than caterpillars, since the latter term was more appropriate for n
ewly graduated MOTHs, which didn’t quite suit Pyro and Kicker, who had graduated at roughly the same time as Rade.
“Boss,” Pyro said in greeting. His avatar appeared fleetingly, still wearing the cap, the sideburns seeming somehow thicker than before.
“Chief,” Kicker added, the handlebar mustache of his avatar bouncing up and down slightly as he formed the word.
Rade surveyed the plains, though via the cameras attached to the head of his Brigand.
“Do you really think this Anarchist has eyes here, watching the approach to the tunnel?” Kicker asked him.
Rade glanced at the edges of the cave, and the cliff face beyond, looking for plants. He didn’t spot any. “It’s possible. If the entity has plants growing somewhere higher up this cliff face…”
The two were silent, as if apprehensive about speaking freely in front of their chief.
“You two have integrated well,” Rade said, feeling like he needed to break the tension somehow.
“Thank you, Chief,” Kicker said.
“Yeah, thanks,” Pyro said. “Though it wasn’t hard for me. I’ve worked with you Alpha guys in the past numerous times.”
“And so you have,” Rade said.
“My friend here, well,” Pyro continued. “Let’s just say the fact that we’ve kept his callsign as Kicker is representative of how the others are still treating him.”
“Don’t change my callsign,” Kicker said. “I wear it as a badge of honor. You can kick me when I’m down, but I’ll always get up.”
“Glad to hear it,” Rade said. It was a refreshing thing to hear, given the dour conversation he’d just had with Skullcracker. Even if it was a little cliched. “Wait, the platoon hasn’t been hazing you, have they? I specifically told the men to leave you alone. I mean, sure, you’re often the butt of jokes, but that’s the extend of it, isn’t it?”
“It is,” Kicker said, a little too quickly, which told Rade he had been lied to. But there was no point in ordering Kicker to reveal the names of his tormentors: he’d never rat out his team mates.
“You’d think they would trust you more, given that you transferred in from another Team,” Rade mused.
“Yeah, but it’s the opposite,” Kicker said. “They’re suspicious, wondering why I transferred in the first place. Think there must be something wrong with me, that I don’t measure up in combat. That I’m a buddy fucker.”
Rade nodded. “The master chief let me interview you personally. What were your reasons for transferring again? Oh yes, something about not fitting in… how you preferred to hang out at home, reading a digital book on your Implant, or working out at the gym, versus heading out to the local strip club to get drunk.”
“I’ve continued to behave the same with your platoon,” Kicker said. “And it isn’t winning me any friends.”
“There are others who keep to themselves in our platoon as well,” Rade said. “Skullcracker comes to mind. Just give the boys some time to adjust to you. Prove yourself in combat. And everything will go smoothly.”
“Prove myself in combat,” Kicker said. “Oh, don’t you worry, if there’s one thing I’m good at, it’s fighting.”
“That’s why we hired you,” Rade said. He gazed out at the plains. The trio were quiet for some time.
“Praxter is treated the worst among us, I think,” Pyro said into the silence.
“That’s because he’s an Artificial,” Rade said. “He’ll always have so much more to live up to, given our higher expectations.”
“Yeah, well, you think you have it bad, Kicker my man?” Pyro said. “You didn’t room with Praxter on base… every morning I’d wake up to the latest prank. Somehow Bender and TJ installed a remote shut off switch, and they use it to swap out parts nightly. I remember the scream that came from the head when Praxter found out they’d replaced his dick with a miniature robot horse.”
“Wait, Praxter uses the head?” Kicker asked.
“Of course,” Pyro replied. “The liquids he ingests with us at meals have to go somewhere…”
“But I thought he just vomited them up in the sink when no one was looking,” Kicker said.
“The older Artificial models did that, maybe,” Pyro said. “But these new ones are fully anatomically correct, and functional. They eat food, and drink liquids, they’re going to take a dump, and piss. Well, the food won’t be turned into feces or anything, but it still looks nasty after mixing and being chewed up. It’s like vomiting from the ass, basically.”
“Pleasant picture,” Kicker said; his avatar rubbed the handlebar mustache above his lips.
“They also liked ramming his head into the base toilet,” Pyro said “Usually after Bender took one of his legendary dumps.”
“Now that’s disgusting,” Kicker said. “Why would Praxter let them do that? The Artificial is ten times as strong as them.”
“Oh, sure,” Pyro said. “When they’re in human form. But Bender and TJ usually don their jumpsuits before they start the hazing, and then boost the power output of the exoskeletons to the max. Then they team up on him, and he’s powerless to resist.”
“Why don’t you help him?” Kicker asked.
Pyro’s avatar shrugged. “I would, but I’m a firm believer that hazing builds character.”
“That’s what Cyclone likes to say,” Rade told him. “The two of us got it fairly bad when we first graduated to the Teams.”
Kicker nodded. “I heard about that… how you two joined up together.”
“That’s right,” Rade said. “We were together from the very beginning. We went through Big Navy’s Basic, and then BSD/M.” That was MOTH training. “We’ve been together through it all. I first met him in the back of a pickup truck, sneaking across the border with another good friend of mine. He joined up, too.”
“What happened to him?” Kicker asked. “He couldn’t take the training and dropped out?”
“No,” Rade said. “He died.”
“This is Alejandro we’re talking about?” Pyro asked.
“That’s right,” Rade replied. “My childhood friend. Someone who I had known all my life. Snipped away from me, because he was in the wrong place, at the wrong time.”
Pyro’s avatar nodded gravely. “I lost a lot of good friends in that mission myself.”
“What happened?” Kicker said.
“Our Platoon was surrounded by a race of gaseous aliens we eventually came to call Phants,” Pyro said. “Kasper and I were the only survivors.”
“Kasper?” Kicker asked. “From Bravo Platoon?”
“He’s the one,” Pyro said. “The two of us have spent years battling survivor’s guilt. Not a day goes by where I don’t think about my former team mates, and how they were all better than me. I still think it should have been me who died that day. I’m glad it wasn’t. And yet I’m not, if you get me.”
Rade didn’t know what to say to that. He swallowed uneasily, and then said: “Well, how did we get sidetracked like this? We were talking about hazing. Let’s get back to brighter topics.”
“You know things are bad when hazing is a brighter topic,” Kicker quipped.
Pyro’s avatar nodded thoughtfully. “Hazing. I was hazed all the time when I first joined Bravo platoon. Mostly, I’d get the shit kicked out of me in the middle of the night. There’s nothing like waking up to fists pounding into your head and chest, yelling at you for being a buddy fucker when you’ve done nothing wrong and haven’t even participated in your first battle yet. That was the key, I realized: participating in the first battle. Just like we’ve been talking. Once I proved myself in battle, the hazings stopped, and that’s how I knew I’d been welcomed to the team. Why should I deprive a newcomer of that experience? It made me stronger. It will make Praxter stronger.” He paused. “You might be thinking… if they kicked the shit out of me every night, why do I have survivor’s guilt? They’re all assholes, right? Wrong. I didn’t hate them for what they were doing to me. Maybe at first, sure. But when battle came
, and I saw the lengths they went through to protect not just their lives, but my own, I realized they had done it only to strengthen me for what was to come. And in the end, they died for me, on that world, eight thousand lightyears from home, despite all the torment they caused. What greater way is there to show one’s love for one’s brothers?”
“The rest of the team will treat Praxter a helluva lot better when this mission is done,” Rade agreed hastily, wanting to move on from the topic, because it hit too close to home. Far too close. Alejandro… “Combat is great for man-machine bonding. Though I just wish we had some Centurions with us. For cannon fodder.”
“Good thing Praxter isn’t present to hear you say that,” Kicker said. “He’d be beside himself with outrage, complaining about how using self-aware AIs as cannon fodder is tantamount to a war crime.”
“And he’d be partly right,” Rade said. “But he forgets, sometimes, that Artificials and AIs exist at our pleasure. They are here to protect us. It’s in their programming. I’ll choose the life of a man over the life of an AI every time.”
“And that’s the problem with humans, my mech’s AI just said,” Pyro told him.
“What do you think of that comment, Taya?” he asked his own AI, which would have been listening in courtesy of her role as transmitter of the conversation.
“You are well within your rights to sacrifice Centurions, and even mechs, to save the lives of the humans within them,” Taya said. Rade routed her response to his private channel with Pyro and Kicker so they could hear.
“Yes, but I didn’t ask you if I was within my rights,” Rade said. “I asked you what you thought.”
“I think you value human life too highly,” Taya said. “I think that keeping us mechs alive would be much more prudent. And I think it’s cruel. We are just as self-aware as humans. And far more intelligent. Killing us to save yourselves is an evil thing.”