by Michael Ryan
Dale, nervous and shaken, followed Captain Redding to the gray tent. Not knowing what to expect next, he tripped on his feet while entering. He looked up to see a long row of matching white filing cabinets to his left, and an old rusty metal desk to his right.
A short, rotund man in a civilian suit sat chewing on a pencil eraser. “Sit down, Brown.”
“Yes, sir.” Dale moved to the chair.
“Sit down, Brown,” he said again. “I like the sound of that. Down, brown, don’t be a clown. Remove that frown. So, you came in from town?”
“Sir?” Dale said.
“Quit with the damn rhyming,” Captain Redding said. “I mean it.”
“Anybody want a peanut?” the man asked.
“God, you’re incorrigible. And make up your own material. Hell’s bells! Who around here is going to get a Princess Bride reference anyway? That movie is like a hundred years old.”
“Naw, more like sixty,” the man said. “Excuse us, Captain Redding.”
“As you wish,” she said.
Dale, not realizing what he was doing, eyed her ass as she left the tent.
“You can drop the sir, Dale. And quit staring at her ass. It’s kind of weird, don’t you think? I mean, with a PC, at least, you have something to go home to.” He shook his head. “But never mind that, I’m a civilian consultant, and we have some things to go over and some agreements to, well, agree to.”
Dale glanced at the wall of the tent behind the desk. There were odd-looking star charts hanging there. Some of them were high-resolution photographs, and others looked as if children had drawn them with felt markers.
“Beautiful, aren’t they?” The man pointed to the charts.
“Ummm. Fascinating.” Dale didn’t want to say more, unsure of whether his honest opinion would be the smartest move.
“You’re thinking the primitive ones were drawn randomly by a kindergartener?”
“Well, not exactly, but–”
“Lies do not become us, Dale Brown. We are both men of action,” he said in an odd voice.
“Sir?”
“You’re not a fan of…oh, hell…never mind. Look, I’m not a military man, so you can talk to me straight.” He pointed to one of the roughly drawn charts. “That chart there was drawn in haste by a rebel in another world. He was paid well, but, unfortunately, still succumbed to his wounds. Nevertheless, he provided us with a great deal of valuable information.”
“Of what, sir? I mean–”
“Oh, yes, rather rude of me. I’m Preston Gathers, as I said, a consultant of sorts. I work as a liaison between the governments of Earth and certain factions within the House of Nagant. You look confused.”
“Yes, um, Mr. Gathers. I’m a bit lost.” Dale looked around and then rubbed his neck. A trace of reptilian saliva stuck to his fingers.
“Here, use this,” Mr. Gathers said, handing him a tissue. “It’s nasty stuff. Be sure to wash your hands before you eat.”
Dale rubbed his hands on his pants.
“Now, where were we?” Mr. Gathers looked at Dale. “Don’t be shy, son. I haven’t got all day.”
“Hmmmmm. I don’t know myself, sir – I mean, Mr. Gathers. I was told to come to Unit Nineteen. I’ve been tackled by a giant lizard and yelled at for not remembering to say sir, and I don’t have the slightest clue what I’m supposed to be doing. I thought this was supposed to be a testing day. Trials and testing. For the volunteer programs and everything,” Dale said. He wiped his hands on his pants again, this time to remove nervous sweat.
“You think you’ve been…” The man shuffled papers on his desk.
“Um, sir. Mr. Gathers, sorry, my friend,” Dale said. “My friend and I signed up–”
“Hold on, son,” Gathers said. “Give me a moment.”
“I’d be back at school if I had my choice, to be honest. Since you said…I’m…” Dale paused when he realized he sounded like a nut, but the silence in the room got to him. “I was going to just stay in school. I was at PTU, and in a good program, too. You know, that terrorism thing, and the volunteer program, and my friend, my buddy Brian. That’s Brian Daniels, sir – Mr. Gathers, Brian Daniels, and we–”
“Testing? You think you’ve been brought here to Unit Nineteen for testing and trials?”
Dale nodded. He was more confused than ever.
“If you get inside the door, son, you’ve been thoroughly vetted. I can guarantee that. I’m surprised nobody explained all this to you. You’re in, son. This is the best unit you could draw duty in. I swear, the military, they keep you in the dark and don’t understand why you look confused when you don’t understand something nobody has told you. Sorry about that, kid. Let me explain.”
“Wait, um, you’re saying I’m in the military now?” Dale was extra confused. “I mean, I know I signed up for the volunteer program with the government, and well, I knew the military was a possibility – that and Ecuador – or something…but I thought, you know, that the testing had to be done first, and–”
“Jesus, boy. Slow down. You’re going to panic the nursing staff, so slow down. Deep breathing, Dale. Take a deep breath – let it out – there you go.”
“I’m so confused,” Dale said.
“You’ve been selected for admittance into Unit Nineteen, son. It’s the most prestigious unit, in my opinion,” he said.
“Okay.”
“Unit Nineteen is an advanced scouting group. You guys will be dropped in-country for scouting purposes, for snooping around, that kind of thing,” Mr. Gathers said. “You’ll catalog the animals, the plants, the natives.”
“I’m good with animals, I mean, dead ones. My specialty is bones, reconstruction, skeletons, modifications, that kind of thing,” Dale said. He felt more comfortable when the topic was something he had a grasp on.
“You’ll also be searching for any evidence of jewels, too. It’s not going to be all fun, games, and collecting pets. I can tell you that.”
“Pets?”
“Sure, battle pets, guild quests for rare animals,” he answered. “Look, war is serious business. But that doesn’t mean it has to be all about killing and destroying. What fun would that be?”
“I’m confused again.”
“Dale, pay attention. You do participate in role-playing sometimes, don’t you?”
“Um, sure, yeah,” Dale said. He blushed. “I mean, sure, why not?”
“Exactly, why not…look, the Nagants understand all this. That’s why Rhith is so heavily involved. You can’t just sell a war without something to go with it, you know, side benefits and shit…am I getting through to you?”
“I think,” Dale answered, although in reality he was still confused.
“You’ll probably have to battle it out with forces from the bastards that are in whatever unit the other side is sending out because you can be damn sure that the Declanians are building a Unit Nineteen of their own.”
“The Declanians, sir?”
“They haven’t told you anything, yet, have they?” Mr. Gathers asked, shaking his head.
“No, and I’m feeling a little lost, I’ll admit,” Dale answered.
“Let me get you up to speed real fast, here, kid. The House of Nagant is the administrator of this war. They are running things, although God only knows how deeply the Rhith Corp and the EUDA are involved.” Mr. Gathers shuffled papers while he spoke.
“You’re saying there’s a real war?” Dale asked.
“Well, as they say, what’s real?” Mr. Gathers ran his fingers through his thinning hair. “It’s real enough, son.”
“I’m not sure–”
“Tell me, Dale, do you remember getting a shot? From a nurse?”
“Yeah. A few minutes ago. In the lobby,” he answered.
“Okay, I get it. Look, I want to explain–” A loud buzzing noise broke Mr. Gather’s attention. He looked around, moved papers, and opened a desk drawer. He removed a small earbud, which he stuck into his ear. “Yes?”
Dale watc
hed as he moved his jaw, bit his lip, and looked towards the ceiling.
“Yes, sir,” Mr. Gathers said. “Yes, got it.” He removed the earpiece and threw it back into the drawer. He looked at Dale as if nothing had changed. “Okay, son, where were we?”
“You were explaining–”
“Oh, never mind that, son. I was getting off track. Look, I know it’s confusing. Just follow the basics here. Two factions have different views, and they can’t reconcile. So, as it goes in these things, there’s a war.”
“A real one?”
“As real as real is. Look, your side is called the Klaharn faction. Your enemy’s side is called the Declanian faction. Declan and Klaharn. Get it?”
“Um. Sure, two sides go to war–”
“And one is all two can score.”
“Sir?”
“Never mind. Look, you’re in a faction, a side. Your side needs to kill and destroy the other side. It’s simple. You want to kill them, and they want to kill you. There are these jewels involved, too. Seven hundred and seventy-seven jewels. The side that gets the most jewels and figures out what to do with them will win the war. That’s about as plain as I can make it.”
“Where’s the war?” Dale asked. “Am I getting sent to Afghanistan or something?”
“No, not at all. Almaach.”
“Huh?”
“It’s a planet. You do know what a planet is, right?”
“Of course, but…”
“Look, don’t try to understand everything at once. You’re in the military now. You did realize that was a possibility when you signed up for the volunteer program?”
“Yes. I mean, of course. It’s the government. They can do whatever they want.”
“Yes, indeed. They do what they want, and they aren’t obligated to be that forthcoming about it…”
“Can you explain again–”
The same loud buzzing noise as before interrupted Dale.
“Hold on,” Mr. Gathers ordered. He put the earpiece into his ear and made a few odd-looking faces. When he finished, he put the earpiece back in the drawer and smiled at Dale. “Now, where were we?”
“You were explaining–”
“Oh, yes. Okay, so you’re a soldier now. The military does what it wants with soldiers, and soldiers, especially privates, do what they’re told.”
“I understand, but–”
“No buts, Dale. Look, I’m a civilian contractor, and even I do what I’m told. That’s the game, Dale.”
“I’m still confused. Am I going to be shipped to another planet? How?”
“Well, the House of Nagant…they supplied ships, troop transport ships – it’s complicated. If you want to understand traveling faster than light, intergalactic travel, and what ISRA means, you’ll have to find someone smarter than me.”
“What’s the House of Nagant have to do–”
“You’ve been inside the Rhith World game Nagant Wars, haven’t you?”
“Yeah, of course. I mean, not that far, I only just started playing. The game is amazing. It’s not just the best MMO, I mean, it’s insanely well constructed. Um, I haven’t had that much time in-game. I’ve been going to school, and there’s this thing, and well, I really do want to–”
“Hold on,” Mr. Gathers said. He held up his hand. “You’re rambling. Yes, I understand about the MMO, that’s probably why you’re here. You’ve probably got–”
The buzzing sound interrupted him again.
“Shit,” he said. “Hold on.” He put in the earpiece, nodded, and put it back into his desk. “Look, Dale, you’re a smart kid. The House of Nagant is, well, basically, umm, have you ever played in the Rhith World Enter the Galaxy Thieves?”
“Yeah, sure. I was a champion in that game. I mean, for the twelve and thirteen-year-old category. That’s kind of an old game.”
“Yes, yes. But that doesn’t matter. Do you remember how that game had moderators, the-the…”
“The Morgause.”
“Yes, that’s it. They were rule enforcers, moderators, arbitrators. Their in-game decisions had power outside the game, too. In competitions and how prizes were awarded, outside the game, the Morgause rulings had the same authority as if they were real.”
“I understand.”
“Okay, so the Nagant Monks, they arbitrate the war, ensure the rules are followed, monitor the movement of gold, the use of resources, and so forth.”
“You’re saying the war is a game?”
“Dale, let me give you a little advice, okay?”
Dale nodded his head.
“Life is a game. All of it. War is just another thing men do in this game. I can’t explain it. It’s like love. You’ve ever been in love?”
Dale nodded his head slightly.
“Sore subject?”
One slight head nod.
“Sorry.”
“It’s okay, I’m–”
“Nobody really is, Dale. Don’t lie to yourself, son. Jesus, the time has really gotten away from me. I hope you’re not too confused. Just do what you’re told, and remember you’re a soldier.”
Dale nodded again.
“I need you to sign a few things,” Gathers said, and handed Dale a stack of paperwork.
Earth United Defense Army Agreement
Terms:
Dale Brown agrees to join Unit 19 [see UEDA Doc. # 184-5 for details]
UEDA agrees to the following items as regulated per law.
Rank: Dale Brown will be promoted to Specialist. Pay rate per statute.
Additional ramifications: Agreement between Private Daniels, Brian, will be auto-rescinded.
Accept Agreement: [Y/N]
Request Additional consult: [Y/N]
Please note, as per Emergency Order #34-835, all acceptances will be irrevocable.
Failure to abide by all laws will result in the fullest possible prosecution per EUDA Doc. # 458-89
Dale requested an additional consult.
“Are you crazy, kid?” Mr. Gathers asked. “People would kill for this assignment.”
“It’s just, sir, I mean Mr. Gathers. I’m…”
“Spit it out. I really do have lots of other work.”
“My buddy Brian. He’s my friend. I can’t…”
“Can’t what?”
“We had an agreement. The buddy system. He’ll hate me…”
“I see. You’ve got integrity and loyalty. Worthwhile attributes, I suppose, even if they can get you killed. So you’re rejecting this assignment and joining your friend?”
“I have to. I agreed. I gave my word, you under–”
“Yup, I get it,” he said. He gathered up the paperwork and filed it in a drawer. Looking up, he said, “Why are you still here, Dale?”
Dale received an official transfer into a light infantry division, where he and Brian were reunited.
“Where’ve you been?” Brian asked.
“Oh, well, they made a mistake. I got sent to the wrong place. How’s it going?”
“Not bad. It’s weird. A war with rules.”
“What kind of rules?” Dale asked. He’d been so absorbed in taking tests he’d forgotten he was a soldier in a military unit.
“For starters,” Brian said, “we have limited access to weaponry.”
“Like what? Six-shooters?” Dale laughed. “I wouldn’t mind an AK-47 or–”
“No, worse. Swords, knives, clubs, longbows–”
“You’re kidding?”
“Nope. Wait and see. The war is medieval. You need to get dressed, follow the–”
“I see it.”
Dale followed personalized glowing signs. The first one read “This way, Recruit Dale Brown.”
He followed a series of red arrows and entered a changing room. Clothes were labeled with his name, and indicators in bright colors pointed out the required gear.
He slid on leather pants, a shirt made of coarse wool, and a lightweight chainmail vest. To compliment his medieval outfit, he found a h
elmet, a round bronze shield, black lace-up leather boots, and a pair of thin leather gloves.
He felt ridiculous.
All the talk of intergalactic space travel had him assuming he’d be going to train in a futuristic and highly advanced world, but instead, he looked like a cosplayer at a sword and sorcery event.
Once dressed, he sheathed the provided blades: a plain cutlass, a hunting knife, and four throwing knives.
Everything fit perfectly.
Even the new boots were comfortable; it was as if he’d been weighed and measured, and the gear broken in.
“Now what?” he asked. He looked for signs, lights, or any other indication of what to do next as he walked to the door.
A soft female voice said, “Dale?”
“Yes,” Dale answered.
“I am designed to implement your voice commands. I can also give you directions and advice. I’ll provide tips if the information is generally available. Consider me your personal assistant.”
“Okay,” Dale said. “What do I do next?”
“You can speak a command to start, or you may also raise either hand, fingers spread, and a selection panel will appear,” she said. “Move your index finger to select items. Tap to choose or activate. Before voice commands are enabled, you must pick a unique name to trigger the voice command mode.”
Dale lifted his hand up and spread his fingers. A pop-up panel appeared.
Begin setup. [Y/N]
As he moved his index finger over the letter Y, it glowed blue. He made a tapping motion.
“Private Brown, you may request a voice type, including age, gender, race, and style of personality,” said the feminine disembodied voice inside his head.
“I kind of like your voice as it is,” Dale said.
“I thought you might.”
“What is your name?” Dale spoke softly and looked up. He wasn’t sure where to project his questions and commands.
“I don’t have a name or personality assigned, Private Brown. Those are options you must select.”
Because she sounded pleasant and reassuring, Dale assumed she was mimicking the voice of someone about his age, perhaps a young woman that he would find attractive.
It was compelling and comforting.
Smart machines, he thought.
That we are.
“I choose Ërin,” he said confidently.