by Michael Ryan
“Very well, Private Brown. Ërin it is. If you speak my name, that will activate the voice command menu. Keep in mind that this menu doesn’t vary from what you can accomplish via the interactive screen mode.”
“Okay. Can you call me Dale, please?”
“Of course, Dale. One additional thing you must calibrate is my personality. You can, of course, leave my default setting as it is. However, by selecting a personality setting that you either enjoy, respect, or fear, you can achieve a smoother and more attuned set of interactions. Would you like to describe the type of–”
“Yes, of course,” he interrupted. “I want you to be friendly and intelligent. You can be a little bit sexy, too. You should have my best interests at heart at all times. I want you to have a sense of humor. I’d like you to warn and inform me, as well as manage at whatever capacity you are allowed. Also, if something’s unknowable, I’d like you to use a random number generator to decide what to do, but don’t tell me about it.”
“I see,” she said. “So you want a Madonna-whore. No problem, I’ll behave like a lover and your mother.”
“Well…”
“Don’t be embarrassed, Dale. I like you already. Now, it’s time to proceed to the calibration and usage portion of training. I’ll be right here, cheering you on, handsome.”
“Which way, I mean, where to next?”
“Follow the blue path.”
Dale strode briskly out of the dressing room. He walked into what appeared to be an exterior arena, although he couldn’t tell if the clouds and sky were meant to seem real, or if the ceiling was a simulation.
How do you tell the difference between a simulation in a simulation, and a simulation in a simulation in a simulation?
Nothing was going to be what it seemed.
It seemed.
Hundreds of other soldiers were engaging in training activities inside an arena. There was so much going on at once – knife throwing, archery, swordplay, hand-to-hand knife fights – that Dale forgot where he was supposed to be going.
Ërin: Follow the blue path, stud.
He followed the indicated route and arrived at a sword and knife calibration training module.
A scary-looking drill sergeant barked, “Next!”
Dale looked around.
Ërin: That’s you, honey!
“Can anyone else hear you?” Dale asked.
“You talking to me, boy?” the drill sergeant asked, glaring at Dale.
“No, sir,” he answered. “Sorry, sir, I’m just learning–”
“Goddammit! You dumb-ass recruit, I work for a living! I earned these stripes! If you call me sir again, I’m going to challenge you to the pit. You won’t like that, Private Shit-For-Brains.”
“Sorry.”
Ërin: Call him drill sergeant.
“Sorry, Drill Sergeant. It’s my first day.” Dale stood taller and pretended he wasn’t afraid.
“Alrighty then,” the drill said. “Let’s see if we can change your shit-for-brains into something capable of fighting. Stand over there! And get your shit together before someone forces you into a PVP challenge, which we don’t have fucking time for.”
“Yes, Drill Sergeant.”
He gave Dale a look of disgust and said, “Boy, I’d love to invite you to a little ass-kicking party right now and shove your balls straight up your…arg…stand over there.”
Ërin: Dale! You need to learn to think commands and questions to me. If you address me out loud, people will think you’re an idiot.
Dale thought the words: Can you hear me?
Ërin: Yes, much better. Now pay attention to the sergeant.
Dale, and what he assumed was his new platoon, spent the next two hours practicing with knives.
A loud siren blared.
“Time for chow, soldiers,” the drill said. “Be back here in this exact spot at thirteen thirty hours. Don’t be late. Dissss-misssed!” When the group didn’t move, he looked at them like they were idiot children and yelled, “Aren’t you fools hungry? Get the hell out of here!”
Dale: Ërin, can you light the path to where I’m supposed to go?
Ërin: Yes, you’re going to the mess hall.
Dale started walking but stopped when he heard his name.
“Dale, wait up!” Brian shouted. “Do you know where you’re going?”
“Yeah,” Dale said. “The mess hall. For lunch. Come on.”
The group ended up together waiting in line for chow.
“I’m Sergeant Brass,” a tall man with broad shoulders said. “I’m not in charge of any of you, yet. Once calibration ends, we’ll all be given training missions. I’ll be the ranking noncom of the platoon when that happens.”
“I’m Dale Brown,” Dale said while extending his hand.
“Nice to meet you. Let’s get a table and we’ll get acquainted.”
They went through the chow line, found an empty table, and sat together.
“Okay, soldiers, let’s meet each other. I’m Sergeant Brass, and this is the second platoon of Alpha Company, the Third Company in the Eighty-Seventh Division. If anyone asks, you’re in Alpha-three-eighty-seven, for short. Let’s go around, in order, and get familiar with each other’s names.”
Dale: Ërin, can you autosave faces and names for me?
Ërin: Done.
The group chatted among themselves for an hour.
“Soldiers,” Sergeant Brass said, “we have less than thirty minutes left. I suggest you rest your minds. Set an alarm if you need to. I’m out.” With that, Sergeant Brass put his head down and didn’t move for another twenty minutes.
When they returned to the training facility, the drill sergeant continued where they’d left off, and in general yelled a lot of obscenities.
“Soldiers, listen up!” he yelled a few hours later. “Our time is up. The mess hall opens for dinner in two hours. At twenty-thirty hours there’s a mandatory training presentation in the Stirling Hall. Don’t be late. Get a good night’s sleep tonight; tomorrow we start drawing out blood and tears. Disssss-missed!”
Dale: Where do I go?
Ërin: Follow the path. Your quarters are with Private Daniels. You missed that part of the day when you were off somewhere doing whatever it was you were doing.
Unit Nineteen.
I see. Updating files. I was not aware of that.
Dale followed the path that Ërin highlighted, but he hardly needed it. The rest of the platoon was all quartered in the same facility.
He followed the platoon like a sheep.
Chapter Seventeen
Even simulated pain is pain.
~ Dale Brown
After six weeks of basic training, the platoon was scheduled to enter its first live exercise. They were milling around waiting for the call to get into formation. Dale was jittery. “Are you nervous?” he asked Brian.
“Not really,” Brian answered.
“How could you not be?”
“It’s just…I mean, it’s still–”
“The pain is not just an illusion,” Dale said. “Even simulated pain is pain.”
“You’re still overthinking.”
“You act like it’s nothing.”
“Line it up!” a private shouted. The drill sergeant was marching towards them.
Dale and Brian ended their conversation, joined the platoon, and stood with everyone else in neat rows.
“Soldiers, at ease,” the drill, whose name was Green, said. “Gather around and take a knee. Tomorrow we enter the first round of live trials. Administrators will assign you to groups of three. Each group will run a dungeon instance. There will be low-level beasts to kill and some puzzles and mazes to solve. Consider it a test of sorts. You’ll fight some mobs, nothing too insane this time out. If you’re successful, you’ll kill a boss and get some decent loot.”
Dale raised his hand.
“Go ahead, Brown,” the DS said.
“The parameters, Drill Sergeant. Are we facing full pain an
d death? Also, does the loot count for anything? And also leveling and skills, and–”
“Hold on, Private,” he said, holding up his hand. “One question at a time. Yes, you’ll be facing pain, but nothing close to a real war situation. It’s low-level pain, designed to help you learn.”
“Like a shock collar on a dog,” a private whispered.
“I heard that,” DS Green said. “Look, there’s no death in these training exercises. We’re trying to train you, not ruin you. Loot should be collected. It counts towards your score in the platoon rankings. It’s important for promotion. But nothing that happens in your training avatar will carry over to the actual war–”
“Excuse me, Drill Sergeant,” Dale said. “I was wondering–”
“Goddammit, Private Brown. You’d better learn not to interrupt superiors. Give me twenty-five four counts.”
Dale stepped away from the platoon and began four-count push-ups. Up, down. Up, down. Up, down. Up, down. “One, Drill Sergeant!”
“Count to yourself,” DS Green ordered.
Ërin: You’d better learn to control your tongue, hot stuff.
Dale: I know.
There’s a time and place for unbridled tongue work.
Stop.
I’ve been watching your dreams.
Fuck.
Exactly.
Dale finished his push-ups and rejoined the platoon. Their drill was talking about war.
“War is hell, as they say. Welcome back, Brown. Try to contain yourself. Everyone here will experience death and respawn differently. It’s not an easy or fun process. Nobody can say for sure what the mind goes through when dealing with the trauma of battlefield horror and death. In the past, soldiers were dead and buried, so they couldn’t exactly be asked, and–”
“We might really die?” Dale blurted out.
“Private, you might be the first one to find out,” DS Green said. “Give me another round, Private. Jesus.”
Dale moved away from the group and began. Up, down. Up, down. Up, down. Up, down. He mouthed the counting silently.
“I can’t hear you!” Green shouted.
“One! Drill Sergeant,” Dale yelled.
“Count to your damn self, Private.”
Dale: Is everything always so confusing?
Ërin: You’ll learn. Besides, all these push-ups are giving you some rock-hard abs.
Stop.
The chicks dig six-pack abs. Maybe you should get in trouble more often?
Enough.
The platoon sat together at chow time.
“Damn, this is pretty good,” someone said.
“Well, when you can program–”
“Shut up! Do you have to ruin the experience?” a female soldier said.
“Sorry.”
“Do you guys think dying will be really painful?” Brian asked the group.
Dale was worried about it himself. He said, “I wonder what it’s like to forget things that haven’t been backed up…”
“I think everything is backed up,” Brian stated. “I was just wondering–”
“I know,” said a private named Smith. He’d been the quietest of the group during training, and nobody even knew his first name.
“Really? How’s that, Smith?” Sergeant Brass asked.
“I was involved with some of the early trials,” he answered with an uneasy laugh. “I was an employee of Rhith at the time. I still am, technically. On loan to the Earth United Defense Army, for voluntary service and all that patriotic stuff.”
“You worked for the Almighty Rhith Corp?” another recruit asked.
“Yup. Me and ARC go way back,” Smith answered. “As I mentioned, I’m technically still an employee, just on loan.” He stopped talking and drank a long sip of ice water.
The group remained quiet as if they were waiting for a prophet to speak words of wisdom.
“The early beta trials were brutal,” Smith continued. “They needed to understand human pain and frailty in new ways, so that the war could be, well, properly calibrated. I think several people died–”
“Wait. Real death?” Dale asked.
“Yes, I mean actually died, as in dead and buried,” Smith said.
“What happened to you?” the female soldier asked.
“My death was the most painful, horrible, nasty, and unforgettable experience I’ve ever had. First, the physical pain was incredible,” he said, and involuntarily shuddered.
“As in it feels like it’s actually happening, you mean?” she asked.
“Yes, I mean real pain. Not just an uncomfortable shock like those electrodes gave you in some of the early Rhith games. No,” he said. “Real. Pain.”
He went back to his ice water, and everyone stared at him.
Dale wanted to know more, so he assumed everyone else did too. “What happened while you were, um, I mean, when you died, what–”
“I went through a series of dreams,” Smith answered slowly. “Everything I regretted in life, everything I hated about myself – it all came back to me. I was in a special hell made just for me. I don’t know if that was common…maybe other beta-testers went to their version of heaven instead. I honestly don’t know.”
He took another sip, followed by a deep breath. “I was out of the real world for a week, and I woke up in a hospital.” A single tear ran down his cheek, but he didn’t seem to notice.
Dale wanted to ask him another question, but Smith stood and walked away without a word.
The following morning the platoon gathered and waited patiently for the first round of live training exercises to begin. They made small talk and told dumb jokes.
When Drill Sergeant Green arrived, he shouted, “Platoon! Attention!”
They formed up, eyes front, uniforms crisp, and bodies nervous.
An officer approached the group, and Green saluted him with the battalion motto. “Kill without mercy, sir!”
“Death is an honor,” the officer replied. “At ease.”
“Soldiers,” Green said to the platoon, “this is Lieutenant Brinkmann. He’ll be guiding you through the trials and evaluation phase. I’ll also be monitoring everything that happens; we’ll debrief this evening.”
“Soldiers,” the officer said, “during our exercises, I’ll be commanding and observing your performance. After the end of trials, I’ll be working with Drill Sergeant Green to select rank upgrade recipients and determine which of you will become squad leaders. Even under the stress of combat you will refer to me as sir. Understood?”
“Yes, sir!” the platoon shouted in unison.
“Good. Now let’s go over our plans and specific assignments,” he said. “The exercise you’ll be tasked with is a forward scouting mission. We’ll break into teams of three. Each team will be assigned a quadrant. Our objective is twofold. One, map and tag the areas as you pass. For training purposes, you’ll be building a Basic Training Guild Map. None of this will be saved, but treat it as if it’s important because it’ll be part of your training record.”
The lieutenant looked the group over in silence, then closed his eyes. With both hands in front of his body, he appeared to be typing. “Platoon,” he said, “your assignments will be delivered to your inboxes in a few seconds. Now, where were we?”
“The second objective, sir,” Dale answered.
“Yes, objective two,” the officer said. “You’ll attempt to reach the interior of Mount Dog. You’ll have a map in your assignment folder with the location of the mountain, but nothing beyond that. You’ll have to figure out how to get inside on your own. Any questions?”
“Yes, sir. Are we to engage with enemies or sneak?” Dale asked.
“Sneak, if you can, or kill everything in your path. The objective again is to reach the interior and secure a base. Map and tag as you go. Remain alive. If you can do this without engagement, you’ve followed orders, soldier.”
“Yes, sir.”
Dale and Brian were paired on all missions, as per their bud
dy contract. Private Smith was assigned to be the third member of their squad.
The equipment for the exercise consisted of three throwing knives and a combat knife, but no swords, shields, or any other weapons. Their gear included a survival pack, which contained food, water, eating utensils, rope, first aid, a small tent, bedding, a digging instrument hardly big enough to be called a shovel, and a fire-starting kit.
Dale wondered if the exercise was designed to get them lost in the woods to test their survival skills.
Whatever happened, he was excited to be doing something different. Basic training and avatar calibration had started to bore him after the first week.
The trio headed down a track towards Mount Dog after the lieutenant dismissed the platoon. The path they followed appeared to be a game trail, but the specifics of the world design for this exercise had been deliberately held back from the trainees.
As they entered the trees, Dale realized the path could have been made by virtual deer, elk, or cougars. It could have also been something out of one of his nightmares. He had a vivid imagination when it came to ways he could be eaten.
One of the things he’d learned about Unit Nineteen in his brief encounter with it was that it was assigned to scout unknown planets. Dale wasn’t aware of whether or not the lieutenant (or anyone else in his platoon) even knew about the existence of Unit Nineteen.
He didn’t want to discuss his knowledge of lizard-men and the other strange creatures he’d seen. He didn’t want to talk about what he’d learned about the Nagant War, especially the unspoken rumor that it would extend into an unknown galaxy. In spite of his confusion about the nature of reality, he kept his questions to himself.
After a long walk through a forest of amazingly realistic trees, plants, and small harmless creatures, they came to a fork in the path.
“Which way?” Smith asked.
“I vote left,” Brian said. “But I’ll defer to Dale. He can lead.”
“Thanks.” Dale looked around. “What do you think, Smith?”
“I vote left, too,” he said.
“Why?”
“Because it’s bigger and appears to be used more frequently. It’ll probably be easier going,” Smith answered.
“Okay, left it is,” Dale said.