The Light Brigade

by Kameron Hurley

  I was very quiet.

  “I know drops can be confusing. When you’re physically fit, I’m going to recommend a psych evaluation.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “And Private Dietz? Let’s not do this again. Stick to the mission brief.” She left me alone in the interrogation room.

  I stared into my palms. Opened and closed my fingers, watching the play of light across the seams and callouses. Stick to the mission brief. But securing that island had been our mission brief once we actually came down on that island.

  I closed my fists. Caught a whiff of baby powder and herbal shampoo. What was happening to me?

  Interview #2

  SUBJECT #187799

  DATE: 24|05|309

  TIME: 0500

  ROOM: 98

  I: Interview beginning at . . . see the notes for time, with subject one-eight-seven-seven-nine-nine. Tell me about what you know of the Sick.

  S: The what?

  I: The unleashing of the chemical agent that murdered four billion people in ShinHana and NorRus. We learned it began in CanKrushkev territory. The people there have been completely undone. All civilians. Little children. Helpless. Innocent. Was it your idea?

  S: Have you moved on from Saint Petersburg so soon? Are you already trying to implicate me in the murder of billions instead? I suppose that would be a more neat and tidy story. Tell all the media that you’ve got some important Martian terrorist in here instead of a greasy homeless grunt throwing around Molotov cocktails.

  I: Did you have some time to contemplate your actions in Saint Petersburg?

  S: I did, of course. But really, lights on all the time? I thought you’d go for the darkness, let me drown in it. That’s what I would have done. Paint the whole thing stygian black. The darkness is far more frightening than the light.

  I: I’m told you kept yourself busy while cooling in the cell.

  S: I have a lot of experience with waiting. We’re all trained in it. Weren’t you?

  I: What are you referring to?

  S: The torture modules. What did they call them at Evecom? There can’t be that many names. Black box? tVu? Kid I knew once called it the agony box. The Bene Gesserit. He was a funny kid, quoted a lot of Herbert. You know Frank Herbert? The litany against fear? I always found the litany more helpful than any meditation.

  I: Tell me about your experience with the black box.

  S: Tell me about yours.

  (SILENCE: 05 seconds)

  I: I spent sixty days in the black box. But that was before your time, before you were born. It was a different animal, then. More of us went mad.

  S: Sixty full days, Sergeant? Real time or virtual?

  I: There was no virtual time then. It was all real time. Sixty full days in the box.

  S: I must convey my respect, then. That can do hell on one’s mental health. You must have been rehabilitated. I’m surprised they kept you in that long. I suppose it’s necessary, for intelligence work.

  I: In my day, they kept you in until you cracked it. We’re not as soft as later generations. I still hold the record for beating the virtual mods.

  S: Ah, I see. Yes, in the virtual box you know the torture will end at some point. Easier when you know it’s constructed. Easier to fight a constructed thing, especially if you’ve been taught how to survive real torture. No matter how real it all feels, you know that you will wake up from that nightmare and be whole again. You may have terrors, the shakes, after, sure. You might have to go through aversion therapy so you can function again in the real world. But you come out alive and intact. That’s how you can endure it. You know it ends. There’s a huge mental release in knowing there is an end to pain. A human being with hope can continue on far longer than one without. Did you know those who are mildly depressed see the world more accurately? Yet they don’t live as long as optimists. Aren’t as successful. It turns out that being able to perceive actual reality has very little long-term benefit. It’s those who believe in something larger than themselves who thrive. We all seem to need a little bit of delusion to function in the world. That belief can be about anything, too. Could be a god, a corporation, a social calling or ideal, like those our various militaries instill. A sense of belonging. Could be national pride. Or the desire to make the world a better place. Or see the world burn. Personal or political. But . . . something bigger. Something greater.

  I: I understand how to beat the torture modules. But what about you? How are you enduring this? You think we won’t start to take you apart piece by piece, in real time? Perhaps those hands won’t be mine—I like to keep even my gloves clean—but others will if I can’t get results. You know that, don’t you? We won’t put you in the box. We’ll do it live.

  S: Live! Yes! Stream it! That would be exciting.

  I: To who?

  S: Whom? Yes, that’s an interesting question. How many are left, after the Sick was unleashed? I have a good idea, a far better idea than you may believe. You’ve done an admirable job destroying yourselves. How can I endure this? I know I’m not in a box. There are ways to tell, even with the more advanced modules. This is real enough. So that’s a very good question. I should be full of despair. Maybe I can endure this because I have a good idea of how it all turns out. Maybe I can endure this because I know we’ve done this before.

  (SILENCE: 07 Seconds)

  I: Did you know how the Sick would turn out?

  S: Did you? I wonder about that myself, about who knew about the Sick, and when. Did you already know you would blame it on Mars? Morale was low by that point in the war. The Big Six had become the Big Four. But I’m thinking the Sick may have really been Mars after all, even if the fingerprint of the contagion was clearly Evecom’s. The contagion was released after we came up with the final solution to the problem of Martians on Earth. Did you ever consider that maybe you did it to yourselves? That if you had pulled back, not administered the final solution . . . perhaps you could have saved what will certainly amount to five billion lives?

  I: I’m most interested in why you were in Saint Petersburg.

  S: Oh good, you did come back to Saint Petersburg! Wonderful. It’s curious to me, however, why you are so insistent on having me tell you, when you already have a good idea. I’m sure you’ve run all my metrics. You know who I am. If you didn’t have an idea, I wouldn’t be here. What is it you think that knowledge will get you? You think you can change what happens, if you know what I know? Let me tell you something. Everything that’s going to happen has already happened. You just haven’t experienced it yet. We are, all of us, caught within a massive loop of time, bouncing around in the spaces between things.

  (SILENCE: 12 Seconds)

  I: You don’t believe in free will.

  S: People believe what they want to believe. You aren’t here because you want your horizons shattered. You want your worldview reinforced. Maybe that’s really why you’re asking—you’re hoping to get some other answer from me than the one you have. But that’s not what I’ve got for you, no matter how long you leave me alone in there, in the light.

  I: What do you have for me? Because we can go around in circles for months.

  S: No, we can’t.

  I: No? It’s rare we’re in agreement.

  S: No. I haven’t asked how long you’ve kept me awake to stew. I don’t need to know, because it couldn’t be more than a few days. You’re on a timetable, Sergeant. The old world is over, has been for a while. You and I are living out the end of it.

  I: What did you want to accomplish in Saint Petersburg?

  S: The endgame.

  I: End? We’re just getting started.

  S: Maybe you are. But I’m finishing a very long game, Sergeant.

  I: Tell me how your game ends.

  S: The same way it started.

  I: If you think we’re on an accelerated timeline, then you know our next interview won’t be so cordial. I suggest you be more cooperative. Neither of us wants to be here. Neither of us wants to d
rag this out. In this, I am not your enemy.

  S: (LAUGHTER) You presume a lot, Sergeant.

  I: And you still have nothing to tell me about why you were in Saint Petersburg? Who sent you? What were you really planning?

  S: You’re still asking the wrong questions.

  I: What should I be asking?

  S: Ask me when I’ll be getting out of here. I know exactly when that will be.

  I: When you’re dead?

  S: No. After I kill you. Finally.

  I: End interview.

  (END RECORDING #2)

  15.

  Private Dietz.” Dr. Chen smiled and held out her hand. “Refresh my memory. Have we met?”

  “Uh, yeah.” I was still in quarantine. She was the first person I’d seen in at least four days who wasn’t a medical grunt or security tech. Even the rec room was empty; all of it just for me. I wondered how many facilities there were like this, spread out around Teni.

  “And when was that?”

  I paused, sensing a trap. “The last time.” Shit. This was supposed to be my first psych evaluation, wasn’t it?

  “And what did we discuss? Please, have a seat, and tell me where we left off.” Was she humoring me?

  “Isn’t that in my file?”

  “I’d like to see how your recall is.” She sat across from me. She appeared unchanged, which felt weird because I felt so . . . different. Like years had passed since I last saw her. In my head, it had. Time was all screwed up.

  “We met already,” I said, trying to feel her out. “And we talked about . . . why I’m bad luck. Listen, it doesn’t matter. Let’s . . .” Stick to the mission brief, I thought.

  I told Dr. Chen everything I told Jasso, which wasn’t much. I did tell her what Jasso said, about how they found me. The hospital. But I didn’t tell her about Vi. There are lots of crazy things that the military will put up with, but I didn’t think seeing people or jumping around to somewhere you weren’t supposed to be were among them. Even I knew what it meant when you started hallucinating things that weren’t there. Bad enough I was supposed to drop in . . . Who knows where I was supposed to drop? But I’d turned up in Southern Africa. And how was that my fault? I didn’t control the drops, the corps did. This was their fuckup.

  “How are you feeling?” Dr. Chen said. “Since the event?”

  “My entire squad is missing, probably dead. How do you think I’m feeling?”

  “I’m here to listen, not make judgments.”

  “Well, everyone is going to make judgments. I guess they have a right to. I would. Maybe it’s just that something went wrong, something with . . . the light thing.”

  “The deployment?”

  “Yeah, like, the process. I mean, I hear it’s not perfect. I feel like they’re trying to pin this on me, and I didn’t do anything but follow orders.”

  “What have you heard about the deployment?”

  “Well, sometimes people come back with their bodies put back wrong. Sometimes they get confused. It was in our prep class.”

  “I see. Does that worry you?”

  “I . . . guess? I don’t want to let another squad down.”

  “You think you let this one down?”

  “I’m here. They aren’t. So, yeah.”

  “If you truly have no recollection of what happened, surely you can’t blame yourself for those events.”

  “I should have saved them.”

  “How?”

  “I don’t know. But it’s what I should have done. Wouldn’t you?”

  “Difficult things happen during wartime. Do you feel you had control over what happened to your squad?”

  “I like to have control over things, yeah. Muñoz was squad leader, but I had her back. That’s my job. I stick with my team. I try to make sure they don’t get shot. I don’t know what happened to them, but I can’t imagine it’s anything good.”

  “You see yourself as a protector?”

  “I want to help people.”

  “There are other professions where you can do that. You could have gone into medicine, or—”

  “I’m not a citizen. All those options? I don’t have those options.”

  “Why did you choose the military?”

  “I wanted to be on the right side. A fucking paladin.” It just slipped out. I backtracked. “Sorry, that’s stupid.”

  “A paladin . . . A knight?”

  “Sort of. A holy knight. Like . . . you not only fight people, you can protect them too.”

  “I see. It’s important that we tell ourselves stories, Private Dietz. There’s a theory that consciousness itself begins with story. Stories are how we make sense of the world. All of us have an internal story that we have told ourselves from the time we were very young. We constantly revise this story as we get older, honing and sharpening it to a fine point. Sometimes, when we encounter something in our lives, or do something that does not match up with that story, we may experience a great sense of dissonance. It can feel as if you’ve lost a piece of yourself. It can feel like an attack on who you are, when the real world doesn’t match your story. What happens if one of these knights fails to save someone?”

  I wanted to say, they swear an oath of vengeance and join the Corporate Corps, obviously. But I didn’t. I knew what I needed to say. I’d already told her too much. “They just keep going. They do better next time.”

  “Do you feel you can do that?”

  “I’m sorry I said that.”

  “Don’t be sorry. It helps us understand each other. Do you feel that you can go forward? What does the idea of being part of another squad feel like for you?”

  “It’ll be hard, but it’s . . . It’s what I’m here for. So, it feels fine. I guess.”

  “You consider this a calling? What is a personal calling, to you?”

  “It’s . . . just that. It’s a thing you should be doing. No matter what.”

  We went on like that until the doctor said, “I see our time is up.”

  “Is that it? When do I drop again? Will they put me on a desk? Building latrines? I’m a good soldier. I can be on another squad. Maybe they’ll find the others.” I didn’t think about all the blood they’d found on me. Whose blood? I didn’t buy that it was all Martian. I chewed my lip. Did I dare ask? Would they even tell me?

  “That’s not up to me. It was lovely to see you again, Private Dietz. Wait here and a handler will see you out.”

  She left me. Didn’t look back. Here she was, this shrink who had my future in her hands, a future she figured out based on a lot of rambling from me about paladins and feelings. Shit, if this got back to the platoon I’d never hear the end of it. If I ever got back to serving with my platoon. Or any platoon.

  Whatever she said, it couldn’t have been all bad, because they released me from solitary quarantine a few hours later and shuttled me out to join my platoon.

  I should have known what would happen, but I gnawed on it for a long time. If they didn’t let me drop again, how could I become Bad Luck Dietz? I had to fuck up more to get there. But then, how did I know that every time I dropped, I wasn’t coming back into some other place, some other . . . time? Some other . . . me? I had no idea. My head hurt. I could be anywhere in . . . time?

  I went back to my rack. Jones was already there. At first I figured, sure, of course, this was his rack too. But it wasn’t. Not yet. He sat on mine. They hadn’t moved him yet. The top was Muñoz’s. They still hoped she would turn up. But I already knew the future. Didn’t I? I opened the trunk at the end of our rack, and her shit was still there. Something caught in my throat. I had to take a minute to keep from losing it.

  “What happened?” Jones said.

  “I’ve told a million people. I don’t know, Jones.” And then, because I wanted to confirm it, “You were injured. You couldn’t go on the mission because you were injured, right?”

  “What did that jump do to you, Dietz?”

  “Yes or no?”

  “Yes. I was
here fucking around in an FPS while you got my squad killed. Are Muñoz and Jawbone dead?”

  “I don’t know. I didn’t see her die. Or the others. I don’t know.”

  “How does only one member of a squad come back?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Nobody else lost a single soldier, except you.”

  “So, you weren’t there?”

  “No, are you listening? You went. I wasn’t there. You need me to repeat myself again? You are losing it.”

  “It was something with the tech. They did it wrong.”

  Jones peered at me. “Bullshit,” he said, and left.

  I was permitted to do PT drills with the platoon, and cohabit with them as usual, but even compared to my last drop back to base, they were cold toward me. Soldiers are superstitious. Jones wore the same pair of socks for every drop—despite the fact that all our socks looked the same. He marked them with little safety pins, said they were his “lucky” socks. I was still too new to combat to trust in anything, not even myself, but I knew I’d become bad luck. Nobody wanted me on their squad. I didn’t blame them.

  We got a fresh group of recruits in. I felt my stomach heave as their names were called.

  “We’re welcoming four fresh meatheads,” the CO said. “Private Landon, Private Markesh, Specialist Leichtner, and Specialist Sandoval.”

  I closed my eyes after the names were read. Maybe I was hopping through different time lines, different futures, different . . . or maybe Mars was just fucking with me. Maybe, this whole time, I was still stuck on Mars in some looped immersive. I had a sudden, jarring memory of the torture modules, and lost my breath. What if none of this was real—nothing had been real since we first lined up for that Mars recon mission?

  I had failed at the torture modules back in mandatory training, failed to acknowledge its unreality and break the construct. There are some things you can’t kill your way out of, and the torture immersives were one of those things.