Alien War Trilogy 1: Hoplite

by Isaac Hooke

  “If you don’t like it,” Braggs told him. “Feel free to request a transfer to a different Team via Master Chief Bourbonjack. Though he’ll probably turn it down. As will I.”

  “Don’t get me wrong,” Manic said. “There really is nowhere else I’d rather be. I signed up for action. I’m just saying, we have to look at the bigger picture.”

  “You’re not paid to look at the bigger picture,” the lieutenant commander responded. “Nor to overthink. You’re here to do what you’re told. And that’s precisely what you’re going to do. Don’t get your hopes up about seeing any action, because as I already said you might not be employed at all. The most action you might see is from your quarters, where you’ll sit, helplessly cooped up while the encounter unfolds. And if the enemy decides to open fire, and you find yourselves aboard a sinking ship, you’ll spend the subsequent weeks in a jettisoned lifepod waiting for retrieval.”

  It was certainly a bleak picture the lieutenant commander had painted. But come what may, the platoon members would follow their orders, Rade knew.

  “Any other questions?” Braggs asked. “No? Good.”

  “We’ll do what needs to be done,” Rade said.

  “Damn right you will. Dismissed.”

  four

  After rendezvousing with Task Group 68.2 and transferring to the Rhodes, a destroyer in said group, Rade was forced to take on an unexpected new team member.

  Chief Facehopper marched into the berthing area leading a shy-looking young man who appeared extremely out of his element. He wore tight-fitting fatigues, just as if he were part of the Rhodes’ regular crew. He was extremely skinny, almost gaunt. His eyes seemed friendly, but there was something slightly off about them. They didn’t seem to reflect the light properly, like natural eyes would. Sort of like Rade’s own, he supposed.

  “The Navy is performing an experiment,” Facehopper announced. “Introducing Artificials into the ranks of every rating, the MOTHs included. I guess they’re trying to determine the viability of allowing permanent combat robots into our collective midsts. Anyway, meet your new caterpillar.”

  The humanlike robot extended a hand. “I am Bradley.”

  No one made a move toward the Artificial.

  Bradley cocked its head slightly, seeming confused. “I’m Bradley?”

  Rade sighed mentally.

  Lead by example.

  He stepped forward and grabbed the Artificial’s hand. The grip was surprisingly soft, as if the Artificial was trying very hard not to injure him.

  Rade forced a smile. “Welcome aboard, caterpillar.”

  “Thank you, LPO!” the Artificial beamed.

  “Bradley?” Bomb said. “Did you just call yourself Bradley? Like the ancient tank?”

  “If you are referring to the Bradley Fighting Vehicle,” the Artificial replied. “It was not a tank, but a combination of armored personnel carrier and tank killer. And yes, I called myself Bradley. It has no meaning—it is simply my name.”

  “You named yourself after an outdated tank.” Bomb shook his head.

  The Artificial glanced at Rade. It seemed confused. “My name is Bradley?”

  “Actually, about that,” Rade said. “We already have a Bender and a Bomb. Too many B’s as it is. In the heat of combat, you definitely don’t want to be getting people’s names mixed up. It’s something we’re going to fix right now. From this moment forward, you’re Harlequin. At least until you earn yourself a proper callsign.”

  “He ain’t ever going to earn that,” Bomb stated.

  “Harlequin?” the Artificial said. “But—”

  “As I said, it’s not a callsign,” Rade persisted. “Just a name. Don’t read too much into it.”

  “But you can’t call me Harlequin. That won’t match the data in my embedded ID. When someone views my profile—”

  “Then update that data if it makes you feel better,” Rade said. “Because we’re calling you Harlequin.”

  “Harlequin,” the Artificial said. Its eyes became distant, as if it were looking up the word in its dictionary. “A mute character in a Roman mime, typically masked. Dressed in a diamond-patterned costume.”

  “Sounds about right,” Rade said. “I recommend, for the first little while at least, that you behave the same way.” Grinning slightly, he added: “The mute part, I mean. The costume is optional.”

  Bomb had folded his arms, and he was huffing and puffing as if he was struggling to hold back some rant.

  “Something on your mind, Bomb?” Facehopper said.

  “An experiment,” Bomb said. “You called it an experiment, Chief? I ain’t going to let the navy replace me. And I ain’t going to treat no machine like a brother.” He spat at Harlequin’s feet. “I’m going to personally ensure this experiment ends in failure.”

  “But AIs are sentient,” Facehopper said. He glanced at Rade, as if hoping he would back him up.

  Rade nodded. “They are.” He wasn’t sure what else the chief wanted him to say.

  “And they’re fully capable,” Facehopper continued. “I’m not asking you to treat Harlequin like a brother. All I’m asking is that you trust him. You’ve trusted combat robots with your lives before after all.”

  “We have,” TJ agreed. “But this is no combat robot.”

  “I’m running the same realtime operating system as a Centurion class combat robot,” Harlequin said. “And I’ve downloaded the complete combat algorithms, along with algorithms dealing with a myriad of intricate tasks. I think you will find I am far more versatile than your usual assault robot, able to assume many roles. I hope one day to prove myself to you all, and be worthy of a callsign.”

  It sounded like something the Artificial had prepared precisely for that moment.

  “Like I said, you’ll never be worthy of a callsign, bitch.” Bomb attempted to shove past the Artificial, but his shoulder slammed against Harlequin’s unyielding chest with a loud thud.

  “Gah!” Bomb stepped back to rub his shoulder.

  Harlequin smiled sheepishly. “Sorry.” The Artificial slid to one side, almost stepping on other members of the platoon.

  “Stay away from me,” Skullcracker said heatedly. He had the tattoo of a realistic-looking skull inked onto his face. He kept mostly to himself, and could usually be found in the berthing area slumped over a desk as he relived memories on his Implant. On the rare occasion when the soft-spoken MOTH talked, people listened. He, too, was a heavy gunner, though one would have never guessed it from his relatively slight build.

  Harlequin moved again, giving both Bomb and Skullcracker a wide berth.

  “I’m not fighting alongside no machines,” Skullcracker told the chief.

  “Facehopper’s right, we’ve done it before...” Bender said.

  “You mean before they turned on us?” Skullcracker replied. “No thanks, Drone Operator. After everything we’ve been through, I’m surprised any of you would be fixing to fight alongside a machine.”

  “I see our southern accents are finally rubbing off on y’all,” Snakeoil said. “Fixing to fight. We done good, Lui.”

  Skullcracker gave him a withering glare in reply, and the smile quickly fled Snakeoil’s face. No one liked to be stared at like that by a death’s head.

  “The problems we’ve had with the robots are behind us,” the chief said. “We’ve built extra security measures into all the units, and placed shielding into the AI cores of the starships. We have to start trusting the machines again, one way or another. You don’t seem to have any problems with piloting mechs into battle, after all.”

  “That’s only because we’re in complete control of them,” Skullcracker said.

  Manic spoke up. “I have to agree with the general sentiment here. I’m not liking this, not one bit. So we introduce one combat robot into a platoon as a full time member. That’s just a small thing, right? But what’s next? Entire platoons manned by them? Machines already run our lives. And now we’re going to let them fight our battles,
too? Seems like a step backward, not forward.” The port-wine stain above his right eye seemed particularly bright and angry that day.

  “All right, that’s about enough,” Rade said. “Set aside your personal feelings and take the high road, people.” He turned toward the Artificial. “Welcome aboard, Harlequin. It’s good to have you, previous comments notwithstanding. Cyclone, find a bed for him.”

  “Can we haze him, first?” Tahoe asked, responding immediately to his callsign.

  “Haze?” the Artificial said, eyes widening in trepidation.

  “What a fine idea!” Bender grinned broadly, his golden front teeth gleaming malevolently in the light. He put his arm around the Artificial. “Yes, welcome aboard, Harlequin. Cyclone and I will show you to your bed.”

  With a happy skip to his step, Bender proceeded to lead the Artificial deeper into the berthing area. Harlequin looked over his shoulder at Facehopper helplessly.

  “Do what you can to integrate him,” the chief said when everyone had vacated to the adjoining head, presumably to begin Harlequin’s hazing.

  “I’ll do my best,” Rade said. “But I have to admit, it’s going to be a hard sell. Especially since I share the same feelings about allowing an AI into our midst. I’m not sure how much I can rely upon the thing, let alone trust it.”

  “You seem to trust the AIs of your mechs,” Facehopper said.

  “That’s different,” Rade replied. “As Skullcracker said, we’re always in complete control. We can easily override the AIs and take full command. But an embedded Artificial? I don’t know...”

  “We’ve always worked with embedded combat robots,” Facehopper said.

  “We have,” Rade agreed slowly. “But we’ve always treated them as support units. Like the Raptor drones that provide air support, or the Equestrian tanks and artillery on the ground. But now we’re calling a robot a MOTH? It doesn’t sit well with me. Not at all. How can a robot that has never gone through Trial Week understand what it takes?”

  “We’ve made the Artificial endure Trial Week,” Facehopper said. “And it has undergone the full BSD/M training.”

  Rade cocked an eyebrow. “Really. Well then, have you made the Artificial do it with its battery running on near empty? With a missing arm, perhaps? Because you know as well as any of us that the training is all about mental fortitude, and overcoming the weaknesses of the body. A robot doesn’t have those weaknesses.”

  “But a robot can be programmed to have mental fortitude,” the chief said.

  Rade heard a distinctly mechanical howl emanating from the head.

  “Hm. Maybe not.” Facehopper forced a smile. “Well, like I said, do what you can.”

  THAT EVENING RADE noticed that Harlequin had scuff marks on his right palm. Apparently the others had made him shove his hand down one of the toilets in the head—after Bender had filled it up with his excrement, of course—and they had flushed it repeatedly, so that by the time they were done a laser torch was required to cut out the feces-splattered Artificial.

  Rade put the instigators of the deed, Bender and Tahoe, on half rations for the next three days. That was one of the recommended disciplinary actions, as listed in the handy LPO guide he had downloaded to his Implant. Facehopper had warned him not to rely too heavily on that guide, telling Rade to use his own judgment instead. Even so, half rations seemed like the perfect punishment for those two.

  “I’m surprised at you, Tahoe,” Rade scolded him. “Don’t you remember the hazing you and I went through when we first joined the platoon? We swore we’d be better than that.”

  “You might have sworn it,” Tahoe said. “I never did. Besides, I’m a firm believer that hazing builds character.”

  “If you say so,” Rade told his friend.

  “Half rations,” Tahoe muttered. “That isn’t so bad.”

  “Wait until the afternoon of the second day,” Rade said. “When your stomach growls nonstop, and you can feel your muscles digesting themselves. Big man like you? You’re definitely going to feel it.”

  Tahoe’s face paled. “My muscles are going to shrink.”

  Rade shrugged. “Maybe you’ll learn your lesson.” Though he knew it wouldn’t be that dramatic. If anything, Tahoe would probably lean out.

  The Navajo didn’t answer.

  “Anyway, earlier you said you had a new message from Tepin?” Rade began, wanting to change the subject. He was Tahoe’s friend first, his LPO second. “What’s the news from the wife? More kids on the way?”

  Tahoe laughed, his punishment completely forgotten. “If there are any more kids on the way, then I’m going to have to file for a divorce, because they’re not from me.”

  “Come on,” Rade said. “She didn’t really withhold sex from you last time you were home? I thought you were joking.”

  Tahoe shook his head gravely. “She wouldn’t let me lay a finger on her, let alone my dick. She’s still mad about the former girlfriend incident from last year.”

  “A year later and she’s still upset about that?” Rade said. “I thought you never actually caught up with your old girlfriend. And stopped messaging her cold turkey.”

  “Oh I did stop,” Tahoe said. “I deleted all her contact info, and yes, I never met her. But Tepin, she’s the jealous type. She had me install a message monitoring service so she could see everything I get or send. It only works on civilian messages, of course. But that’s the crux of it. She thinks I’m using my encrypted military account to stay in touch with her instead. As if the lieutenant commander would tolerate that.” He shook his head. “A guy never gets a break. But you know what? I don’t even care. When I’m home, I have my augmented reality porn stash, and my teledildonic stimulators. I get better sex from machines. Besides, she’s so ugly now, I’m not sure I can get it up for her anymore anyway.”

  Rade smiled wistfully. “You don’t mean that.”

  “I do,” Tahoe said stubbornly.

  “I don’t believe you,” Rade insisted.

  “That’s because you’re a foolish romantic,” Tahoe said.

  “I know you love her.”

  “Oh I love her,” Tahoe agreed. “But she’s still ugly. My kids, though, they’re something else. They’re the beautiful ones. Must have gotten the genes from me.”

  “Right. So how’s she taking the news of our upcoming mission?”

  “Not well,” Tahoe said. “Even though I forwarded her the official notice, she doesn’t believe it. She told me, even if it’s true, I’m just going to spend all my time and wages on strippers.”

  Rade furrowed his brow. “Strippers? How? We’re not on shore leave here.”

  “Yeah,” Tahoe said. “But her latest is that she’s convinced all we do on deployment is spend our days in strip clubs. She actually believes the navy has installed strippers on the ships.”

  Rade looked at him incredulously and then burst out laughing. Tahoe joined him.

  “Just be glad you’re not married, Rade,” Tahoe said. “Be very, very glad.”

  “I suppose so,” Rade said, trying to hide the sadness those words inflicted upon him.

  Apparently it hadn’t worked, because Tahoe said: “Still miss Shaw?”

  Rade nodded, but then quickly moved on to another topic. “I saw you spotting Facehopper on the bench press this morning. I’m glad to see you and he are getting along better.”

  Tahoe regarded him appraisingly for a moment, as if considering whether or not to grant Rade his latest change of subject. Apparently, he decided to allow it, because he said with a shrug: “We have to get along. He’s chief now.”

  “You still don’t like him, do you?”

  Tahoe shrugged. “Something about Englishmen gets under my skin. But no one ever said I had to like my chief. In fact, back when I lived on the reserve, I can’t recall ever liking any of the chiefs. Anyway, regarding Facehopper... while I don’t necessarily like him, I will obey him.”

  “I’m sure that’s all he cares about,” Rade said.r />
  “I’m sure of that, too,” Tahoe sniffed.

  five

  Rade retired to his bunk soon thereafter to check his inbox, and was disappointed to see no new messages from Shaw—his on again, off again girlfriend. The two of them were currently in one of their off phases, with both sides having agreed to a relationship break. It was a full-on sort of break, meaning that either party was allowed to pursue external relationships. So far Rade hadn’t had the opportunity to avail himself of that allowance. And he wasn’t sure he would, given the chance.

  The two of them were so different from when they had originally joined, so long ago. They had been like children, then. So naive. Rade’s training had hardened him, turned him into a killer, Shaw said. Unfortunately, when they had last fought together, she had become a killer, too. That hurt the most for him, seeing her like that, given the gentle person she once was. He felt responsible, somehow, and that guilt carried through into their relationship and soured it. The fact that they were serving different deployments on opposite sides of the galactic quadrant didn’t help matters.

  He wondered if he’d ever be able to maintain an ordinary relationship ever again. Or if he’d become like most of the other MOTHs—meeting girls on shore leave, or sneaking away with ensigns on the larger ships for one or two night stands, or relying on rented Artificials for pleasure. Tahoe was the only one of them who was married. None of them could understand how he could be on the Teams, and yet have a happy home life. Some of them envied him. Rade used to as well, until he learned just how rocky Tahoe’s relationship with his wife was.

  Ah, Shaw. Change was inevitable, he supposed. Eighty billion human cells died every day from apoptosis. Another eighty billion were birthed. Biologically, he wasn’t the same person he was yesterday, and he’d be a different person the day after as well. Personality changed over time, too. People could become inflexible and rigid—hardening and crimping like a sponge left too long in the sun.