by J. N. Chaney
“I don’t regret serving now, really. Oh—maybe a bit. It sure screwed up my plans, but in the end, it made me a better person. And, I don’t mean to toot my own horn here, sir, but I think I paid my dues. Both on Preacher Rolls, and . . . you know.”
Even with the lieutenant and alone in his office, he wasn’t going to mention dead riever aloud.
The lieutenant looked down at his desk for a moment, sighed, and looked back up. “I’m sorry I can’t convince you, but you’re right, Pelletier. You’ve paid your dues. No one can deny that. Gunny told me you still have your Guild opening?”
“Yes, sir. I got that confirmed last week. I start the day after I’m discharged.”
“Well, all I can say is thank you for your service, and good luck in the next chapter of the Reverent Pelletier story.”
The lieutenant stood, hand outstretched.
Rev took it, giving a firm shake. “Thank you, sir. It was an honor serving under you.”
“Likewise.”
“Well, then, I guess you need to get to admin. Let me know if there’s anything I can do for you.”
Rev came to a position of attention, then despite the fact that Marines don’t salute uncovered and indoors, he raised his right hand in a salute. The lieutenant came to attention and returned it.
Rev felt a twinge of guilt as he left the office and headed to regimental admin.
“How many of my fellow conscripts from my class are re-enlisting?”
“Really?” Rev asked, surprised. His AI seemed to have about everything else at its virtual fingertips.
I guess that makes sense.
He knew he shouldn’t feel guilty. He’d been conscripted to serve three years, and he’d fulfilled that. He shook his head as if to clear it of any lingering doubt, then marched into admin and up to the counter where a bored-looking corporal glanced up and asked, “What can I do for you?”
“I need to start my out-processing.”
The corporal turned around and called out, “Staff Sergeant, I’ve got another one.”
Two desks back, a staff sergeant looked up from her screen, saw Rev, rolled her eyes, and almost reluctantly stood up and made her way to him.
“We’re not processing any discharges right now,” she told him with the look of someone who’d done this more than once this morning.
Rev looked at her in confusion. “When, then, Staff Sergeant? Do I need to come back this afternoon?”
“We’re not processing anyone today or tomorrow. That’s from on high.”
“Why? I’m out of here on the twenty-second.”
“I don’t know why. We were just told this morning, and the word hasn’t gotten out to the companies yet.”
“But I’m—”
“Yes, I know. You’re out on the twenty-second. Don’t worry. We’ll still process you out. Still plenty of time for that.”
“Staff Sergeant Willis, here’s another one,” a Marine called out.
Rev looked down the counter where another lance corporal, looking as confused as Rev, was standing.
“Look, this will all get straightened out. Just go back to your company and stand by. We’ll pass the word when you can come back.” With that, she turned to explain the situation to the other Marine.
Rev stood there for a long moment, but the corporal who’d first asked what he wanted was studiously avoiding his eyes, so he turned and left the building and started back to the platoon area. He didn’t know what glitch was up, but even if he wasn’t given his official check-out sheet, he could get a jump on things by hitting the armory and supply to return what he didn’t need anymore.
As he started up the steps into the barracks, he met the lieutenant coming down.
“That was quick. You change your mind?” the lieutenant asked with a forced laugh.
“No, sir. They’re just not processing discharges right now.”
“I didn’t hear that admin had a stand down today.”
“They don’t, but the staff sergeant there said there was a hold for now. Didn’t say more about it, sir, unless it’s at HQ.”
“And our company headquarters is at Falcon, of course. Let me see what’s going on.”
“It’s fine, sir. Probably be all set by Monday.”
“Well, let’s make sure of that. Come on.”
Rev followed the lieutenant back to the platoon office.
“You hear anything about discharges being held up?” he asked the gunny in the outer office.
“No. Why?”
“Pelletier here couldn’t start his out-processing just now. I’m going to see what I can find out.”
“Probably some glitch at Big Corps. They’ll unfuck it. If not, I will.” He tapped his silver-colored arm on the desk for emphasis. He’d only been back with the platoon for a week, and he was getting antsy to start being a full-throated force again.
They entered the office. The lieutenant sat back at his desk and motioned Rev to sit as he made a call.
“Hey, Hath, I’ve got a Lance Corporal Pelletier here, about ready to get out, but one of your staff sergeants told him you aren’t out-processing anyone right now. What’s up?”
Rev watched the lieutenant listen to the response, wishing he could hear it as well.
“That’s kinda messed up, you know. . .Fine, then, when are you going to be able to process him? He’s a good Marine, and he deserves proper support.”
The lieutenant listened for a moment before the smile on his face faded, his eyebrows scrunching together.
“Is that . . . uh, official?” he asked in a hushed tone.
Rev sat up straighter in his chair, wondering what was going on.
“Yep. There are going to be a lot of pissed off Marines. But thanks for telling me . . . no, I’ll keep it close to the vest until there’s an official announcement.”
The lieutenant slowly looked up to Rev’s eyes, but he didn’t say anything, as if he was trying to decide on the words he wanted to use.
“What did he say, sir?” Rev prompted, suddenly feeling the pit of his stomach.
“This isn’t official, yet, so it has to be kept between you and me until then.”
“Sir?”
“You’re not getting out.”
“SIR?”
“At least not on your EOE. You’re being extended.”
“I am? Why?” Rev asked, totally blindsided.
“Not just you. Everyone who thought they were getting out. You’re all being extended a year.”
“But . . . can they do that? Can Big Corps just take that on themselves?”
“This isn’t Big Corps. This is from the Union. Navy, too.”
Rev sat there, dumfounded. He was at a loss for words.
“If it makes any difference, I think it sucks. And who knows, maybe it won’t go through. Like I said, it’s not official yet.”
“With all due respect, sir, ‘yet’ is the relevant word. It’s going to happen. I can feel it.”
The lieutenant was smart enough not to feed Rev any more bullshit.
“Here,” he said, reaching into his desk and scribbling out a day pass. “Take the rest of the day off. Go see your family. Just, don’t—”
“Don’t tell them anything, right, sir? And what do I tell them about why I’m home on a Thursday?” Rev asked. “But I’m good, sir. I don’t even know what’s on the training schedule today.”
“Your team’s on Range 103.”
“Think I can get a ride out there, sir?” Rev asked.
“Really, you don’t have to go. Take it easy.”
“Well, sir, if I’m really stuck here for another year, I need to make sure my team is combat ready. And between you and me, Staff Sergeant Delacrie’s got a long way to go.”
Epilogue
“You feeling it yet?”
“Well, don’t worry. There’s a long way to go.”
Rev swirled his beer, then drained it. Maybe it was time to go to something stronger.
Look at me, getting drunk and it’s not even sixteen-hundred. Screw it.
He punched in a rum and coke. Leteeka’s had been built almost two hundred years before, and not much had changed over that time. It still used the drink trains that were evidently popular back then. Rev idly watched as his drink rose on a trolley from behind the bar and slotted into the rail that ran along the ceiling. The trolley clicked as it followed the programmed path to his table, then went down the elevator to his waiting hand.
Later in the evening, the place would be packed, and trolleys would be crisscrossing the ceiling with drinks. But at the moment, there were only two other patrons, each quietly nursing drinks.
Rev didn’t want to be drinking alone, but the extension had messed up a lot of plans. Today had been their planned discharge meet-up to celebrate the completion of their obligations. But they were still obligated, so there was nothing to celebrate.
No one had mentioned Leteeka’s, but no one had to. And it wasn’t until two hours ago that Rev thought screw it and asked the lieutenant for a day pass. If the platoon commander thought it was for him to tell his family he wasn’t coming home, well, that was his fault for not asking.
The door opened, and Rev eagerly looked up, but it was just a leech—a businessman, by the looks of it—coming in for a quick drink before going on to do whatever businessmen did.
“At least you’re here with me,” he subvocalized as he took a sip of this drink.
Rev hesitated a moment, then slowly lowered the rum and coke. “Did you just make a joke?”
“Well, I’ll be damned. You are full of surprises. Can you tell a real joke?”
“So, if I up your PQ again, you can tell me a joke?”
Rev considered it. He still thought it was a little weird that Tomiko and some of the others treated their AIs as if they were real people. But he was a little tipsy, and he was curious. Worst case basis, he could always shift it back.
“Okay. Raise your PQ to ninety percent.”
“So, tell me a joke.”
“I don’t know. What?”
“Shit. That’s horrible. If that’s the best you can do, I’m going to set your PQ back at fifty.”
“Well, you weren’t lying, at least. So, can you tell me a good joke?”
Rev took a large gulp of his drink. That was a pretty wasted experiment, but it had taken up two minutes of his time where he’d otherwise be wallowing in self-pity. He decided to leave his AI at ninety.
And it was right. AIs got better at everything with more data. He didn’t use his AI as much as others did, so his wasn’t as advanced as theirs.
There wasn’t any reason to limit his usage, he knew. It was that the concept of having an AI residing in his brain was still uncomfortable, even after two-and-a-half years. Something artificial, as the term indicated.
Maybe I should give in and call it my battle buddy like everyone else.
But it wasn’t that exactly. Tomiko was his battle buddy.
He drained his glass and ordered another. He wasn’t drunk yet, but he could tell he was on his way. And he knew that was making his judgment suspect.
Screw it.
“Hey, did you ever wish I’d given you a name?”
“But do you want a name?”
Surprisingly, there was a brief pause, as if it was trying to formulate an answer.
No, you’re just drunk.
<“Want” has an emotional connotation. I do not think that is an accurate representation of how my process functions. But if I could want anything, it is for us to work as a closely meshed team. That is what I am programmed for. Prior research indicates that naming an AI by its principle does improve its acceptance, which has a follow-on effect of improving its interoperability and efficiency. Within those parameters, if you choose to assign me a name, there is an increased probability that I will be of use to you.>
That was the longest his AI had ever spoken to him. Maybe that was the increase in PQ he’d just given him, but that could have been a programmed response, put there to try and convince stubborn bastards like him to mesh closer with their AIs.
“So, you do want a name.”
His AI remained silent.
“Even if it was something stupid, like . . .”
He took a moment to let out a belch.
“. . . like Burp? Not a real name?”
“Really? I can name you Burp?”
His rum and coke arrived, and he drained half of it.
Nah. Tempting, but that’s too stupid, even if I am hammered.
“Let’s try something with a little more class.” Rev furrowed his brow, chewing on the possibilities, then thought back to the day he’d made his mistake—the one that made him a Marine. “How about Punch? Happy with that?”
But it—he—sounded more upbeat. Or that could be the rum speaking.
“Give me another joke, Punch. A better one.”
“OK, I give up. Why?”
Rev groaned. “You’re going to have to do a lot better than that if you want to keep your name.”
It didn’t get any better. Rev half-thought that the alcohol was having a stronger effect on his AI . . . on Punch than he was letting on. But Rev was content to just sit there, head back, eyes closed. He’d switched to Cygnus Gold, which was eating up his account, but what else was he going to do with his money? Before too long, the regiment would be off again, taking on the Centaurs, and if he was going to get his ass killed this next time, he didn’t want to die with money in his account.
“So, you didn’t bother to bring me?”
Rev opened one eye.
Tomiko was standing over him, not looking happy. “I went looking for you after getting back from the armory, but you were nowhere to be found. And now I see why. Looks like you’ve been here for a while,” she said, pointedly looking at the empty pitcher and glasses.
“I got the lieutenant to give me a day pass.”
“And you didn’t get one for me? What kind of friend does that?”
“I didn’t think you were coming.”
“Of course, I was coming. We made a pact for today, right?”
“No, we didn’t. The pact was for our EOS, and in case you missed it, this isn’t our EOS anymore.”
“Yeah, I know,” Tomiko said with a sigh, taking a seat beside him. “And when I couldn’t find you, I knew you were here. I wasn’t going to let you drown your sorrows alone. We’re still alive and kicking, so that deserves some sort of celebration, right?”
“Thanks for coming, Miko.”
“You’re my boy, right?” she said, punching him in the arm. “Now how about a drink?”
“I’m drinking Cygnus Golds now. You want that?”
&nb
sp; “Hell, yes, if you’re buying.”
Rev put in the order, then said, “Hey, Punch is telling me jokes.”
“Who?”
“Oh, yeah. I forgot to tell you. I named my AI.”
“Punch? That name sucks!”
“It was kinda the first thing that came to my mind,” he said, opening his mouth and letting out another belch.
“You’re a weird one, Rev,” she said, rolling her eyes.
“Does Pikachu tell jokes?”
“Jokes? Of course.”
“Are they any good?”
“Oh, hell no, boy!”
“OK, Punch’s suck big time. I was wondering if he was defective.”
“Like father, like son.”
“Hey, my jokes are good. And he’s not my son.”
Tomiko snorted. “If you say so.”
“No, really.”
“Look, we can terraform a world, we can travel FTL around the galaxy, but we can’t seem to make an AI that can tell a good joke.”
Tomiko’s drink arrived, and she took an appreciative sip. “Pretty good stuff. Thanks.”
“What else are we going to do with all the big credits they pay us?
The front door opened, and Rev said, “Look who else just got here.”
“Marine treadheads, arriving!” Tomiko yelled, holding up her glass. “Better get some of these Cygnus Golds before Rev runs his account dry.”
“I’m in,” Bundy said as he hurried over, Ten only half a step behind.
“So good of you to be so generous with my credits,” Rev said out of the corner of his mouth.
“Like you said, what else are you going to do with it?”
But Rev had already ordered two more.
“I didn’t know you two were coming,” Rev told them as they took their seats.
“Why wouldn’t we?”
“Because—”
Tomiko put her hand over his mouth and said, “He already gave me that song and dance. And he’s been here since . . . when did you get here, Rev?”
He tilted his hand down to where her hand was still covering his mouth, and she removed it.
“About fifteen-fifteen. Like I said, I got a day pass.”
“Well, then, we’ve got some drinking to catch up on,” Bundy said.
“Thanks for coming,” Rev said.
