BattleMaster (The BattleMaster Corps Book 1)

by Nathaniel Danes

  Taking a deep breath, he held it before approving his subject’s entry. Seconds later the hopes of his ruined career was within sight. Don’t be weird and scare him. This will be easier if he wants to be here.

  “I’ll take him from here,” Bach said to the lab assistant escorting Stanner. “He won’t require escorts from now on. We have a lot of work to do, so he’ll be coming and going.”

  “I’ll note that in his file.” The young woman left.

  They stood there in silence, staring at one another until Stanner shrugged. “So, what do we do now? Why am I here, exactly?”

  Bach shook his head to regain his focus. “Yes, yes, of course. I’m sure you have a lot of questions.” He rubbed his chin. “Um, I think it would be best if I showed you. Follow me.”

  Bach led him into a room with a patient-chair in the middle. It was ringed with machines and screens. A skull cap with sensor nodes popping out set atop one of the arms.

  Bach gestured toward the chair. “Please have a seat.” He went to work at a terminal to start up the program. After a few seconds he glanced at the empty chair. Turning, he saw the worried expression on Stanner. “Rest assured, Mr. Stanner, this is a non-invasive test. I simply wish to show you how your brain works by passively reading your thought patterns.”

  “Okay.” Stanner sat and let the doctor place the cap on his head.

  A 3D digital picture of his brain rotated on a screen in front of Bach, out of view of the subject. “I’m going to ask you a couple questions. Answer them as you usually would. No pressure. This is impossible to fail and won’t hurt a bit.”

  Stanner took a deep breath. “Okay, I’m ready.”

  “Who signed the peace treaty that ended World War Three for the Americans?”

  Multiple points within Stanner’s cerebral cortex and hippocampus sparked. The beautiful fireworks made Bach tremble with excitement.

  “General Pratt.”

  “Correct. Very good. Now, please tell me exactly how you came about that answer. Explain your thought process, your chain of determination if you will.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Did you simply know the right answer and told me it?”

  “Um, no, actually. I had to think about it.”

  Bach leaned in. “Take me through that process.”

  “Well...it was a process of gradual elimination, really. I didn’t know exactly who signed for us, but I knew who were the major players who could’ve been the one. I dismissed each possibility with the facts I did know until I was left with only one.”

  “Such as?”

  Stanner ticked points off on his fingers. “President Salz was assassinated en route to the signing. Admiral Garret was on the other side of the world, making sure the Chinese didn’t violate the ceasefire. Secretary Geoff was in Europe keeping them from falling apart. I wasn’t sure what Pratt was up to, so I figured he was the guy.”

  “Fascinating.” Bach smiled from ear to ear.

  “Really? It’s a simple piece of historical trivia. I’m usually pretty good at trivia but nothing special.”

  “It’s not what you knew, but how you came about the answer that interests me, Mr. Stanner. Tell me, why can only women be BattleMasters?”

  “Being a BattleMaster requires an extremely effective multi-tasker. Female brains are already wired to be superior multi-taskers while men are better at focusing on singular goals. The wetware installed in BattleMasters takes advantage of that natural wiring. It can be implanted in males, but we haven’t been able to reach the same level of combat efficiency.”

  “Very true. Have you ever taken the BMT?”

  “Once, right out of boot camp.”

  “And how did you do?” Bach knew the answer but wanted to follow a slow process of revelation.

  “The test kicked my ass. It was like trying to track a thousand fireflies. I’ve always planned to give it another shot, but if I’m honest with myself, I don’t have high hopes.”

  Bach rolled closer to him. “What if I told you there’s a chance you could be a BattleMaster? The first of a new breed, more powerful than ever before.”

  Stanner let out a booming laugh that filled the room. “I’d say you were crazy.”

  “Perhaps.” Bach’s stone-faced expression never wavered. “But I’m deadly serious.”

  A pregnant pause hung between them.

  Stanner smacked his lips. “Okay, I’m listening.”

  I bet you are. A coy smile crossed Bach’s face. “Do you know what dyslexia is, Mr. Stanner?”

  “No?”

  “You should have; you’ve been dealing with it your entire life. It’s a mild form of brain deformity. It...”

  “Wait, what? My brain’s deformed?”

  “Yours is different.” Bach bobbed his head. “But it’s really nothing significant in the grand design of the human brain. It once was very common, in fact. My research suggests that as many as one in five people had some degree of dyslexia.”

  “Why haven’t I ever heard of it before? Why didn’t I notice the symptoms?” Stanner crossed his arms. “What are the symptoms? And how do you even know I have it? And...”

  Bach raised a hand to stop him. “Let me speak and I promise to answer all of your questions.”

  Stanner shut his mouth and nodded.

  “Thank you.” Bach cleared his throat and sat up straight. “I said it was once very common. A hundred and fifty years, however, of even basic gene editing to eradicate most diseases virtually wiped out its occurrence on Earth.

  “Then add in the fact that the original colonists were heavily screened to ensure a population base of top-flight genetic material and you have a colony today where something like dyslexia is unheard of.

  “I only came across it myself because I had been researching brain disorders in the hope of finding a brain that would work with a revolutionary new BattleMaster system.

  “As for your symptoms, that is how I discovered you. When I was examining Ms. Butler, you were saying an acronym and switched the s with a c.” Bach held up a hand and nodded. “I know. It was an extremely small thing, but it triggered something I read about a learning disability called dyslexia. I came straight to my office and looked up your file. Specifically, your academic records.” He sighed. “I was desperate.

  “It became clear that something wasn’t right with you. No, my apologies. Wrong choice of words. What I meant was that I don’t believe your test scores accurately reflected your intelligence.”

  Stanner squirmed in his seat. “Can’t that be said about a lot of people?”

  “Sadly, yes, but you didn’t fit the pattern of the usual underachiever. It was obvious that you had a craving for knowledge. Non-fiction book downloads, debate competitions, taking courses in areas of interest despite satisfying requirements for graduation. Your instructors also wrote glowingly about you. They praised your discussion participation and insight.” Bach’s shoulders dropped. “Then there were your written test scores.

  “Frankly, you’re fortunate you were passed, in many cases. I think your teachers took pity on you. They knew that you knew the material from your verbal recounting of it, but you simply didn’t perform on the exams. Your officer cadet school application is a perfect example.

  “You blew away the evaluators with your verbal exam. They commented on your depth and understanding of military history and command theory.” Bach turned his palms up. “Then...there were your written test scores, which you predictably … tanked. Still, it was a close decision to deny your application, based upon your personal interview.”

  Stanner melted into the back of his chair. “So what’s wrong with me? What’s wrong with my brain?”

  “Absolutely nothing.” Bach smiled wide. “Your brain is different, that’s all. You learn differently than the general population, and if anyone had understood that, you would’ve done better in school.

  “As for how you are different exactly, let’s just say your wiring is unique. Your
right brain is dominant at the expense of the left. The left brain is where written words are processed and this is why you have difficulty with words.

  “I imagine you’ve noticed you read more slowly than your peers. Letters appear to shift on the page. Think of all your misspellings when writing. You can probably think of a million examples of how you’ve always felt different when it came to words and even mixing numbers up.”

  Stanner nodded.

  Bach continued, “A review of your medical records, which contained brain scans, further confirmed my suspicions about you. Enough so that I ran new simulations using your brain and the results were promising. That allowed me to convince my superiors to let me bring you in.”

  ”Okay.” Stanner chewed on his lip. “What does that have to do with being a BattleMaster? Like I said, I sucked at the BMT.”

  Bach waved an index finger in the air. “You failed because the simulation was based upon wetware that takes advantage of a standard female brain’s wiring. Your wiring is far from standard for either sex. My new operating system aims to change that, and if I’m right, it will make you capable of so much more.”

  “What are you taking advantage of with me? Why is my deformed brain worth so much to you?”

  “Don’t think of it as deformed; think of it as different. Special. What makes you special, for this purpose, is the way you store and access information.” Bach spun the screen around to show him the 3D diagram of his brain. Several spots were lit up.

  “Imagine a deck of cards. A normal brain files the information in a deck of cards by putting all of the aces in one folder, two’s in another and so on. When you ask a normal brain to find the ace of hearts, it goes to the aces folder and since there are only four options, it finds the ace of hearts, and only the ace of hearts, quickly.

  “Now, a dyslexic brain takes the same information in a deck of cards and files it in a jumbled mess, in no way resembling the orderly manner of a normal brain. When you ask a dyslexic brain to find the ace of hearts, it has to search through the entire deck scattered across multiple folders. That’s why reading is so difficult. Your brain has to search for each word, each letter, every time.

  “As it does so, it’s accessing numerous files from its entire memory. Along the way, it finds interesting things, making connections a normal brain would miss. It’s cross-referencing an incredible amount of data along the way. It takes longer to find a specific piece of information, but the process is amazing in its own right.

  “That’s why you’re good at trivia. Even if you’re asked for a piece of information you don’t know, you’re cross-referencing everything you do know and can find the answer in that convoluted manner.”

  “Doesn’t everyone do that?”

  “Yes and no.” Bach bobbed his head. “You are on a different level. My new BattleMaster wetware and programming, or BattleSwarm, as I call it, proposes to take advantage of your natural ability to access multiple points of information and cross-reference. If I’m right, you’ll be able to control a horde of new drones by yourself. You’ll be the first in a new breed of warrior, surpassing everyone who’s come before you.”

  Stanner was now sitting up straight. His hands were fidgeting as his face contorted. Suddenly tears began to flow.

  Bach jerked backed. “Are you okay?”

  “I always thought I was stupid.” Stanner’s lip quivered. “I had so many problems with reading and writing. My parents, my teachers were so frustrated. No matter how hard they tried, I just didn’t get it. They thought I wasn’t trying, but I was. I tried so hard to get it. After a while, though, you start to believe what everyone’s telling you, that you’re stupid.

  “I joined the Army to get away, to find a place I belonged. A place I could succeed. A place far, far away from my dad’s disappointment and pressure to do something useful with my life.

  “This whole time I was dyslexic. I wasn’t stupid or lazy, I was, am, dyslexic. Different. Worse in some ways but better in others.” Stanner dragged his arms over his eyes to wipe them. “I’m in, doc. I want to do this. I want to use this fucking thing that’s been screwing up my life. Use it to make me better. Use it to make me the best BattleMaster there’s ever been. It’s my turn, damn it.”

  Bach wasn’t sure what to do. He hadn’t expected the outburst of emotion, hadn’t understood what Stanner’s condition had meant to him over the course of his life. He sat still, unsure what to do or say. “I...I am sorry. Sorry to throw all of this at you. I think I failed to appreciate what it all meant to you on a personal level. I sometimes get caught up in the science of things and lose sight of the human element.”

  “Don’t sweat it, doc.” Stanner sniffled. “It’s my baggage. Sorry to lose it there for a minute.” He took a deep breath. “What’s next? What do I, we need to do to take this fucking dyslexia and make it finally work for me?”

  Bach grinned. “Mr. Stanner, I do believe I will enjoy working with you. I like motivated men. I’ll get it working for you. Then you’ll finish this war and we’ll both be heroes.”

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  It felt like drinking from a firehose, but in this case the hose was stuck in his brain. The pressure receded and Stanner let out a long breath as his muscles relaxed. He melted back into his chair.

  He sensed another surge coming and gritted his teeth. “Ugh,” slipped through his lips when it hit. His body tensed while a strap across his forehead kept his skull motionless.

  “Steady, Mr. Stanner.” Bach typed away at his terminal. “Try not to move so much. The surgical unit can account for some shifting, but I prefer not to test its limits. Since it’s in your brain, I would think you feel the same way.”

  “Screw...you.”

  “Now, now, Mr. Stanner. Just remember that pain now equals glory forever, later.” Bach glanced at a screen displaying Stanner’s brain. Wires entering from the top of his head inched deeper as wetware was laid along natural pathways, enhancing his abilities. The progress stopped.

  “So far so good. Time for another question.”

  Stanner’s chest heaved in and out. The pain triggered throughout his body by the implantion process ceased, for now. “I can barely breathe, let along think of answers to your damn questions.”

  Bach smirked. “Understandable, but your brain is subconsciously working to find the answer. It can’t help itself, and that gives the surgical unit an opportunity to implant the wetware exactly where it needs to go. Now, can you tell me the name of the first human to set foot on Earth’s moon and the name of the NASA program that put him there?”

  Space race, 1969... The pain struck him like a needle between the eyes.

  “Good, very good, Mr. Stanner. Another hour and we’ll be done for the day.”

  Ninety minutes later, Bach loosened the strap holding Stanner’s head in place.

  “Please tell me I won’t have to do that again.” Stanner bent over to put his head in his hands.

  “It depends on how you perform in the simulations. This is, after all, a totally new type of weapon system. There are sure to be teething issues as we iron out the rough patches.”

  “Rough patches?” Stanner glared at him. “You mean ironing out the rough patches in my brain.”

  Bach shrugged. “For some issues, we will need to add or delete wetware. Others will require programming work on my end, either for you or the simulated drones.”

  The throbbing in his skull lessened with each beat of his heart. “What’s so special about these drones anyway? You weren’t really clear on that yesterday. Why do you need a new class of BattleMaster?”

  “That is an excellent question.” Bach’s face lit up as he gestured with his hands. “First you must ask yourself why the current BattleMasters are such an improvement over older weapons? Why can one BattleMaster controlling eight drones defeat eight Goliaths controlled by eight pilots, despite the fact their combined mass and firepower is much greater?”

  Stanner cocked his head. “There are
a number of factors. For one, the drone doesn’t have to account for the survivability of the pilot. That frees up a lot of space and energy for additional armor and weaponry. Pound for pound, our drones have more punch.

  “Then there’s the coordination of the attacking drones. A properly-trained BattleMaster can control her drones like a well-choreographed ballet. No matter how well trained, eight opposing humans can’t match ‘em on that account.

  “There’s also a long-term factor. Each Goliath destroyed generally means a dead pilot. That represents a huge loss in experience, not to mention training costs. A BattleMaster loses all of her drones, no big deal. Equip her with new units and the next time she’ll enter the fight as a more experienced fighter versus inexperienced replacements.”

  “Exactly.” Bach clapped his hands. The crack in the small room made Stanner wince. “The BattleMaster system was a revelatory leap forward, but the current technological path is played out. Sure, we can build bigger and better drones, but that’s going down a similar road that the old main battle tanks went down. There’s a diminishing return on investment. That’s particularly true now that the Euros have BattleMaster tech and we can presume the Chinese are not far behind.

  “We need another leap forward. We need to think smaller drones, not bigger.” Bach sighed. “But smaller drones mean less firepower per unit, which means you need more units to achieve a greater impact.

  “Unfortunately, eight seems to be the maximum number of drones a BattleMaster can effectively control on the ground. Five pairs of aerial drones in the sky.”

  “Swarm.” Stanner rolled the word around in his head. “Insects, a swarm of insects. A million bees taking down an elephant kind of thing.”

  “That is the general idea. Though a million tiny drones are more than a bit of a stretch.”

  “Sooo, how many drones are you thinking I can control once I’m ready?”

  “Two thousand.”

  Stanner was pushed back into his chair by the absurdity of the figure. “Two thousand?”