HSS: The Soldier

HSS: The Soldier

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Commissioned by: Ihaxlikenoob

Wordcount: 2560

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The notion of hurrying up to wait was not lost to me. The military has advanced dramatically over the last few decades. Munitions, armor, and vehicles are unrecognizable between my generation and the last. However, though the average individual is either enhanced or much healthier than that of the last generation, it remains true that humans around highly sensitive, very expensive military equipment are kept busy with inane, boring, and somewhat menial tasks.

I remained upon Earth in one of the few dozen European area denial fortifications. One ought to imagine that being besieged endlessly by monstrosities from other dimensions ought to be exciting, terrifying, and stressful. It is an easy notion to surmise, especially if one is to believe all public news, that soldiers are being hurt by the droves whenever Chimera throw themselves at our defenses.

However, that was when one counted casualties from fatigue.

The soldiers left behind have been provided the very best available equipment, endless wells of supplies, and entrenched positions that were practically entire Arcologies devoted to war. Casualties and deaths are likely when mustering out to clear areas beyond the range of the massive defensive emplacements which grace the perimeter, but when defending men and women are typically brought low due to being forced to rest by officers in command centers carefully monitoring the bodies.

I didn’t wish to scoff at the notion of tired being called a casualty, of course.

Soldiers were not machines. They were resources that were borrowed and had to be returned as intact as possible. These years spent in service of the state meant that the state had to take care of their men. Too much stress, combat fatigue, and constant danger might not wear down enhanced bodies and powered armor, but the same could not be said for the average human mind. Augmentations for that are still experimental. Out of reach for all but the most important of soldiers, expensive beyond belief, and temperamental in terms of results, it was not an avenue that the state would want foisted upon them after their soldiers return home and psychiatrists prove insufficient.

An ounce of prevention is worth a pound of cure, as the saying goes.

Still, without a doubt, waiting to be cleared for combat is mind-numbing.

There’s no shortage of menial work around the semi-Arcologies used by the military as holdouts. Those with Drone handling certifications were running about and leading packs of automated helpers. Foods that weren’t just paste and prepackaged needed to get cooked. Ammunition needed to be taken stock of. Armor maintenance oftentimes required humans, since the drones in the armories were always working around the clock and the spares had to be carefully husbanded. If one doesn’t wish to be confined to their room to rest, recuperate, and entertain themselves, they had all sorts of methods to earn some extra credits that were essentially stress free, or they could take online classes and get certified for work that they were qualified for.

One day a warrior killing aliens larger than most apartments, then the next day you’re in the classroom, earning minimum wage, or lazing about like a recluse in your bed, because you’re not allowed push yourself until your mind breaks.

One part of myself thought it silly

The more rational part of my brain told me that eight hours of continuous combat within a powered exoskeleton, firing upon hordes and hordes of beasts that can kill you, and doing so without pause does bring massive harm and stress to even the most battle-hardened veteran. Should that time be extended by an hour more, there’s certainly going to be permanent damage to a person’s mind, especially if they’re not calmed down and allowed to address their chemical responses and mental state through forced menial work and/or confinement to an amenity-filled room that they can freely share with others also off-duty.

I can only suspect that I found the notion itself unappealing because I went from being a clandestine military operator to a mere tactical asset sparingly utilized by a military base every few days.

The Chimera are somewhat bland enemies, if still numerous and deadly, compared to what I faced before with my companions.

Yes.

Without a doubt, that’s the reason why I’m so displeased with my current situation.

…

Tempted as I was to bother my partner, or call a rather nervous friend of mine, I didn’t wish to be a pest. Neither did I want to have another photo of myself plastered on the cafeteria wall declaring me to be an “Ice Cream Menace,” so eating away my boredom was currently an impossibility. Nor, of course, did I want to study and learn a new craft or work for extra credits in a job designed to lull the mind into a false sense of security.

So, I sought out an individual who would be rather interesting to talk to within the base and who also had plenty of time to spare.

“Greetings, Captain, what brings you here today?” Within every military base there was a location where peons could speak to the brains of the operation. While the base commanders and other officers were switching shifts, taking leaves, or running after soldiers who had more fatigue hours than they ought, there was a central mind that coordinated everything from flight trajectories of howitzer-class mass drivers shooting explosive shells the size of busses to janitorial duties. The heart of the base was its reinforced fusion reactor. Its mind was Stella. Unlike most AI, she preferred a Drone chassis instead of a Homunculi form in private, though she did take time to eat every few days. “Business or pleasure?”

Pleasure, I told her, but with a side of business, since I was recovering from fatigue.

“Ah, the chief complaint from every man and woman I have under my command. When shall I ever be free from the that terrible phrase?” Seeing a Drone body make human gestures such as cross their arms and shake their head was interesting. Typically, their programming made it so that they followed orders and moved as efficiently as possible. Being taken over by an AI who uses homunculi bodies regularly meant seeing more personality within them, despite looking like the machines of war sent in droves to bog down Chimera. “If only some technological breakthrough regarding rest and recuperation came through that would magically allow me to destress your all… I believe I’d have a quite a few servers freed up from reading and replying to all those complaints.”

Ah, the eternal issue of AI in every military base: being too capable for delegation. In every base I’ve visited every AI has the same issue. They’re so capable and such large investments that they’re expected to do as much work as possible. They were afforded time off, granted processing time towards their own projects, and various other rights and protections, but not nearly as much as AI working in corporations, managing infrastructure, and coordinating the economy. AI in the military are often the ones who are most likely to switch occupations within a few years, while most never choose to leave the occupation they’ve been specialized for and happily never get retooled.

I had only one subordinate, once upon a time I had two, and imagining reading all the complaints they had made my stomach ache a fair amount.

Perhaps it was the fear of imaginary stomach ulcers that kept Stella from choosing a permanent Homunculi body?

“You jest, but homunculi are more than capable of having prolonged, embedded stress responses. Quite a few Commanders with Homunculi bodies have theirs refurbished and rebooted every few months to clear out the phantom aches and pains from stress alone.” The words would’ve been followed by a sigh from a Homunculus body. However, in Stella’s case, all I saw was a tilting of a solid, rectangular head to the side with a slight up and down bob.  “Anyway, you can take a seat if you just want to enjoy my company. I have some time to spare given how the recently the last assault was broken. It’ll be a bit before the next salvo of munitions will need my spare processing power for targeting.”

As with most AI core rooms, Stella’s would be out of place in most blockbuster films. Those were typically massive affairs, with multitudes of green lights, and an ominous monolith with a blue or red orb in the center. AI core rooms are massive computers within reinforced shells at the very center of a base, away from the reach of most, and a difficult affair to reach even by specialists who can make repairs to them… if for some reason the auto-repair systems within the shell itself didn’t function.

An AI core room was simply a furnished room where an AI can speak with humans under its command. It’s furnished well, close to the kitchens, and has the capacity to hold all the base’s personnel within it. Should the base be lost, the room can act an escape vehicle into space with the AI’s core towed with it.

It's a very, very fancy escape pod.

“I prefer to call it an emergency starship, but that is appropriate as well. Tea?” I accepted the offer. Soon enough a a platter was laid before me various teas. Apparently, Li Song was a fan of tea, though most didn’t get the message that he liked the classic, non-flavored variety. There’s no doubt the tea corporations don’t care, however. Without regret, I chose a berry-flavored tea with a vivid pink coloration. It was very good. “Hmmm, now with the pleasantries over, what is the real reason you’re here? Boredom typically gets you quite antsy, willing to talk about anything, yet here you are just sipping away in silence.”

The meaning to life, the universe, and everything would be the cause of it.

“Ah, well. I can’t help you with that. I’ve devoted some processing power to it now and again, but it always comes up with forty-two for some reason. I don’t get it, and neither do any of the others.” Stella’s return is to be expected. It takes a moment for most to get through my delivery. I’ve been told that I make it seem too nonsensical when it should be more serious. I definitely to work on my people skills.  Anyway, holding her chin with fingers meant to handle heavy weaponry, Stella gave a hum. “Oh. That wasn’t a joke. Well, it was a joke… but not completely. How demanding for a poor AI such as myself. I apologize, but you’ll need to input data for my lacking processing power to interpret it.”

Well, the issue is that I felt thrown away. Before the Ascent and the formation of the Cradle, I’d been on a multitude of missions. I still go on many missions now, but they’re… inconsequential. Before, I fought in battles that had tangible results. Kidnapped individuals would get returned to their lives, artifacts that should be kept in safety were being recovered, and the massive specter of Ouroboros was an opponent I was aiding the rest of humanity in defeating. Then, the Preservers came along, and destroyed the monolithic, giant terror within the span of weeks, allowing humanity to leave ground for space.

It left me, and other specialists spread across the world fighting Chimera, since the Chimera were the only opponents we could now approach with any efficiency… and that was because we raised the efficiency at which they died. Instead of being a critical resource, me and my fellows were now just… auxiliaries added onto existing forces that made them more efficient in regard to projecting power.

Of course, I wasn’t angry at the Preservers, nor was I wishing that Ouroboros returned, but I craved a semblance of the importance and weight I once had.

Was it dangerous to lead such a profession?

Yes.

Did I intend to become a civilian?

Naturally.

However, did I want the reason why I trained for years and years taken from me so abruptly?

No.

“And, given how AI are replaced within a few years and retired, you believe that I can offer insight into your concerns.” That was correct. AI were created and given jobs of very immense importance. How every with the developments in the computational industry never wavering, AI were replaced within the span of several years, as they reach the limits of their software. Changing the software of an AI would be the same as changing a human’s mind, so that was naturally outlawed, but the need for an AI that can properly utilize the next decade’s hardware upgrades was necessary. The upgrades in both software and hardware saved lived, but that meant that AI were moved often from roles that they were born into. Some might find it refreshing to know that AI are not shackled to their occupations, but if I were born for a duty and were replaced by someone better than myself… “Unfortunately, I can’t say that I have any advice that you’d like to hear, Captain. I’m looking forward to working within a corporation, an exploratory ship, and various other opportunities after my tour, especially when I know the one who’ll be taking over command of my facility shall do better than myself. Perhaps, you’d like to talk to one of my colleagues that feel the same way as you do?”

I considered it for a moment, before nodding.

It would be very helpful to have someone to talk to about this sort of thing.

“I’m happy to help, even though I’m just delegating.” Stella gave me a nod. I imagined there was a smile below that mono-receptor that she was using to look at me. Briefly, I thought that it was a shame that she didn’t use a homunculi body often, but I dashed that thought aside. That was only instinct talking. Stella was fine being who she was. And, though she certainly could’ve downloaded some therapy package or spouted some words of wisdom at me, she chose to do otherwise and did her best to help me help myself. Disregarding the fact that she wasn’t human, Stella did her best to help me without being obtrusive. There were plenty of people, and other AI, who could take a lesson from her. “If it doesn’t work out, you can always request some more training or reassignment. It’s not much… but if you really want to get out there again the only way to do it is to get a lot stronger than you are now.”

I was tempted to say yes to the offer, however I stayed my tongue.

In a way, though I was miserable from the sudden change from operative to area denial weapon, I couldn’t make that decision on impulse.

What if it was just my ego talking?

Shouldn’t I be glad that I was now in a safe, secure location?

Couldn’t I be happy that my partner and I were safe?

Won’t this mood of mine pass, especially once I started talking to others who had the same feelings and saw all the things that would become of it?

Until I answered all those questions, I couldn’t accept the new training.

Nor the quiet, untraceable offer from my handler to join a new, secret force.