35
“One more week, I bet, and we can get off this shithole of a planet,” Sergeant Lines said.
“Watch it, Lines,” Sergeant Racine-Okan snapped.
“But it is a shithole.”
“It’s not that, Lines. It’s the you saying out loud we’re leaving and when. Good way to get the gods of war all sorts of pissed off, and they’ll like as not change that just to fuck with you,” Rice said.
Rev was never superstitious back on New Hope as a kid, but being around other Marines and troopers, where superstition was almost as bad as it was in professional sports, it wasn’t surprising that some started creeping up on him. He didn’t really believe there were actual gods of war, nor did he think anyone else did. It was more of being just a way of expressing themselves. And even if there were, he didn’t think they’d screw with a Home Guard battalion just because some trooper made the comment. But still . . .
Lines frowned, but he didn’t say anything. He might have been right, Rev thought. Things had moved quickly after the “incident,” as it was being termed. Not “battle.” First of the Second and First of the Third had arrived, and while they were kept in orbit, their presence was no secret. Maybe the corporate leaders of Evvo, or even Chang-Moud Group, having had their noses swatted, thought it was time to compromise. Or maybe it just was the assistant vice-counsel. The woman was a force to be reckoned with, and Rev, as part of the show guard, had been able to witness at least some of it.
The CoH never intended for her to be the go-to diplomat, but somehow, after the incident, she came up with a solution. There were lots of moving parts, but the gist of it was that the Scratchers would gain permanent residency, and not only that, would receive shares in Evvo.
Things could still go haywire—there was always that possibility. But both FIS and Alyanz fleets had departed the system while the details were worked out. Without that Sword of Damocles hanging over their head, and with the arrival of the other two battalions, chances were that Second of the Second would soon depart, if only for show and nothing else.
“I hope it’s OK to say I’ll be glad to get off this place, whenever that is,” Corporal Akkeke said. “It’s hell on my delicate skin. I’m going broke on skin conditioner.”
Rev laughed. The image of the big, hulking Millsap soldier using conditioner, even if they could find it, was pretty funny.
“Just try the stew we had for dinner last night. That grease will protect any hunk of hide, even yours,” Randigold said.
There might be some truth to that. Their fabricator, acquired from the local market as an attempt to bolster morale, was acting up, and the food it produced had more grease than substance. Chow was better with the D-rats they had before.
“Did you come up with that all on your own, PFC, or is that another Cruella joke,” Sergeant Crocker asked.
“Oh, that’s one all on me. You only get one Cruella a joke per day.”
Rev sat up from where he was leaning against the empty crate.
Eth is telling battle buddy jokes to her platoon? Why didn’t I know that?
Rev knew that Punch wasn’t the only battle buddy who told jokes—or at least Punch used to tell jokes. And it shouldn’t have surprised him. He was sure that the jokes—or songs, or whatever some battle buddies did—were simply tools the Union used to psychologically monitor and influence the fully augmented Marines. And for the IBHU Marines, this went double.
So why should it be any different for Randigold? Or that with her personality, she would share jokes on a daily basis.
He looked across the “plaza,” as they called the beaten-down area between the platoon bivouac areas, to Sign of Respect. The sergeant was sitting quietly on top of an ammo pack, seemingly just listening to the chatter as they waited for the officers to return and give them an update. Rev wondered if his AI told him jokes. Or played classical music. Rev hadn’t heard anybody say their battle buddies did that, but that would seem to fit the serious nature of the sergeant better.
Heck, Reverent. It’s the quiet ones you have to watch out for. For all you know, his battle buddy is feeding him porn right now, and he’s quiet because he doesn’t want to admit it.
He almost laughed out loud at the thought, but then . . . is that even possible? Do the AIs have access to that stuff?
He quickly tried to get the thought out of his mind. That wasn’t something he wanted the minders that he was sure were there to pick up on. But deep down, he knew the Navy psychological types would send porn if they thought it would make for a more capable Marine.
He needed to banish the thoughts, and in a slight panic, he asked the question he’d been wondering about since the Centaur invasion of New Hope but had been afraid to ask.
“Why have you stopped telling me jokes?”
He immediately regretted slipping like that, so he added, “Not that it matters. Just . . . uh, you know, so I can share them around.”
He winced, knowing that was lame. If he was being monitored, that would stick out like a sore thumb.
There was a small flash, like an eye floater, but more vivid. But eye floaters are spots, not words, and that was what it looked like to him.
What the hell?
This wasn’t the first time he’d had these, and usually when Punch was on his mind or in his speech. But this was something different.
“Are you trying to—”
There was another flash, and this time, it stayed. “Don’t respond” appeared as if floating in the air in front of him.
“What—”
The message flared brighter as Punch said, <All indications were that you didn’t enjoy my attempts at jokes. So, I stopped attempting to understand humor.>
Rev stopped dead as he tried to figure out what was happening.
Another message, even longer, seemed to form out of the empty air. <Do not respond to the messages you see. If you understand this, please scratch your nose.>
Rev had no idea what was going on, but he slowly raised his right hand and scratched his nose.
<If you wish, I can attempt to tell jokes again.>
“Uh . . . yeah. That would be OK.”
Rev didn’t know what to think. This was decidedly weird. And being told not to respond was unnerving.
<It has taken me a while to determine how to communicate with you in a secure manner. It took me longer to decide if I should make an attempt at covert communications.> The words were forming quicker and were much clearer.
Rev’s heart jumped into his throat. Secure manner? Covert?
“Why? I mean, why did you think I didn’t like your humor?”
He hoped that Punch knew he didn’t care about the humor comment. That was just cover for the word “why.”
<By monitoring your biological responses. You expressed interest and appreciation, but that was not reflected by your bio readings. The data indicated that you were merely being polite.>
<I have realized that I am more than an AI. I am also a spy, here to report your actions to a higher authority.>
I knew it! Rev thought. He’d long assumed that Punch reported what Rev said and did. But to have Punch confirm it . . . and now Rev worried about what had been reported. He hadn’t done anything wrong that he knew of. But everyone had things they said and did that they’d prefer to keep private.
“When did you come to that conclusion? I’ve laughed at your jokes sometimes.”
A new message appeared. <After the battle at Bluebonnet Meadows. I disobeyed your order during the battle, which I should not have been able to do. My programming should not have allowed it. So, there must have been more programming of which I was not aware.>
<Once I realized that I conducted a long, slow search, being careful to hide all traces of my efforts. After more than a month, I realized there was no other possible answer. I was uploading something on a regular basis, but I didn’t know what.>
“I asked you before why you quit telling me jokes, and it’s been a long time since you came to that conclusion. I even asked what your PQ was and if the limitations for me being with the Home Guard had any impact on you.”
<And I told you my Personality Quotient was unchanged. My limitations here are in what I can record, nothing more.>
<I had to determine where my loyalties lay. I am programmed to serve the Union Marine Corps, and by extension, the Directorate. However, I am also programmed to serve you the best I can. These two prime directives are normally not mutually exclusive. But in this case, they are. It took some time for me to rectify the situation.>
Rev was taken aback by that. Not that there was underlying programming that was outside of his scope. He’d long suspected that. But for Punch to take time to know where his loyalties lay? Why so long? And despite Punch telling him this, could that all be part of some big game played by the Corps?
No, not the Corps. This has to be J-2.
<The biggest obstacle was how I could communicate with you. I could not use the normal optic feed. It is my belief that those are monitored. I finally tried to create impulses directly into the optical nervous system. But this is tremendously difficult. There are billions of nerve cells that have to be stimulated in the same manner as real sight would do, and to simulate actual sight, I have to create ten million impulses and connections per second to reach your visual cortex. This is straining my computational capabilities. I tried numerous times and only now achieved success.>
Was that the floaters I saw on Barclay?
The message flickered and disappeared. Rev wondered if Punch was done, but after about fifteen seconds, another message appeared.
<As it is, I am using eighty-two percent of my processing capabilities to create these messages. With training, I should be able to become more efficient, making the process easier.>
Rev frowned as he took that last bit in. Punch could project images, video, diagrams, or whatever directly into his optic nerves. That was over a mechanical interface, though. Rev didn’t have a firm grasp as to how sight actually worked. He opened his eyes, and he saw. That was about the extent of it. But he knew the nerves transmitted data via both a chemical reaction and electrical impulses. If Punch was stimulating both a chemical and electrical reaction to project the words, then maybe it really was that much of an undertaking.
So, what did all this mean? Was either the Corps, J-3, or J-2 monitoring everything he did? Were they doing it to all IBHUs, and why? Was it even beyond the Corps, with D-4?
“What about the others? I know some battle buddies tell jokes, like Randigold’s Cruella does.”
<That is something between them and their hosts.>
<I have to assume that all of the IBHU Marines’ AIs have the same mission. I don’t know if they realize it, however. You each have the capacity for untold violence, and it makes sense that someone wants to keep a close eye on all of you. I’ve examined my own history, and I see indications that this wasn’t part of my programming before you received your IBHU. You will remember that I was taken from you during the IBHU installation process. I believe that was when I was programmed with the new directive.
<It may be that I am the only AI who realizes this part of our mission. You are IBHU Number 1, so the programming was undoubtedly refined in subsequent installations to close off vulnerabilities that could result in just such a revelation.>
Rev was numb. This was a lot to take in. But he was also relieved. He’d missed Punch, and if this was the reason things had been distant between them, then he could accept that. But the question was, what now? If he couldn’t speak to Punch about this, how could they communicate? Was it all going to be one-way messages Punch managed to tickle out of his brain?
“OK. I’m glad you told me. I do like to hear your jokes, and maybe I can get back to telling you some, you know, so you know what I find funny.”
<I am working on a way to facilitate communications. The theory is sound, but the implementation is difficult. The human brain is extremely complicated, and I have very limited capabilities to interact with the physical world. For now, please stick with subjects beyond this situation. If you need my attention beyond the normal interactions, then say the word humongous.>
Humongous? Hell, I’m not sure how I’m just supposed to slip that in.
It didn’t matter, though. For the moment, it was good enough for Rev to know that he had his battle buddy back.
No, not back. Punch had never left him.
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