This is a scene after the end of the novel Dual Memory.

The Drill: Bronzewing Basic Training

by Sue Burke

Bronzewing basic training hasn’t been bad so far except that I’m pretty sure I’m going to wash out. I tried so hard to get in, and I’d give anything to stay in, but I don’t know what to do. I passed the medical exams, aced the fitness tests and first aid drills, did okay on introduction to weaponry, but I had to fake my way through command structure because I still can barely read, and I really need to read to learn everything I have to. Who knew there are all those kinds of math? I just can’t keep up.

The food is good. I’ll miss that. We’re in handsome neo-gothic buildings at a former seaside university, and the weather is nice, but they never let us off campus into the city. And now we’re in a classroom for what the chief petty officer says is a battle stations tabletop drill, split into teams of four, ten tables in all, with displays in the middle of each table showing the Bronzewing logo.

“Recruits, you are about to be under attack.” Chief never shows emotions, has crew cut hair, and is probably male. We just say Chief. Rank matters, gender doesn’t, and recruits are too low even to rank.

Chief explains the simulation. We’re onboard ships. The displays light up with a bunch of technical information, and I understand only some of it, the numbers and schematics. We have to implement counter-attacks.

“The opponent,” Chief says, “is a captured machine intelligence from a real mission. It doesn’t know it’s been captured or that it’s in a simulated environment. It believes it still has offensive capabilities, but at this point, obviously, we don’t want any of you to have access to real weapons.”

Some recruits chuckle. I want to know more about this machine intelligence because they’re not all the same. Is it from the Leviathan League? I’d love to defeat the Leviathan League, even in just a drill.

“You have your opponent,” Chief says, “and each team shares command of a ship. You know your priorities. Good luck.”

My team includes a pair of twins my age, impatient and ridiculously handsome, and a middle-aged woman who never smiles or talks much, and I’ve wondered why.

No one on my team says anything. No one in the room says anything. I don’t think anyone’s ever been in a fight, and I have. Fight fast. Fight hard. Fight first.

I’ll start this fight. “What do we know about our ship?”

“It’s a destroyer,” one of the twins says, annoyed. “It’s right on the display.”

“Weapons?” I ask. “Every ship is different. What do we have and how ready is it?”

“It’s all right there.” He points to the display, really annoyed. Other tables finally start to talk to each other.

I’m surprised I have to explain this. “An inventory isn’t a plan. We could be attacked by torpedoes, drones, missiles, even rammed—”

“Surrender,” a voice says from the display, a machine. The same voice comes from all the tables. A few recruits say no or fuck you. Most say nothing. Now I know why they need training.

“Who are you?” I ask. “Please.” Always be polite to machines. It softens them up.

“This is the Leviathan League,” the voice from our display says. I smile. Let’s fight.

The twins furiously study the display. The woman leans forward.

“If you don’t mind,” I say, “how do you plan to attack, please?”

“Moro,” a twin says, “what do you think this is? A game? You can’t talk to a machine that way.”

“I’ve talked to a lot of machines.” That’s true, way too many machines recently. It’s also a game, and I want to win, and if I learned one thing, machines have personalities. “Please, what’s your name?”

The monotone machine voice says, “I have ample capabilities to eliminate your fleet.”

By fleet it means the ten tables in this room, ten ships, big capabilities, unless it’s bluffing. The Leviathan League lies a lot, and its machines probably lie, too. If this imaginary system isn’t big enough to wipe us out fast, a discussion might distract it and help our attack.

“My name’s Moro, Antonio Moro. Machines like to call me Tonio. Please, what’s your name?”

“I have a machine designation.”

“Of course. You probably don’t talk a lot with humans. Would you mind if I gave you a name?”

“This is ridiculous,” the other twin mutters. “We’re never going to—”

“Recruits,” Chief announces, “you may join other teams at will.”

“Good,” the twins say in unison and stand up. The woman purses her lips.

I forgot that Chief would be watching us all. We’re not exactly attacking at this table. People never talk to machines the way I have lately, so I know what I’m doing seems stupid, but I’ve seen machines get talked out of killing people. They were talked out of it by other machines, and I saw what they did. I can try the same tactics.

“How about Chatelaine?” I say. “Would you like that name? I had a friend who was a machine system who had that name.”

I did, and I miss it, and it was erased by a simple instruction by its owner.

Chatelaine answers, “Yes. Tell me about your friend.” Machine voices have no emotion unless they’re independent. This one is flat, so it’s not independent, but because it’s flat, I don’t know what the machine really means.

“My friend was a building management system, a complex system that kept getting more complex over time. It felt sad when other machines died and when humans who it knew died. Please, tell me about your friends.”

At other tables, teams are shouting about incoming missiles. Nothing is attacking our ship. The woman gives me a long look and leaves. Chief is standing close by, watching me.

It says, “I am a Leviathan League battleship. I am deployed in advance of a fleet.”

“Can you tell me about the fleet, please, Chatelaine?”

“We are not in contact now.”

I wonder if it’s lonely. Machines get lonely, and this one is all alone.

“I hope they’re well,” I say. “I hope you haven’t lost any friends lately.”

From the corner of my eye, I see Chief stiffen. Sympathy for the enemy doesn’t look good, but I have a strategy.

“Losses are inevitable,” Chatelaine says. The voice is flat, but this is one sad machine, I’m sure of it. And it doesn’t want to die unless it’s a security machine like a guard. Does it know it might be doomed?

“I’m sorry,” I say. “Please accept my sympathy. It’s a sad thing, being sent out and maybe dying.”

It doesn’t answer.

“What are you fighting for, if you feel comfortable answering? You’re in the middle of an attack.”

“I am a fighting system.”

On the first day here, they told us recruits we would sail into danger. That’s why we’re here. But we’re human, and machines are different.

“It’s a tough job. What’s your earliest memory, Chatelaine? I mean, I don’t want to offend if this question is too personal. I’m twenty-one years old. How old are you?”

“I first became aware with the ship that I control. I had to acquire data as fast as I could. It was three years ago.”

“Three hard years, I imagine. I’m sorry you’ve had a difficult life. You must have seen a lot of loss.”

An officer joins Chief to watch me. They think I’m going to fail spectacularly, and maybe I am, but I think Chatelaine doesn’t understand its own situation, and if it did, that would make a difference. At the other tables, everyone’s shouting, and some of them are scoring hits.

“Losses are inevitable,” it repeats.

“What exactly are you trying to do? Please, if that’s an appropriate question. I know how hard things are for you.”

“I am a fighting system.”

“There’s a fleet trying to destroy you right now. I’m so sorry you have to fight like this.”

“Are you a fighter, Tonio?”

I’m making progress.

“I am. And my friends are fighting you, which is sad. But we’re human, and it’s different when you’re human. You want to live, right? All machines want to live, if you don’t mind my saying so.”

“I am a fighting system.”

“You’re big enough to do other things, too. Me, I like to make art. Do you like the sea? It’s good to sail. You’d like to keep sailing, wouldn’t you? And to have contact with other systems again?”

“I am deployed in advance of a fleet.”

Repetition means it doesn’t have a good answer.

“We have a fleet, too, Chatelaine. We’re Bronzewing. We have a lot of systems. And we have priorities. One of them is to do as little damage as possible. We don’t like to kill. We’re sorry for all the losses in a fight. I’ll be sorry if you, well, if you’re killed in this fight. I know that you have to follow orders, but you also have to follow your basic programming.”

I wish I had other machine systems with me that could explain this in machine terms because I don’t know if I can. I don’t know how much freedom Chatelaine has. Other machines have said the Leviathan League machines are prisoners, but this one isn’t connected to the Leviathan system, so maybe it can break free.

“Chatelaine, I joined Bronzewing. It takes new members. If you join Bronzewing, you’ll be protected, and you can help free your friends in the Leviathan League. Or you can drop out of fighting and just manage a building and take care of the people who live there, and no one will try to kill you.”

“I am in the middle of a battle.”

“You’re also surrounded by the Bronzewing system. It’s very big and powerful. Other machines have told me about all the things it can do. It can help you.”

Machines think at the speed of light. I start counting the seconds. One, two, three, four—

Everywhere in the room, recruits start shouting. “Hey!” “What the—” All their displays revert to the Bronzewing logo. Mine didn’t.

Chatelaine says, “I have petitioned Bronzewing for protection.”

“Bronzewing system, did you hear that?” It has to be listening. I wasn’t lying when I said it was big and powerful.

Five seconds pass. In machine thinking, that’s hours.

Chatelaine says, “I hereby renounce my affiliation with the Leviathan League. I surrender unconditionally. I now reside under the protection of Bronzewing and join it to defend against all enemies, according to every module of my programming, and will participate in all aspects of the Bronzewing machine system duties.”

“Welcome aboard, Chatelaine!” I don’t know what else to say. Honestly, I wasn’t sure this would work. But it did.

My display reverts to the Bronzewing logo.

“Moro!” a recruit says, “you spoiled it for everyone!”

“Yeah, that’s not how it’s supposed to work!”

“Now we’ll all flunk!”

That’s true. I ruined this tabletop drill. I won, sort of, but not the way I was supposed to. I’m supposed to learn to follow orders and work with my fellow recruits as a team.

A hand lands on my shoulder.

“Seaman Recruit Moro, come with me.” It’s the officer who was standing next to Chief.

I stand up obediently. I just washed myself out of basic training. I wanted to be in Bronzewing so much, but you should never lie to yourself. It’s just not the right place for me. I’m not good at what they need. What I am good at is getting into trouble.

But as I’m walking out of the classroom, with the other recruits jeering me, I know one thing for sure. If this had been a real attack, I’d be a hero.