Psychosis Day
Nothing moves faster than……rumours in a military, or paramilitary, formation in the field. In some ways, certain types of operational security simply aren't possible.
"She's one of us then," Point Commander Tara's skin would always be imprinted with the semi-poisonous lines of her EI implant array. "And because she is one of us, she is fighting cyberpsychosis, just like we have to."
"It's a little more complicated and involved than that," Larry Nichols said.
"Not really," Tara disagreed. The Aeropilot Phenotype Protomech Warrior went on, "You realize every warrior in the Protomech program when I entered knew that our careers were going to be on a permanent edge because it is
really very easy to slip into madness. The implants are also career-killers, because it
is so very easy to lose your sanity. Hers are more internalized, and have a more primitive connection? Okay. She is, in point of fact, one of us, and undergoing her first serious crisis."
"Given, why are you bringing that up?"
"If Captain Roberts makes it back with her brains intact, she will have passed her initial crisis point, you may not have noticed how many of us, both in the privateers, and Kappa, have these-" Tara gestured at her implant tattoos. "But it is quite a significant portion. Making it out the other side of your first implant crisis is something to celebrate."
"You want a party?"
"Aff. A rite to celebrate one of ours making it out the other side with their mind intact…also might be good for the unaugmented crew to get some stress release and morale enhancement."
**
It wasn't hard to find a farmer with livestock to sell, who was willing to
sell it rather than submit to confiscation. Foster took on the job of assigning personnel to find booze, and had Seron pick out the venue among the better abandoned buildings in the colony's former capital.
Unit parties aren't unheard of in the Clans, and celebrations are far from unknown among the Periphery or Inner Sphere. Part of it is building unit morale and cohesion with shared experiences OFF the battlefield.
"How are you feeling, Roberts?"
"Like hell," Amanda admitted. "Why are we walking around in a former warehouse??"
"Well, as group commander, I've decided we're going to waste precious time with something OTHER than training or fighting," he smiled grimly. "Warriors, soldiers, and sailors
need to have that cohesion, that shared 'memory' and their own rituals and celebrations."
"Okay… and?"
"And, you're command staff, so you need to know the deeper details," he told her. "The Protomech warriors have almost come up and
adopted you after it got out what was going on during your trip to the Erinyes-they interpret your implants as similar to theirs, making you 'part of the family'."
"You want to make it formal," she speculated.
"In a sense," he agreed. "You made it through your first bout of cyber-psychosis. That's the story we're sticking with, and there should be some symbolism for that, at least, that's what was suggested."
"Why do I get the feeling this involves a casket, oil torches and pseudo-religious speeches while everyone is drunk?"
"Well, getting drunk… but that sounds like a good idea, death-and-rebirth, good, or at least, not terrible food, lots of alcohol and-"
"Music," she interrupted. "Let's have the guys put up a stage over….there," she said. "We'll use a 'box trick' with two caskets, groovy lighting, pretentious speeches and maybe bad poetry, that's the opener."
"And the closer?"
"Everyone eats, gets drunk, wanders off to do things we won't put on the report, then hangovers tomorrow? In between, music, more bad poetry and maybe some 'games' that are goofy and mildly humiliating… do we have any really terrible singers? We need terrible singing, and live music that's somewhere between amatuer and bad."
"Really?"
"Sure. The first time should always leave room for the next one to improve things." she suggested, "So we'll make the main floor here open, put the tables around an open space, and a band-shell right between the coffins…and maybe a big crow projected over the stage, so when you send that part to the Khans…"
He laughed. "Huh… that is a lot of thought."
"The idea originated in the ranks, sir," she said. "Desmond's memories include stuff the SLDF, SAS and Blackwatch did in off-hours. We're a
special unit, it makes sense to communicate that to the crewmen through rites and rituals, but since we're not technically a front line or elite normal formation, it needs a little piratey panache-in other words, the kind of thing that a regular unit wouldn't do."
***
"It's perfectly obvious." Her Majesty Basileus Katrin Cameron announced, "The override codes failed."
"But that's not possible, those safeguards-"
"Those safeguards were a relatively recent addition." she stated, "Doctor Brennam, We must begin to consider the possibility that, after three centuries, someone knows how to replicate the Desmond program, and they are
not using the coding you spent most of your youth studying…or…"
"Or?" the Royal Physician was nervous.
"Or, we have a rogue artificial sentience and the shutdown codes simply do not work anymore." she frowned, "is that possible?"
"The data doesn't say, Majesty. It was either classified above your ancestor's authorized clearance, or it was considered…improper to include."
"I am not going to direct you to try and find out, I understand the limitations of our facility here better than most." she said, "but keep in mind, my disappointment that the override code failed is…
significant."
He swallowed, paling further.
"What was the result of my children's physicals?" she asked.
"I found no evidence of compromised genetics or childhood development, Highness, all three of your children are healthy."
She smiled, "Good, that is good news. And my oldest, did he pass the testing?"
"Neural conductivity is in the upper half percent, he is a natural 'mechwarrior." the Doctor said hesitantly.
"Well, aside from a major fiasco in our foreign policy then things are going well. Please, doctor, return to your duties, our meeting is ended."
He didn't need to be told twice.
After the Royal Physician was gone, the Basileus let the mask slip.
HOW?? she demanded.
{How did she slip past, Desmond?!)In her vision, a ghostly man in fatigue pants and balaclava lounged on the book-shelf, next to the collection of subordinates who'd failed her in catastrophic ways.
<That's a fascinating question, Katrin. You and I both know, those codes can shut ME down…there were rumours that some of the batches had inherent flaws, including one spree killer who got loose in New York in Twenty Seven Thirty Three.>"Defective then?" she half-mused aloud. "Broken?"
<Possibly. The whole reason for the shutdowns, is that one of us might go 'off the reservation', some interaction between the flesh body and a defective unit might cause odd interactions between programming and execution.>She sighed, sat in her chair, and leaned back, as the hallucination moved from lounging on the shelf, to sitting on the corner of her desk in jumps and starts, flickering in a way that suggests movements out of sight-like a jumpy stop-motion film on high speed.
(Are you happy, Desmond?) she wondered.
<I exist, I serve, I serve a Cameron..and you are a good host…I suppose I am content.> The AI said.
<Free advice for you?> it offered.
"What?" she mumbled.
<Terminate the other unit. If the overrides don't work, then she's a danger to you, and to our mission. Don't pussy-foot with political assassinations either, use atomics to vaporize it, and its host.>(That dangerous?) she fished a sports drink from the desk.
<Yes. Younger body, younger brain, likely more integrated and without the inhibitions, it can pose an immediate danger to you. Have it killed using the surest area of effect weapon you can deploy. My ability to protect you is limited by my inhibition routines, hers is clearly not.>She took a sip of the mix of fruit juice, fortified water, and synthetic electrolyte.
<You're not going to.> Desmond 114 said.
"No." she said, "We can't harvest it if it's vaporized…" she pulled out a holo. "Also, she might make a suitable brood mare for my oldest son, once the…problem is overcome."
<Brood mare, really?> the hallucinated image flickered again, shaking its head.
"Fresh blood in the bloodline." she stated.
****
Mix 'fortified fruit drink mix Number 3 (Purple)' with Grain alcohol. That's what's in the punch bowl. A few awkward songs and singing, Amanda was brought out in civilian-ish clothes, and laid in one casket.
She was passed under the stage to the other prop-coffin, and it was stood up, with only a pause to strip the gingham dress and button shirt off and replace them with a trimmer, neater version of her 'overcoat', and something else.
"You had one made!" she almost squealed.
Larry grinned, "You kept saying you wanted one, and we
are distinct from the regulars. The President's approved them for officer's wear."
She climbed into the second sarcophagus as Captain Foster and Tara took turns invoking the raven goddess of space and life beyond death.
The inner door latched, and the thing rose up to a standing pose.
On her cue, Amanda leaped out, brandishing an unpowered cutlass and chopped Sternsacht.
Tricorne hat perched atop her head, barely covering the fresh bandages over her reopened permanent wound. "We are born, we die, we Live AGAIN!!!" She fired a smoke-blank in the air, "Grog!!"
And that was when it was time to pass out the booze.
On the stage behind her, Johnny started beating a syncopated rhythm, and a couple of EI-tatted Protomech pilots began a rumbling back-and-forth bassline, as she strutted along the stage, "Tonight, we celebrate!!"
One of Seron's assaultmen picked up a guitar, adding a bumping note pattern that wove between the thumping of the two bass players and the drumming.
"We Live, We Die, We Live AGAIN!!
We Live, We DIE, We LIVE AGAIN!!
We Live, We Die, WE live AGAIN!!!"
She gestured with the cutlass and the pistol, and the Spacers and crewmen and marines present joined, repeating it.
"Now…Who can sing a song??" she demanded.
