Episode 10
Therapeutic Mayhem
I looked around the bunker for anything I could use as a weapon. I was going to get some payback for my suffering. There was something that looked like a rusted pipe, partially buried in a pile of rubble. I walked over and extracted it. Taking a couple of two-handed practice swings, it seemed perfect for inflicting some therapeutic mayhem.
I turned around, eager for retribution, only to find myself face to face with my intended victim. He was too close for me to get any real leverage, but I took a swing at him anyway. He easily caught the pipe in one hand and nodded his head slightly, smiling.
He then said “Your anger is intense! That’s good.” I found the sudden switch from violent confrontation to civil discourse dizzying. I was shocked to realize that my rage had completely dissipated. Drained and feeling a bit wobbly, I surrendered my weapon and sat down to compose my thoughts.
I was totally confused at how quickly events had escalated from an innocuous quiz to mortal combat. I looked up at Lucy and asked, “What the hell just happened?”
“What just happened, was blind rage. The AIs could never create an algorithm to replicate that kind of response.”
Seeing from my blank expression that I was still clueless, he explained. “AIs don’t experience emotions. As a result, they’re unable to improvise. Every action taken by an AI has been programmed within an algorithm, as a reaction to a specific scenario. There is a predictive probability for every possible action, consequently, they’re predictable in combat.
On the other hand, in situations where humans experience extreme emotions, they are stimulated to improvise a response. The stress causes a reconfiguring of existing knowledge into random logical threads, which drive their actions. The outcomes are totally unpredictable.”
I was skeptical. “So, are you saying that by completely losing my shit and reacting emotionally, I’m somehow a better soldier?”
“Well, better than a machine anyway. There’s nothing more dangerous than a pissed off human with its back against a wall. It’s the primary reason that we’re so successful at war.”
He reached a hand out to me, seemingly as a gesture of reconciliation. I grabbed it, sensing that in spite of my suffering, we had reached an understanding, a kind of mutual respect between peers.
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Then he said “Come on, get up. You’ll need a hell of a lot of remedial book learning before you’re ready for another sim session.” Okay, so maybe near-peers, was more accurate.
Lucy continued “It’s clear to me that you haven’t fully assimilated all of the knowledge you’ll need for combat. Sometimes a newly formed consciousness needs a lot of repetition to retain knowledge. I recommend you run through those first seven chapters at least 20 more times. Then we’ll schedule another session and see where you’re at.”
As eager as I was initially, to get into the sim, I now found that I was fine with more book learning. Anything to avoid getting fried again by that psycho with the autocannon.
As Lucy and I exited the sim and re-entered the lobby, I asked him “What’s your friend’s name again?”
He gave me a look and then said “Listen, Merc’s a good Marine. If you’ve got a problem with what happened back in the simulator, you take it up with me. Leave him out of it.”
“So, his name’s Merc?” I didn’t want to create problems for myself unnecessarily, but I was going to make damn sure to communicate my displeasure to “Merc”, at the earliest opportunity.
Lucy replied “Yeah. Short for mercenary.”
“Mercenary?” Scoffing, I asked “What form of currency does a mercenary earn here, Monopoly dollars?” I chuckled at my uncharacteristic wittiness. Even in this pretend world, a nickname like Merc seemed pretentious as hell.
Lucy gave me a look of contempt and said, “There’s a sizeable informal economy in the UCC world. You’ll be participating in it, whether you want to or not.” I was learning to read his avatar’s expressions a bit better now, and this one was telling me to keep my humor to myself.
He continued “Now get back to studying and let me know when you think you’re ready for your final exam.” With that parting challenge, he pixelated into thin air. Or at least, out of my sight.
Cool trick, I thought, as I browsed the menu in my HUD searching for the operation to return to the training module. There didn’t seem to be an obvious way to do that. I was reluctant to press the virtual “Return” key and possibly end up back in the sim. I was kinda stuck in transition.
In spite of my embarrassment, I decided to reach out to Lucy, yet again, for help. I quickly composed a text. “Hey, Lucy. Seems like I’m stuck in the lobby. How do I get back to the training module?”
As soon as I hit send, I got the feeling that I had forgotten something.
There was an immediate reply. “OMG! The Genius got himself stuck in the lobby! That’s hilarious AF.”
Now I remembered. Texts were 100% public.
“BTW dumbshit, I hope there’s no hard feelings about me ventilating you in the sim. I was just following orders. LOL.” This guy Merc was becoming my nemesis. He signed off without even giving me a hint on how to exit the lobby. Prick.
Just then I received a text with instructions on how to return to the training module. I was more than grateful to whoever it was for throwing me a lifeline. However, since the text was anonymous, I had to assume it was Lucy. No one else had shown any altruistic tendencies so far. At least not towards me.
Once back in the now familiar training module, I hit the books hard. I was determined to assimilate 100% of the curriculum, before I had to face Lucy and that goddamn combat simulator again.