Episode 4
FNG
As I grappled with the implications of my precipitous fall from grace, I realized that I was still thinking out loud. I must be conscious, but that was only conjecture. I knew I had become some kind of software, or digital something, so I assumed there must be some source of power maintaining my consciousness. A backup battery or something.
Suddenly, I thought I could hear a faint buzzing sound. I wondered how that was possible without ears. Now that I thought about it, it seemed more like a vibration, but that didn’t make any sense either. I had no physical body to feel anything. While I puzzled over what was going on, a dim light filled my immediate surroundings. It was like the power had been restored, but only partially. I could see the USMC icon slowly blinking in my HUD. My thoughts streamed across the bottom of my field of vision as yellow text.
In a moment of unexpected paranoia, I imagined my thoughts were being recorded and permanently archived somewhere. Undoubtedly, to be used against me in some future disciplinary hearing. Those fuckers! I thought.
I watched in horror as “Those fuckers!” scrolled across the screen.
As I struggled to avoid cutting loose with a profanity laced tirade, an odd message began scrolling. It read “Hey, new guy! Click on the USMC icon and enable your audio.” I froze. Was this some kind of entrapment scheme to add more time to my sentence? I kept forgetting that every thought I generated, would create a text record.
“Hey … genius! I can see everything you’re thinking. Click on that icon and enable your audio.” With seemingly nothing left to lose, including my dignity, I clicked on the icon. From the menu that popped up, I found and clicked on the “audio” button.
“Was that really so fuckin’ hard?” The voice had an annoying nasality to it.
I was still trying to decide whether I should even engage in this dialog when a different voice said “Never mind. Don’t answer that.” I could hear the buzz of indistinct voices in the background. Groups of people having multiple conversations. It felt like I was at some giant gathering, amongst a crowd of loud talkers.
“So, how’d you do on the test?” Between the questions and the background noise, I was totally disoriented.
I shouted “What? I can barely hear you!”
One of the voices suggested, “Dude. Go back into your settings and adjust the filter. Set it at, like 50%.”
I got back into the audio options and found the filter control. Blinking on the cursor, I moved the slider about halfway up the scale. The din of the crowd and the buzzing faded away.
“Can you hear me now?” Someone laughed in the background.
Tentatively, I said “Yeah, that’s much better.” I began to organize my thoughts a little and asked, “Can someone tell me where I am?”
Yet another voice explained, “You’re plugged into the charging network on a troopship, outbound on a mission.”
“A mission? Where?” It seemed a little premature to be on my first mission, considering I was just in boot camp, like a minute ago. I couldn’t possibly be adequately trained for combat.
Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.
Someone else said “We don’t know. They won’t download the details until we get within a few minutes of the LZ. It’s a security thing.” That seemed to make sense. After all, as a universal combat consciousness, I was essentially a software program. I imagined I could probably absorb a mission’s worth of data in a few seconds.
“Hey, why do I hear so many voices?” Suddenly suspicious, I wondered whether these conversations were being recorded.
Someone said, “When a combat consciousness is connected to the charging system on a troopship, it becomes part of an informal network, which inadvertently enables voice and text communications. It's not very private, which explains the background noise. But we’re pretty sure command is unaware of this particular glitch, so I wouldn’t worry about getting busted.” While this news eased my mind slightly, I was still skittish about letting my guard down.
Before I could think of another question, one of the voices asked “So, how about that test? How’d you do, man?”
I wondered, why such interest in my test score. Even though I had gotten 100% on the test, I didn’t want to sound like I was bragging. I couldn’t afford to alienate anyone. I would undoubtedly need all the allies I could muster, considering I was new to the Marines, interstellar combat, and such.
Suddenly I heard a low whistle. Someone said “Whoa! 100%?” Another person commented, “Check out the big brain on the new guy.” I cringed. I was still adapting to having my every thought visible to others.
As I struggled to suppress my conscious thoughts, I heard the question “How many minutes did they give you?” Presuming the question was regarding access to my memories, I was embarrassed to admit that I had only received 10 minutes for a perfect test score.
The gasps from my audience, as they read my thoughts, seemed to confirm my suspicion that I had been criminally shortchanged. They also confirmed the futility of trying to suppress my thoughts.
Not wanting to seem totally naïve, I scoffed, “Listen, I told the DI he could shove those 10 minutes up his ass, then he rescinded the award.” Even though I couldn’t see anyone, or their expressions, the prolonged silence that followed strongly suggested that I had committed some kind of social infraction.
I was wrestling with what to say next, when I began hearing what sounded like signoffs, clicks, muttered epithets and profanity. What the hell was happening?
Then one of the voices I’d heard earlier, spoke up. “Hey, you can disable the ‘thought to text’ function in the settings menu. Just go in there and click on the button.”
I appreciated the tip but was momentarily preoccupied with how I had unwittingly created a social shit storm. After a moment of self-flagellation, I went back into the settings and turned off the “thought to text” button.
“Thanks. It would have been nice to know that a little sooner.”
“Don’t worry about it. They’re just disappointed. No one’s ever gotten 10 minutes before. So, when you … well, let’s just say you seemed a little arrogant.”
I was in shock. Maybe things in the virtual Marines were much worse than I had imagined. 10 minutes was the highest award ever granted? And I had just pissed it away. I tried to excuse my blunder. “I thought the DI was being sarcastic when he told me to enjoy reliving my life. So, 10 minutes is a long time?”
The voice explained “10 minutes is enough time to relive your entire life several times at a leisurely pace if that’s what you wanted to do. But honestly, most people would just hit the highlight reel a few hundred times.”
No wonder everyone hated me. But I was still confused. “How is it possible to relive a lifetime of memories in 10 minutes?”
“Look, you’re a digital copy of a human consciousness, augmented by multiple military grade processors. You have more computing power in your CPU than most 21st century financial institutions. 10 minutes is enough time for you to plot the orbit of every planet in the Milky Way galaxy, from scratch.”
Yet, even with all that computing power, I still couldn’t avoid putting my foot in my mouth. “Why don’t I feel any smarter?”
I heard a faint sigh, then the voice said “Okay, let’s start at the beginning. First of all, do you have a name?”
I’d heard a reference to a name during my sentencing. “They said my name was Joshua Carl McCann, but I don’t know if that’s right. I can’t recall anything from before waking up in the simulation.”
“It’s okay. We just need to know what to call you, until you get assigned a handle. Without a name, you’re just the FNG.”
“FNG?” It was a good thing they hadn’t quizzed me on how to integrate into a combat squad, since I was totally clueless.
“Fucking new guy.” Without skipping a beat, he continued. “I’m Lucy.” Obviously, handle was code for nickname. Lucy seemed like a funny handle for a Marine, so I chuckled, thinking maybe he was joking.
“It’s short for Lucifer.”
I made a mental note … no laughing at anyone’s nickname in the future.